Blog Fail

That awkward moment when someone realizes the post is about them.....and you know you can't deny it.

Oops.

Fail Cake

Someone recently informed me that I suck at picking titles for my posts. 

Do you really think I haven't noticed that already? 

Thanks for pointing out the obvious. Genius. 

Cream of Broccoli Soup

My family has the best Cream of Broccoli Soup recipe ever, it's delicious, creamy, smooth, and all around awesomesauce.

If you can make it right.

As you might have guessed, I attempted making it the other day. I had purchased my ingredients a few days earlier and decided that it was time to use them up. The soup tasted okay, not outstanding or anything, but it was lumpy! I couldn't figure out why so I called my Mom. The cooking expert in the family. (Actually that would be one of her sisters, but she's still an excellent cook!) According to her there could be two possible things I did wrong.

1. I didn't cooking the broccoli long enough, meaning the blenders could not break it down enough. 
2. There wasn't enough liquid in the soup to make it thinner and creamier. 

Honestly, it may have been a combination of the two. I probably didn't cook it long enough, but I was a little pressed for time and there probably wasn't enough liquid in there anyways. Oops. So I guess that means I fail at life, and cooking. 

Heh. I would screw it up, it just sounds like something this poor, uneducated, little ole' college student me would do. Fail. 

Cleaning out the Junk Drawer

Anyone heard of stumbleupon? Well I have. Obviously. Someone introduced me to it sometime during my junior year of high school and lately, I can't stop stumbling. I bookmark page after page, adding to my already gianormous pile of bookmarks. Then, to make matters worse, I favorite the pages. Meaning they also end up in my stumbleupon favorite pile. Now I have two piles and sometimes one item happens to appear in both. Make any sense?

Oh and my other problem is that some of the pages I tried to save no longer exist, or I no longer find it useful to me. Plus, finding something I do want to find is nearly impossible as I have no organization whatsoever.

Okay that's a lie, I have it. It's just so complex that I don't bother to use it. Cause you know, I'm a lazy applesauce :)

So that's what I'm up to today, and yesterday, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and after that and probably into next week as well. 'Cause that's just how many freaking pages I have to sort through. I thought I was making progress because I deleted two folders of bookmarks. They only had about 10 each. I still have hundreds that aren't even in a freaking folder! AH!

I guess that's what I get for tagging everything I thought might possibly be useful sometime in the future. I have things on hiking, cooking, baking, fashion, travel, interior design, and the list goes on. When on earth am I ever going to get around to all of this?

Now that my friend, is the million dollar question. Oh and care to know what I've been up to instead of doing what I just told you I was doing?


I'm coloring.


Oh yeah, you know you're jealous :)

Clumsy 'Ole Me

Ouch.

I stabbed myself...with a fork. Honestly it's quite embarrassing. But it's the truth. I wouldn't try to lie to you...or would I? ;) Basically all the blame can be traced back to the fact that I suck at cooking. I honestly do. The campers pretend to enjoy my desserts, but I've seen the slop bucket. I know where 3/4 of it ends up. And it is not pretty. (Oh the slop bucket, a camp favorite among the lovely little children :) Rotting orange peels, watermelon rinds, outdated cottage cheese, leftover macaroni, soggy french toast. It has quite the "aroma") Due to my lack of cooking skills, I over cooked a tray of brownies. The tiny square hockey pucks also managed to stick their obnoxious little bodies to my lovely tray-removal was near impossible.

Thinking I was "all that" I grabbed a fork and headed over to the tray no one else wanted to touch. Placing my fork a fair distance from the brownie, I prepared to jam it underneath and remove the offending brownie.

Needless to say, I missed. And hit the base of my thumb, right in the crease. Right near all those veins. The protrusion was actually quite impressive and I couldn't get the blood to stop squirting out. Thankfully "Super Nurse Murfs" was there to save the day. He bandaged my hand and left it look quite worse than it actually was. And, it is quite obvious. Its no fun having to tell people that I stabbed myself with a fork. I look like a fool for it.

But that's just the lot I've got to live with. Fun :P

Why did he have to come back?

It would have been easier had he stayed away, now I’m forced to remember all those painful memories. And worse yet, left alone to deal with them. They don’t see it. They can’t. They are too busy with their own screwed up lives to notice the one that’s ever so slowly slipping down the drain. If only they’d open their eyes, care enough to find out if what I’m telling them is actually true. If only they’d ask “How are you REALLY?” Then maybe they’d learn, maybe they’d care. Maybe I wouldn’t be left sitting here.

All the things I long to tell him, I can't. I've been forbidden from it. The things that kill me to have to hide, to keep secret, to keep hidden....are the things I'd long to tell him. But I can't.

She's stolen my best friend from me. The only one who ever truly understood me. Who cared. Now he's gone. Maybe not physically (though he will be soon) but emotionally. That connection we once had is gone. All because of her. And she wonders why I despise her. Why I argue with her. Why I count down the days till I'm free of HER. Yet for some odd reason people continue to think that it will all just disappear once I'm out of the house. It wont. We are incapable of getting along. I know that. She knows that. Yet she pretends that she doesn't. She pretends that I'm the daughter she always wanted, the one she dreamed of before I was born. She pretends that I'm the perfect child who does everything the way it should be. She imagines me as the little stay at home mom who does all these girly things...that's not me. I'm not the daughter she wanted. No, that task fell to my sister in law. The perfect daughter. The one she always dreamed of.

Its common knowledge that the middle child is always left hanging. The oldest does everything first. When they graduate its a first. When they turn 18 its a first. When they start driving its a first. Same with the youngest. When they start driving its a last, therefore much more emotional cause that means the children are growing up. When they graduate HS its another last, therefore another emotional event. But us middle children? Nothing we do is ever important, ever emotional. Why, cause its already been done and will be done again.

Josh this. Josh that. Josh this. Josh that. That's all I've heard these past 2 years. COME ON! Yes, he was a senior. yes it was his last year at home. BUT REALLY?!. "Ah, my baby boy is graduating HS!" Ah, he needs a graduation party. He's joining the military! He's got a girlfriend! He needs a going way party! Don't tell him anything bad, don't make him worry! He doesn't need that! Ah he's engaged! Ah he's graduating from Basic Training. HES MARRIED! I've got a married son! Don't worry him, he doesn't need that. I WANT TO SEE MY SON TOO! Spring Break Yeah I get to see my son again! (H E DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS! WHY ON EARTH DID I EVER AGREE TO GO ON A VACATION WITH HER!?) My boy's coming home! YEAH! Ah..he's leaving. I'm going to go cry for the billionth time.

I know that people in the military need support, they don't need to be worried. But seriously...does everything have to be about him all the freaking time! What about me? This is my year isn't it? I'm leaving home in less than 336 days...shouldn't it be "Me" sometimes? Nope. Instead it goes like this through her head every freaking second of the day. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Luke. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Luke. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Luke. Moll--no wait..change my mind--Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Luke. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. "I feel like I'm forgetting someone...nevermind" Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Luke. "Oh YEAH! Molly. She can wait." Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Luke. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Josh. Molly. Repeat.

Gah. I was fine, until he came home. Now I have to deal with all this crap once again. I had managed to forget it. Or at least shove the thoughts away so I didn't have to think about them. I can't now. I'm forced to confront them once again...just cause he's back and now I have daily reminders of all this crap. God, this isn't even all of it. But I can't keep typing...I dont want Jake to see my crying.

My "collection"

My collection that's how I refer to it now. The little row of delicately placed mini scars that I...sort of put there. All at low points, but still. They are there and they are visible to everyone, not just me. I didn't hide them on my wrist or stomach. They are there for all to see. Though most don't have the slightest idea because they are so small and they don't think that a "good little christian girl" like me would ever go there. Oh but if only they knew. If only they knew that I'm not exactly that good little girl they all assumed I was. Oh they'd rethink then, they'd rethink the idea of letting their darling "babies" hang out with me. They'd rethink the idea of asking me to babysit, to help out around the camp/church. They'd rethink it all. And where would I be then? Alone once more...oh but wait. I have my little collection to keep me company. Don't want to forget about those little things. (It's kinda hard when every time you wash your hands there they are, every time you type there they are, every time you hand something over...there they are...daily reminders...as if I needed that.) Honestly, I've tried to hide them. Not really for me...but more for others. YES! I admit it. They are embarassing. They show off how low I've sunk. How pathetic my life is that I've got to revert to that! So yes, I've tried wearing long sleeves...works okay..in winter. I've tried makeup, didn't work so well, I've tried jewelry...never managed to stay there long enough. I guess I can't hide it, especially not with me adding to it every few months. *Sigh* If only I had never sunk this low.

Who am I kidding?

I dont know what I'm doing. Who am I kidding? I have no idea how to write, how to put words on paper. I dont know the grammar rules, I don't know how to structure something, my plots fall apart, my characters are flat. So really...who am I kidding?

No one. No one's falling for this pathetic lie, except me that is. I'm still clinging to the belief that this isn't a lie, that this isn't another flop another thing I pretended I knew how to do. But in all honesty, it probably is. I'm not kidding anyone here. All it takes is 5 seconds reading my WIP and you'll see. You'll see how terribly I fail at writing. The words sit awkwardly on the pages, the characters scream for a chance to do something other than sit there and have pointless conversations with each other...if they are even lucky enough to get that...So really. Who am I kidding? Wait, I've already answered this question. But just for kicks, I'll answer again. NO ONE.

*Sigh* Sometimes I wonder what the point is? Why do I even bother to try. Everything I've ever done has failed. From School to friends to writing to photography to work to taking care of myself. It's all failed...and it will all fail again. That "word" really is sitting there, looming in the horizon just waiting for me, its prey, to draw near. Do I run? Nah, I'm too stubborn to run. No, instead I'll sit here and stare at it a little bit longer. I'll ponder why it's here and whether or not I can force it to leave. (Which it won't). So what will I do...I'll walk right up to it and let it take over my life.

*Sigh* What's happened to me?

What's motivation?

If I hate it so much, then why don't I do anything about it? Hmmm. Good question, it's probably just my lack of motivation. I have none. I've said a million different times, "this time it will be different" "I will do this" and guess what...I've never done it. All I have to do is look down or look in the mirror and I'll see that. I've failed. Failed miserably too.

People always tell me "your beautiful" "your pretty" "you look nice" And sure...I'll say "thanks" maybe smile a little, or I'll simply shrug and say "yeah right" or "whatever". Honestly, I don't believe them. Never have. I do have my moments where I'll look at myself and say "i like what I see" but that quickly fades as seconds later I spot another problem. "Oh wait, what about that?" "Ew, what's that?" "Sick." "Ugh" Yes that is honestly how I feel about myself. On a scale of one to ten for satisfaction with myself? I'd give it a two right now. Honestly a two. Maybe even a one. I failed, I really have. And that right there makes it a MUCH lower number. Some days, it's a 5. Some days its a 6. But it's NEVER any higher than that. God, I have problems. I should just get off my lazy butt and do something shouldn't I? But wait, I'm too lazy to actually get off that lazy butt. Hmmm. What to do?

Sometimes, I just wish I didn't have this problem. But then again its my own fault isn't it? Right, it is.

Failed. Twice.

I failed...again. Once again I gave in, once again I grasped that pencil and dug into the soft flesh on my hands. But this time it was worse. This time it was so much worse. This time...it was two. Two terribly visible pink lines with red skin around them reside on my already scarred hand. Really Molly? Really? More? God what were you thinking?

That's the problem. Who knows what I was thinking. I sure don't. Okay. That's a lie I know exactly what I was thinking, but I'm terrified to put it into words. I'm terrified to put it on here for fear that both of "them" see it. One, Lana, would simply lecture me and tell me to call her next time. That was kind of IMPOSSIBLE this last time as she wasn't even around. The other, well she would be saddened if she knew the truth.

Well since I'm already exposed I might as well go ahead with it. Below are the text messages I sent my email shortly afterward.
--2 other people were in the room. And did not notice. You are just invisible. Or are they too polite to interrupt you?
-- Forgot that it burns shortly afterward...it just like stings
--God molly. Another? Really? What is your excuse this time? Oh wait you do not have one do you? Did not think so! God you have problems!!! (after the 2nd one)
-- You ruin everything. You always do. It was ok until you came around. God molly get a life and stop destroying others happiness
-- God i have problems. Really molly? More scars? How will you explain this one? You do not even have a legit reason this time. FAILURE (right after 1st)
--Timeline of Scars: Scratched---no DUG into my hand with a mechanical pencil leaving behind 5-7 small scars......Correction--I've added another one...(31-3-10) 3 more attempts, one real one (9-4-10), two real ones (12-4-10), one accidental (15-4-10) roughly 20 itty bity things that were only skin peeling, no real damage done (15-5-10) 3 more attempts, one smaller one that actually lasted (6-6-10) Another (19.6.10) Another Deeper (15.7.10) I lied, its 2 not 1 (15.7.10)


Why did I do this? Well, let's see. I felt worthless. Invisible. Alone. Depressed. I felt like Running Away. I felt like a waste of life....need I say more?

Notebook of Failure

A Notebook. A simple, spiral bound, notebook. Filled, to the brim, with failure. Words, scattered across the pages, depicting the major failure of my life. Words, all they are...are words. Words that describe me in the failure of my life. At my weakest moment. Words that ARE me when I'm sulking at the bottom of my pit. The pit I created, out of self pity. The pit in which I spend a good deal of my time. The same pit, that I've attempted to escape time after time. The pit that I've grown too fond of over the past year or so. The pit, that holds me captive.

Failure

I failed. I can't believe I failed. Once again, I've sunken back into the pit of despair. The pit of depression. And once again I'm struggling to climb out.

I recently realized that the "scars" on my hands were formed while I was sitting in the very bottom of my pit. As soon as I hit rock bottom, the "scars" began to "form". I recently realized how strong the emotions: the pain, hate, anger, frustration, worthlessness feelings really were. If you haven't guess already, I've recently been there.

I thought I was doing good. I was on the climb upwards again, and we all know how hard that is. Simply standing up, reaching, and believing that we CAN climb out is the first--seemingly impossible--step. Well I took that step and good a little ways up. But it seems like with every 6 inches I climb I fall back 5. However, recently, I fell back more than 5. I fell back down to the bottom. To the pit which I had struggled so hard to get out of. And I found myself back at rock bottom. And I couldn't take it. I just couldn't take it. And...I gave in. I gave in to the pain...the emotions and...I...I "received" another "scar". I didn't mean to, and I regret it. But...I have one. And I can't take it back now. Its there, and its there to stay. I really wish it wasn't, but alas, it is.

And here I remain. Feeling like a failure, like I've let down the entire world. When in reality only 2 people even know of it. So how have I failed the world when really...I've only failed to keep a promise to...what, two people? One of them being me. So is it really that big of a deal? To me, YES! I'm trying. I really am trying to escape this pit. But its hard, or so hard! I want to get better, not just for me but for my friends and family. I've promised them all (some literally, and others in my mind) that I would try. That I would do better, that I wouldn't give in again. But here I am, giving in. Here I am, a failure to all. Yet none of them know. If only they knew, then they' see how terribly I've failed them once again.