Huh. For the first time that I’ve used the Betas in WordPress, I have come across a bug: I cannot post img src embedded photos. Weird. Oh well. I’m still sad and somewhat tired. Being on bed rest has made me lazy and lethargic. I hope the people over at WP fix this before it goes wild. Guess that’s why they tell you not to use it on a “live” site.
Today was not much of an improvement of my mood. I spent a good part of it working on a new theme, shut away from my family, as they played video games in the other room. I still feel pretty tired, and I’m going to be going to bed pretty early tonight. Early as in before 3am. Most nights I spend too much time working on themes or worrying about the past. Yes, I worry about things that have happened. I got thinking about the cunt today, and then realised that today is our 11th anniversary. Jannaversary. *pukes* Thinking of that made me feel incredibly guilty. If I had been braver, if I had not been afraid of Janna’s threats and empty arguments, I may have saved at least one other person from getting involved in the drama that is Janna St. James.
Or maybe delayed someone else from the heartbreak of deception.
It’s too late for me to be wondering “what if”.
There will be one change tonight: No more spammer’s comments will be allowed through. I’m going to start reporting spammers where they belong. Hopefully they will stay faaaaar away from my site for a while.
Dennis says that I have an addiction. That I keep buying these scented candles to live in a fantasy world. *laughs* Do I? Am I? He’s been home four days and already we’re butting heads. Or are we?
I picked out the daisy scented candle because it really smells like a field of daisies. The green, plantish smell that you can only get from a real flower. I loved it. I bought it yesterday while I was out getting his father presents for his birthday today. I have been battling a deep depression. One where the world is closing in on me, and all that I want to do is lie in bed and sob. I cannot find rhymes or reasons to continue anything, and I am not even working on my Paper Project journal or my work. The scent of spring made me feel somewhat better. I think I need some deeper help. The toughest psychotropic drugs there are, and take a few to stop the emotional pain caused by my mother. I watched an old tape of my mum in London, at a time when I was still with her, and I felt increasingly upset that I was not with her.
Dennis didn’t seem to understand my sadness. “Your mom is in the other room,” he told me. Is she? Oh, you mean the monster who bullies me to spend outrageous amounts of money on her and then calls me vulgar, filthy names? Who lies about me to her relatives? Dennis doesn’t understand how or why my mother’s family members and friends hate me before they even know who I am. That’s easy: She tells them ridiculous lies about me, for weeks, months, sometimes years, before I ever get to know them, takes situations out of context, and I have enemies that I don’t even know exist.
Such is life.
Oh, and I’m back on a cancer treatment program. So much for bone marrow transplants, huh?
As you were.