The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Strutting and Fretting September 24, 2012

Corcovado jesus

Corcovado jesus (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

Hello all.

I’m typing this from memory.  Go ahead, be amazed.  (I can do the prologue to R&J too):

“The Queen, my Lord, is dead.”

“She should have died hereafter.  There would have been a time for such a word.  Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in its petty pace from day to day, down to the last syllable of recorded time.  And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death.  Out, out brief candle!  Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.  It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”


This post will be nothing more than the satisfaction of my need to be writing and sharing my mood, which is dismal.  I’m circling the drain right now, folks.  Seriously.  Right this minute I am just heartsick.  There are so many reasons why, so many things, so many sadnesses and disappointments and stresses and worries and fears and dreads, none of which I can really share here.  I suppose it would make for much more real, honest, raw, gritty reading if I could, but I can’t find the words right now.


Facebook.  Man, what a source of depression.  You’re sitting there looking at something that tells you you have 213 “friends” and you can’t think of one person you could really call and talk to, one real live “human bean”, as it were, who would listen to your litany of bummed-ness and understand and not say “your life is not really all that bad compared to (fill in the blank).  Suck it up, Buttercup.”  And really, who needs a friend to tell you that, when you tell yourself that every moment of every day?


I know so many people who would tell me “Just pray about it!  Let go and let God!”  But for some reason, most times when I pray about things, I don’t feel any feedback coming my way.  I don’t feel any change in the situations or any peace in my heart about them.  I just feel like I’m shouting over the edge of a canyon and all I can hear is the echo of my own voice.  But then sometimes I pray and something happens the next day or the next hour or whenever, that convinces me Someone was listening.  That happens just often enough to keep me from giving up completely.


I blame it on hormones, darn those rotten little things.  (The moodiness, not the echoing canyon phenomenon.)  A 5-7 lb water weight gain and a few days of utter despair every stinking month, and for what?  Fertility I never plan to use again.


So anyway.  I’ll soldier on.  One does, you know.

Until next time,


PS: Also typed from memory:  🙂

“Two households, both alike in dignity

In fair Verona where we lay our scene.

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny

where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes,

a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life.

Whose misadventured, piteous overthrows,

doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.

The fearful passage of their death-marked love

and the continuance of their parents’ rage,

which but their children’s end, naught could remove

is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage.

The which, if you with patient ears attend,

what here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.”


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