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Archive for the ‘hormones’ Category

I masturbate differently in webcam shows for a large group than I do for myself or for private shows.

During group camshows I have a whole hour to draw out the experience. I put on a little makeup and usually wear something that allows me to do upskirts – little nighties, slips, miniskirts, etc. If I have enough time, I love wearing hosiery, especially opaque thigh high socks which is what I wore today: long, tight, stretchy, dark brown socks under a hippy-style sundress with a smocked top which is great for showing off my cleavage and tits.

Because I’m not being paid by the minute to fulfill requests by viewers, the “action” in my group shows is aimed to please me (and, incidentally, other people who have my particular tastes), all slowly paced to fill out the hour. I’m not super-entertaining, I just slide into a groove and enjoy looking at myself doing things I wouldn’t otherwise do: smiling at myself in the camera, and just making myself do shit that makes me hot, like exposing myself in taunting, mostly-softcore ways. I get very mesmerized by myself, like when I show myself (and everybody else) my creamy thighs parting to expose my hairy cunt with that beautiful contrast of the dark socks. I don’t know what it is about that contrast, but it’s fucking irresistible to me. I can watch myself do that over and over again.

We had more time than usual between shows this month so it’s been about three weeks since I enjoyed one of these long sessions; doing these long shows every other week or every three weeks is perfect for me because, without knowing it, I really build up a desire for them. My clit’s had a break from extended time with the hitachi magic wand and it’s been awhile since I really took a good look at myself.

Today I decided not to shower, putting my dirty hair in pigtails instead. It’s been four or five days since I had a shower and maybe only two baths (last night and some other time) during that time. For three days I wore the same pair of sticky, hot-smelling panties. My bush is getting really filled-out again, and every time I go to the bathroom I sniff the crotch of my underwear and play with my cowlicks that come together and curl up where my lips meet. The musky smell of pussy-hair steeped in cunt-sweat is part of what I love about not shaving.

Anyway, it smelled so good today during my show, I just kept petting it and bringing my hand up to inhale, over and over again. Deep breaths, totally drugging myself on that woman-sex smell of myself. I fucking could not get enough of it, smelling it, and watching me on the monitor, stroking myself with my light-pink clit poking out between my dirty-blonde fur and those SOCKS pulled up on my thighs making everything in the middle look so fucking naked and whorey.

I remember the first time I ever rode on Highway 1 through Big Sur, not being able to get enough of that hot sage smell. It doesn’t smell like pussy exactly, but it’s addictive and elevating, like ascending to heaven and being on some other unearthly level in between the ground and meeting God’s secretary while He’s away. I feel the same way about the smell of my musky bush, like if I were to immerse myself in it far enough I would wind up in some other place of knowledge and luxury and a decadent form of peace.

Today while I inhaled I realized the scent on my fingers reminded me a whole lot of crayola crayon wrappers. Not exactly like that, but similar. I always wonder where that Really Perfect Pussy smell comes from, like what the secret recipe is for it to be that perfect all of the time. Was it steeping my hair in dirty underwear so long? Was it the hot apple cider and cashews we had before bed? Was it the flax seed and evening primrose oil? Was it having PMS? Was it the mingling of a favorite lotion with the cunt smell to create a perfect pussy-church combo?

I came three times today with one of the orgasms augmented considerably by the call and response of me being ridiculously horny for myself and crooning, “oh yeah” to myself right before Jimi Hendrix said “oh yeah” at the beginning of Red House. Then . . . brilliant guitar and that was all she wrote.

*****

Right after my show I still felt a little hypnotized. I took a powerful piss, then stumbled into the bedroom where I felt a hot gush of liquid burst through my cunt. I reached down to touch it and came out with beautiful, crimson blood all over my fingers with more than enough left over to streak down my right thigh. I haven’t had such a dramatic start to my period in years.

A quick announcement for members and fans of our webcam shows: I moved Wednesday night’s shows to Friday night. Why? Because I realized they were scheduled at the same time as the American Idol finale and with us on the west coast there could be people in our chatrooms who’d already watched it and I CANNOT ABIDE HEARING SPOILERS.

This is especially true with tv the past two or three months which has been exceptionally good to my fat American mind. Dollhouse, Gossip Girl, Top Model, Idol, Hell’s Kitchen . . . I’ve been eating the cheese and acting like a sucker tearing up on command. The competition shows are so much better when you like all of the finalists. We might not be having a lot of sex, but who wants to watch us fucking on our spycams when you can watch me crying and squealing like a sissy-girl over CHUCK AND BLAIR and ADAM AND KRIS and ALLISON AND TEYONA!?! It’s a more degrading scene than if I invited a gang of carnies over and gave their greasy unwashed asses enthusiastic rim jobs on cam with a needle half-full of junk sticking out of my arm. Now THAT’S entertainment! Oh Chuck those pink flowers and your green coat Blair and that dress and I worship and adore you and your stockings too yumyumyum I love it when you cry you’re so beautiful when you weep and I love you TOOOOOO!

As if that wasn’t enough, as a bonus for our voyeurs tonight I also cried watching Dolly Parton sing “Backroads Barbie” AND I cried earlier this afternoon when I finished reading The Westing Game (how did I miss that as a youngster? IT ROCKS!).

Being on a higher-estrogen birth control pill is so sweeeeeeeeeeeet. Sweet and salty with my tears, like a big bag of kettle korn.

Other than that I’m working on a simple (but time-consuming) revamp of the free area of TastyTrixie.com. So I can maybe hope to, you know, make some sales. So far this year has been full of optimism because I finally figured out how fucked up my endocrine system has been and how sick I was. It’s frustrating, though, that even though I feel way better, my life didn’t instantly become perfect once I started feeling better physically. It’s like I have years worth of old work to do to get caught up let alone move forward. That’s been pretty depressing on top of the economy (I know many of you are feeling my pain or worse in that department). I’m constantly making steps to improve, though, and feel massively blessed to have the awesomest girlfriend in the world and also feel the support of people who know me online, especially our members.

I still have a long way to go, but I am becoming a more patient person. More patient with myself and the world and everyone in it. You still wouldn’t call me “patient”, but I know I am MORE patient than I was a year ago. That’s enough for me to be proud of today.

And even with all of that reading and tv watching and a good stretch this morning, I still worked eight concentrated hours and twenty-seven minutes. How do I know that? BECAUSE I AM KEEPING TRACK.

You notice certain physical changes when your hormone balance shifts. Like I knew my boobs would get bigger & more sensitive getting back on the pill and all the other stuff I’m taking/doing.

I’m noticing physical changes this time around in my cunt. Aside from the usual increased lubrication extra estrogen gives you, it *looks* really puffy and fat and smooth and pink. I hesitate to say this, but it looks younger.

The really awesome part is I think it’s making my g-spot and perineum spongier, more sensitive and erotically charged. During my shows today and yesterday my orgasms were really thick, rocking cunt-focused things instead of little pointy tip-of-the-clit climaxes. I love all kinds of orgasms, but it’s always thrilling to experience a variety of them or notice a recognizable shift in sensation.

One of the downsides is the visible part of my clit is shrinking. I was really disappointed to look down last week and notice how much smaller it is than a month ago in spite of having so much less hair. I really like it when it sticks out more and am intrigued, shall we say, by women who have large knuckle-like clits.

Delia’s therapist isn’t a fan of hormonal birth control and the way it can flatline some women’s sex drives, but the benefits of having more chick hormones is such a huge relief to me on so many levels I can only look at the bright sides and wonder how many of them there are. Like, has anyone done any research into the hormone balances of women who squirt versus those of us who don’t or rarely do? I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that squirters are more estrogen dominant.

After the gloomy pictures and tone of this post I’m overdue posting something cheerful that reflects how I’m feeling A BILLION TIMES BETTER, so here are some happy pictures from a recent members-only gallery and an update on what’s going on in my body and head.

It’s hard for me to describe how profoundly different/healed I felt within a week of starting to treat my hormone problems. I can only compare it to what born again Christians feel like. Seriously. Only I feel like I just established a close personal relationship with NORMALCY rather than with Jesus. And now I am wondering how the fuck I was even getting out of bed at all, because I was really REALLY sick.

A lot of stuff that I was experiencing I couldn’t even verbalize without sounding totally crazy and was effecting me on every level you can possibly think of: mentally, spiritually, physically, socially, sexually, etc. My muscles, joints, head, eyes, guts, boobs, feet, jaw, ears HURT and weren’t working right. Pretty much everything was causing me pain and fatigue, from the sound of people’s voices to the loud conversations being held in my head to the TORTURE of dropping something and having to go through the agonizing, soul-sucking motion of bending over to pick it up. I thought I was being a hypochondriac to worry that I had lupus or something horrifying going on. All I wanted to do was work and be happy and do the millions of things I want to do, so I tried to exercise more, to cut back on things that were especially tiring (which got to the point of being EVERYTHING except the bare minimum — I haven’t been seeing my family, friends, or doing anything except trying to survive). The slightest annoyances were sending me into paroxysms of mean-spirited anguish. If you think I was complaining a lot about headaches and stuff, you don’t know the tenth of it. I actually didn’t even want to recognize how incredibly bad it was.

But then last week I started to feel INCREDIBLY GOOD. Like I looked in the mirror and didn’t see death warmed over staring back at me — oh yeah, THAT’S what I look like without a sickly pallor and giant, deep, dark circles rimming my eyes! Like, getting out of bed in the morning IS EASY and something to celebrate instead of something that caused me physical pain. I’m not exaggerating, I had been feeling PAIN reverberating through every fiber of my being. I thought it was just me being not-a-morning-person, “sensitive”, etc. but as it turns out? FUCK NO. The first three days of feeling awesome last week are my new standard for how I should feel 99% of the time and I’m not going to accept anything less ever again.

Here are the supplements I started taking:

*Evening Primrose Oil
*iodine
*birth control (chick hormones)
*omega oils
*potassium (in grapefruit juice, etc.)
*awesome Vitamin B complex
*digestive enzymes

and changes I made:

*maintaining a stable blood sugar level (not letting myself get hungry, eating way less simple carbs/sugars)
*continuing to use tools & learn more for anger management, concentration, calm, etc.
*exercising consistently
*continuing to make 8-9 hours of sleep per night my goal

——–

A lot of these are things I’ve done before that yielded positive results, but I never did them consistently or all at the same time or appreciated the importance of spending the money to stay stocked up on all of the vitamins or understood the big picture of how they were helping me. I still don’t have a thorough grasp of that, but getting as totally fucked up as I was forced me to do a lot of research and over the years a lot of people and circumstances have handed me clues. Like not being able to get pregnant and slowly finding out a whole bunch of possible reasons why not. Like having people tell me over and over and over again to have my thyroid tested. Like having almost no stressors in my life and often doing everything right and trying my fucking hardest and still feeling WORSE instead of better. Like having some really great health care providers in my life and then having to deal with one who was really bad. Like THE INTERNET being an imperfect but still fucking fabulous resources. Like having a trans partner and thinking more about hormones, identity, and the nuances of gender. Like having people tell me I have too much testosterone. Like having my hair stylist tell me I had an unnatural amount of HAIR FALLING OUT OF MY HEAD (ahhh, so it WASN’T my imagination that was noticing my part widening in pictures and on the webcam I have staring down at the top of my head).

I really am sorry for how impatient I’ve been, how easily agitated I’ve been, and for how little time I’ve had for people and issues and projects I care about. Mostly I’m sad that Delia had to live with someone so unpredictable and “touchy”. But I’m really happy for us now that we are both getting ourselves sorted out.

I think this year (or at least the next six months) are going to be a time of simply catching up on time I/we’ve lost personally and financially/professionally. I know I’ve made a lot of posts in the past couple of years about ways I was reorganizing and reprioritizing things, and while many of them were necessary, very few of them were productive or successful because of what I now realize was a significant health problem. I am going to be patient with myself and try to enjoy simply feel good. REALLY good.

I’m not saying my life has been nonstop misery because that’s not true at all — hormones are shifty fuckers so there’ve been lots of highs and lows and near-normalcy, but I’ve likely been suffering from this for most of my post-adolescent life to one degree or another judging from how rarely I ovulated on time or at all; most people would say “judging from how rarely my period was on time”, but I now refuse to refer to on-time periods as the sensible indicator of health when it totally ignores that timely menstruation is reliant on timely ovulation. It’s not that I think ovulation is some holy fucking grail or that every woman should strive for FERTILITY, I just think there’s so much MISSING from (and deceptive about) our language for talking about how our bodies function and how to identify problems and heal them. And you know how women who understand their clits and their g-spots and the rest of their bodies and how they work and where those parts live CAN MAKE THEM OPERATE BETTER and experience more pleasure? I don’t think the rest of our anatomy and functionality is any different. If I understand that high blood sugar and cortisol and stress and testosterone and estrogen suppression and ovulation and concentration and happiness are all linked up and I can visualize those things and better know how to achieve stability there, then I am going to be a happier, better-functioning person.

Personally I’m excited about the discoveries I’m making about myself and feel so fired up about so many things I’m back to my ”
normal” scatterbrained whirlwind of divided attention (and haven’t been taking Ritalin since I started my little regimen above). I’m also really angry and thinking a lot about how most health care providers are totally incompetent and uncaring when it comes to endocrinology (unless it has to do with diabetes) and SUPER COMMON hormone problems. I believe to my core that misogyny is the root of the ignorance and lack of care; people believe and want women to age a certain way, to become dried-up shrews. They believe we’ll complain about anything and are still mostly just hysterical, crazy bitches and that our problems are all psychological. Everyone thinks it’s so “advanced” to treat depression and anxiety as real stand-alone illnesses now that we can throw fucked-up, addictive drugs at when so much depression and anxiety and other mental illness are probably caused by hormonal problems that don’t always originate with (or aren’t limited to) poor brain chemistry or treated best just by addressing them. I’m certainly not suggesting we all go Tom-Cruise-Vitamin-Crazy, I’m just saying that health care professionals aren’t even bothering to test for or treat underlying hormone imbalances, and most people like it that way. It makes a lot of women sicker, not healthier. Just to give you an example, this doctor I went to was ready to put me on anti-depressants, didn’t believe me when I told her I knew the birth control itself would help a lot, and refused to test my thyroid (the most common “thyroid” test done is for TSH — thyroid stimulating hormone — and it doesn’t really test your thyroid gland, it tests your pituitary gland AND the results are months old by the time it reaches your blood). You have to wonder how this woman thinks that anti-depressants are going to cure me of hair loss, weight gain, constipation, lethargy, etc. when you know it will make most of those symptoms WORSE. To her I was just a crazy, miserable bitch demanding a “complicated” explanation for what seemed obvious to her: THAT I’M SIMPLY A CRAZY MISERABLE BITCH.

If we removed the stigma and value judgment from the statement “she’s got hormone problems” we’d lose one of our most precious and reliable punch lines. So many women would feel so much better the world would be turned upside-fucking down. It probably wouldn’t be very good for the sex industry, I imagine, if more middle-aged women felt like a million bucks. Or maybe it would . . . . My sister, a nurse, said she thinks endocrinology is too nuanced for traditional western medicine to deal with and that it’s not a “sexy” field like surgery. I think it’s the opposite. It’s the sexiest field of all. It IS the source of what we think of as sex and gender and for us to really understand it and the role it plays in our lives and how it is the foundation for so much of our identities would pose such a threat to the status quo and to the people we rely upon to make the rest of us feel normal by comparison that it’s just a giant taboo. In generations to come I think it’s transgender and people who defy gender stereotypes and limitations who will force the medical community and other people to understand endocrinology a whole lot better and how hormones can be manipulated to help us lead our best, most authentic and healthiest lives.

Anyway, long post short, I was feeling pretty bad. And now I feel really great. And that makes me really happy. I’m fueling up now for good things to come.

My mom passed her DNA for knockers down to me and also taught my sister and I how to deal with the problem of having one nipple/areolar complex erect and bumpy with the other one soft:

One time as we were about to leave a public restroom my mom noticed she had one stiff nipple and paused before exiting to stimulate the other one over her shirt so they would match. She did try to get bras and shirts that would prevent them from being super obvious, but when those failed to do the trick (you’d need armor to guarantee 100% no-poke-through) she felt compelled to make both of them stick out if one was being stubborn anyway. Nipples do get hard sometimes when you pee so . . . yeah. I hadn’t just peed in the photo above, but I’d given one boob more attention and didn’t realize how obvious it would wind up being in the picture. Clearly I am not as conscious of these things as my mom is. Or maybe I’m just not as sensitive? Hmmm . . . well, there’s some suggestive kinkiness for the portion of my audience with a special interest in big boobs, nipples, and . . . other things.

*****

I would love to stay up and finish editing this set of photos for members, but it will be better if I get back in bed and disconnect. PMS is in full effect and I woke up an hour too soon. I got a late start this week when I got a headache Monday and spent Tuesday recovering and trying to prevent more headaching. Now the hormones are kicking my ass and making me act/feel like a monster so I’m going to call the amount of work I did today “good” and say goodnight. Tomorrow members can see the rest of the curves and long socks and a sparkly dildo and furry beaver and underarms (not to be hairy much longer, though I’m sure I’ll grow it back out again in the future, but that’s why we shot this set in black and white: to really show off my bush).

We’re celebrating Thanksgiving late today; my sister, nephew and brother-in-law drove to our house last night and Delia’s cooking the turkey right now. The same turkey that’s been in our freezer for more than a year since we had to cancel dinner last year after my mom broke her wrist and had to get surgery mere days before the feast.

As a teenager I really resented seeing the women stuck in the kitchen on Thanksgiving. It seemed completely unfair to me, the way they slaved away while the men sat on their asses thinking up ways to make the day unpleasant and contentious. It’s kind of funny(?) that now I make basically no effort to help Delia prepare meals. And this is actually the SECOND turkey she’s cooked and stuffed in the past month since she made one for a big potluck a few weeks ago. Maybe as a kid I thought I was feeling sorry for the women in my family when really I was just feeling sorry for myself because I had no desire to grow up and be stuck in that role, stuck in the kitchen. At the time it didn’t occur to me to visualize what I WANTED, which was to grow up and have some OTHER woman (or some man) stuck in MY kitchen, cooking her little ass off while I come in just to rub my hands greedily and condescendingly tell her how GOOD it smells, and when will it be ready, honey?

My mom isn’t coming to today’s gathering, either, which is a good thing; I have an insanely bad case of PMS and our whole family gets exhausted when all of us are together. Someday I hope we’ll all live closer together so it’s not such a long-lasting, closely-packed, unable-to-escape-each-other ordeal but right now? That’s how it winds up and it’s too much of an energy-sucking drag for all of us to really be considered a celebration. The competition for control and attention between four strong personalities (mine, my mom’s, my sister’s and her two year old son’s) is too constant. I’ve been encouraged to be more realistic in my expectations for family time, and in taking that advice I don’t feel disappointed today that we’re not all together at once; instead, I’m relieved.

Since our nephew is here a lot of our cams are down or cloaked so that he can run around freely. Also, one of the camsites where we broadcast has been down since yesterday; it’s frustrating, but I’m trying not to worry about it today since there’s nothing I can do about it and it wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway with little Mr. Squishypants in the house.

I, my sister, and Delia stayed up way too late talking so I’m feeling really sleep-deprived right now and am going to try to get in a nap. I have a sick amount of anxiety when my nephew is here, worrying about all the ways he can get hurt, feeling like I need to watch everything he does in our child-unsafe house and around our dog. Even with all that watching, he’s gotten hurt and while it is a consolation knowing none of those times have come even close to killing him — kids HAVE to fall down, split their lips, bash their heads against sharp corners, etc. — I still have a hard time letting go and it’s much worse if I haven’t gotten enough sleep.

We have a wedding to attend today, so we had to cancel our usual Sunday shows. As a consolation prize, last night I posted a new gallery and a couple of archived webcam shows from a year ago in my members-only area, including one where I played in one of my favorite things, GLOVES, specifically short red leather gloves:

I covet gloves that are small enough to fit me and tight enough to STRETCH across my knuckles. These ones are old and stained from a vintage clothing store, but I fucking adore them. I would love to have fresh, duplicate pairs in white, red, pink, brown, green, and black. That would make me squeal with leathery happiness! I want to slap others and myself with them and appreciate my freckled arms stemming from their sassy short lengths.

In the other show I posted I wore black nylon stockings and stuck my feet in the camera/viewers’ virtual faces a lot:

*****

Next month when my insurance waiting period for pre-existing conditions ends I am going to go see an endocrinologist as suggested by oogoddess awhile back; even if they don’t find any explanation for my infertility, weight gain, etc. it will be good to rule out a thyroid problem and other things. My period finally started SIX WEEKS after my last one and I’m pretty much at my wits end dealing with wacky hormones and seeing very little results from exercising and eating more moderately (which is really really fucking hard when having wacky hormones makes me want comfort food for medication). I know I’m getting older and my metabolism is slowing down — I can accept that — but I still want to rule out the thyroid thing completely. Thyroid problems seem to be pretty common and frequently undiagnosed for years; there’s no reason to suffer needlessly if that’s my problem.

Tomorrow our friends Julia the Naughty Teacher and her photographer are coming over for a visit, which we’re really looking forward to.

We won’t be shooting, just hanging out and chatting; we really need the social time and they’re willing to drive all the way out to our peninsula location so the least we can do is try to get our house to look less like a pig sty. It’s getting late and we still have a lot of cleaning to do, so I decided to post a “no frills” version of The List (of all the people I’ve fucked) tonight along with a guest gallery from Julia, and will publish an additional, more detailed version of The List whenever I’m able to implant the first layer of augmentation in the form of details, links, and video commentary.

While Julia and her photographer are here some of our cams will be down so they will be comfortable. Then we are going to be gone on Thursday so Delia can make one last deposit at the sperm bank before she goes on hormones (we’re taking a break from trying to conceive) and we’ll also deliver a late birthday present to my sister. We’ll also be gone part of Friday for Delia’s laser appointment. Next week I’ll be hosting hyperchat, though, so members will have many opportunities to hang out with me in chat.

VOYEURS: sorry about the PMS – I know it’s not very relaxing to spy on someone screaming and swearing and scowling and barely managing to not throw, kick and break things, but that’s life. I tried to treat it with exercise and got out of the house to blow off some steam; it helped a lot and I enjoyed it, but hormones are stubborn fuckers and I have to let loose before the next three days of interacting with others and/or being away from home where I *have* to control myself.

Here’s the deal; I’m super tired, but feel like I can’t let the week end without posting an entry here. Tons of blog entries in draft form that I can’t seem to finish for one reason or another, so checking-in will have to do for now.

The week of my birthday (March 17th) I was working on aging and getting into a huge confrontation with my mom. The emotional fallout from that continues to plague me. It’s nothing tragic or life-threatening, just cause for introspection and worry over how to apologize (if I even should) and if so, for which part. It’s more complicated than that (while also being very pedestrian), but I’ll leave it at that.

End of March, as you know, we discovered yet again that we’re not pregnant . . . another non-life-threatening emotional drain.

April: have been working on many geeky projects to boost our income; site redesigns, etc. The only part of that we’ve actually finished is the members-only redesign of Delia’s site, but it did suck up a lot of time and energy.

In general I’ve been leaning at a noticeable slant towards the asshole-end of my personality spectrum so this week I’ve done a few things to help me straighten up and fly right; we took almost a whole day off, yesterday I got a massage, and we’ve had a couple of outings involving strolling through town, walking the dog at dusk, and breathing fresh air.

I believe my main problem is hormonal; the longer I am off the pill, the more monstrous I feel and act. Of course, it could be the circumstances that are getting to me, but I honestly don’t think that’s the biggest part of the problem; I think my problem is chemical. Fortunately there are a lot of things I can do to help myself feel better: exercise, eat better, listen to music, stretch, get massage, go outside, decide how I want to feel and act and make that my real work every day, etc. Unfortunately? I’m not very disciplined with the food and exercise and really just want to be able to WORK-work without worrying about taking care of myself. It’s ridiculous because I have so much freedom and flexibility, yet I can’t seem to keep things in balance. I’m good at allowing myself plenty of time to daydream and as much sleep as I need, but I want to be better at regularly giving myself therapeutic physical pleasure: dancing, massage, breathing, stretching, crying, etc. Yeah, sex is in there too, but the other stuff is what I’m needing most, am most apt to neglect, and is most likely to lead to fucking when I get them in adequate quantities with regularity.

So. Long story short is that I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, and that I’d like to hold that craziness at arm’s length because it really does seem alien to me, not because it’s unfamiliar but because, from a rational perspective (and having been in this territory many times in my life), I just don’t think these are my organic struggles — I feel like they’re thrust on me by the exaggerating effects of hormone fluctuations. It’s like I can’t even BELIEVE what I’m feeling except when I’m in the tightest grip of feeling shitty. I really believe I’m a happy person, and it frustrates me that something sometimes seems to be getting in the way of me FEELING and ACTING happy.

I’m not saying that deep inside me there’s a bubbly cheerleader sort of happy person just waiting to get out, but I *am* a grateful, overjoyed-by-small-things and delighted-by-life happy person. I’m just depressed sometimes, too.

So. I’m not posting this to solicit pity or concern, just letting people know part of what’s been going on with me. In the grand scheme of things it’s not a big deal, not even to me, but I know a lot of people go through the same kinds of things and can relate. I’m working on it, I’m hopeful, and I don’t want anyone to have the impression all has been a storm cloud of ugliness lately in my life when that’s totally untrue. Today was like magic, in fact, and there have been buttloads of bright spots over the past month. It’s just that a lot of life has been annoyingly peppered with little flecks of shit, know what I mean? It’s like having the perfect mocha with what seems to be shavings of gorgeous chocolate, but after you take a sip you discover that those are actually grated remains of the petrified brains of Mad Cow Disease victims.