I feel like a crazy person. Practically ALL.THE.TIME.

I want to curse a few people out for being total assholes.

I hate people who don’t use their signals before they merge into a new lane. Fuck you, jerks.

I can’t backtrack. If I have plans for the day, my route has to be mapped out beforehand in such a manner that I will not repeat any of my commute for any reason.

I wish I knew how to throw a real punch.

I would appreciate if my attitude would stay in check a wee bit more often. Specifically when talking to my mother.

I don’t like my father.

I am so thankful for my friends; they understand me like no other.

I sometimes just cry to cry.

I often wonder what’s out there in the universe. Surely, we are not the only planet with living beings in this great galaxy.

I say that I’m atheist because it cuts the conversation short. In truth, I’m more spiritual than most.

I seem to be obsessed with documentaries. The last one I watched, “God Grew Tired of Us,” made me sob.

I adore the History Channel and A&E.

I can’t not watch Flipping Out. Zoila is my hero.

I really like Bono. Frankly, anyone who comes from a war-torn country is bound to have some political things to say. Just because we’ve become complacent, doesn’t mean everyone in the world has too.

I still don’t understand why the U.S. has so thoroughly implanted itself in the Middle East. I mean, I do. But I don’t.

I am horrible at remembering grammar rules and I’ve forgotten the majority of my times tables. Except 9×9. That’s 81.

I hate details. Unless it specifically deals with me or something I do, I need the cliff notes version.

I have tried to mold my round peg into a square hole on more than one occasion. It always backfires.

I can barely believe that I’ve made amends with my ex-roommate. But I have and I’m damn glad for it.

I loathe the ugly side of politics.

I am collecting vinyl. My favorite, so far, is Creedence Clearwater Revival. Now if I could just get my fingers on some Marley, Hendrix, Beatles and Joplin… and a record player.

I still can’t believe I’m going to meet Nicole this weekend. After two years of blog-fodder. I am absolutely beside myself with excitement! For those in the area – The Irish Channel on H Street @ 8pm on Saturday. Come join the festivities!

This? Is in no way acceptable. There are just some lines that should not be crossed. And tattooing “mom” over your heart is right up there with shaving lines into your eyebrows or dying your pubes bright pink.

Just. Say. No.

As I was leaving a friend’s apartment the other day, I noticed a bone-thin man with the beginnings of a mullet walking around the complex. Since it was super hot, he took the liberty of doing so without a t-shirt.

I really wish he hadn’t.

Over his left nipple he had “MOM” etched int0 his skin. Unlike the one displayed above, it was prison-tattoo-esque in its simplicity and black ink and it looked so amazing against his super pale skin.

Except not.

Then I got to thinking, “does this man get layed?” He can’t possibly, can he? Because what woman in their right mind wants to see MOM when they’re gettin’ down and dirty?!

Look, I don’t know about y’all, but the last thing I wanna see is MOM when I’m gettin’ busy.

Talk about a mood killer.

I’m really good at running. I evade tough situations with family by not calling them or visiting. Oddly enough, so does my family. I pretend my credit debt isn’t as bad as it is by not opening bills. I walk the other way when things get prickly with friends. I quit jobs when things get too tough. I spend money as if it’s a never ending commodity just for some “normalcy.”

You see, my inability to control my anxiety has taken over my life. I can go home from a perfectly executed work event and wonder if perhaps my boss is pissed because I left one of 150 folders at the office as opposed to bringing it to the event. This small thought will then snowball and all of a sudden I’m wide awake at 4 am and hating everything about life from my lack of sleep and thinking about the twenty million other things I’ve done wrong that week. I can be with a group of friends just shooting the breeze and two hours later I am on the brink of hyperventilating because I hope I didn’t come off like a snot rocket, or bossy, or bitchy, or just down right annoying.

Then there are the moments where I actually DO fuck up. Where I cross the line and everything feels awkward and uncomfortable for days, weeks and months. Because my ability to harp on things, even things that are just an issue in my own head, is exponentially amazing. Like those times I decided I really needed to pop pill x and pill y and ended up passing out.

In both cases I was having severe panic attacks. Neither time did I want to tell anyone. Consequently I “self-medicated” and truly ended up looking like a dickhead.

I mean, if the shoe fits. The shoe fuckin’ fits.

The worst part is that I don’t find enough space within my heart to be more empathetic towards others. Which of course leads me to further anxiety because if I’m not doing it then I can’t expect others to do it for me. And the vicious cycle begins all over again.

I’m too judgmental and I justify it by reminding myself that I do this as a way to protect myself. But that blows up too.

So, back when I up and left this blog to get dusty, all of my doubts had manifested themselves in a way that was crippling me. At the time, I decided that the best thing to do was drop this place like a hot potato. Because I’d been allowing it to cause me negativity instead of taking it for what it is. Part of this began when I started to show my face. Frankly, being a loud-mouthed asshole is pretty fucking easy when no one knows who you are.

What I’m trying to say is that I miss this place. My fears and frustrations haven’t ebbed just because I stopped blogging. But I’ve had one less avenue to express myself and I’m not exactly fond of this.

I keep re-writing this post in a vain attempt to say something profound. But I think you and I can agree that lately, there’s just been nothing profound to come from Speak On It.

I started this blog as a way to communciate with likeminded people. As a way to be justified in the way I thought about things. As a way to feel important to more people than I already am.

For a while, I found what I was looking for. Then I came back to the realization that the people who’ll always have my back are none other than my family, lifelong friends and me. I had begun to put entirely too much emphasis on folks that weren’t much more than internet personas.

What kind of bugs me was my need for this crutch. Which is what the blogging community had become for me. You can’t really rely on people you don’t know. Right?

Right.

Regardless, I’ve met some really amazing people. I found myself in an actual relationship thanks in part to this blog. I’ve visited places I’ve never been before, like Cleveland and Pittsburgh, and I’ve spent countless hours reading, writing and responding thanks to this blog.

I’ve also spent too many hours worrying about this blog. About the readers. About the comment count. About the content. About the people I met through this place. About what was being said about me. About what was not being said about me. About how I should proceed with x, y & z. About how I should write. About how I should think.

So on and so forth. It’s pretty damn exhausting and I’m looking forward to the break.

I wish all of y’all well.

Take good care of yourselves and thank you for the laughs and the smiles. I appreciate it more than I can say.

-Deutlich

A couple weeks ago I bitched about being single by proclaiming that it’s all them and not me. Because I’m obviously fabulous. And by them I mean, well, THEM.

All of them.

And after I finished my handy work, I sat down and grinned because surely I fooled everybody! You know, since all of those things were “obviously” correct. But let’s get real. They didn’t actually paint the whole picture.

Ya see. I am scared shitless of the “dating scene”. I don’t even really understand what the hell dating means. Is it a succession of going out to places that involve food and libations? Is it that period in which you bump uglies with said person while wondering if he or she’s doing the deed with others because things hadn’t been written in stone? Is it the process after something was cemented in a verbal agreement?

Is it all three? Parts of it? None of it?

For fuck’s sake just thinking about it makes me dizzy.

I like to act as though I’ve got this super thick skin but at the end of the day there are some things that just cut me deep. Rejection is pretty much at the top of this list. Any kind of rejection. From almost anybody.

I hate it. By a LOT. And it makes my head all spinny and forces my stupid eyes to cry stupid tears and then I feel like a dumb nearly-thirty-year-old.

The fuck?

Now I know that part of the problem is that I’d actually need to meet somebody to date them. I know. I’m not sure where the logic is in that either.

But where in the shit am I supposed to meet people? Specifically non-creepy, easy-on-the-eyes, dark-haired, light-eyed folks that know how to work with their hands, think on their feet and make me laugh all at the same time.

Ok, so that part about the eyes isn’t that important.

Except maybe a little.