those who don’t understand my job


sometimes people don’t understand my job and that it does to me.

i work the graveyard shift. i do very physical labor intensive work. its not easy but its rewarding. people who have never done it don’t seem to understand. and yes, yet another post inspired by my mom.

“People” think that I sit around sleep being lazy all day. They think I have all day off to do things. They yell at me, when are you gonna do this or get this done. You have all the time in the world. Wish I could sit around all day. They expect me to help out or run errands because I have all day off.

They wake me up at 10am. Sometimes at 8am. They tell me ive been sleeping all day. I need to do something with myself. I get off work at 6am.

Even friends get frustrated if I sleep a lot. Want to do stuff like go hiking, then after they get to come home and go to sleep. I leave for work strait from a day of hard riding. They don’t realize what I put my body through when I do this. They dont feel any empathy as they crack open a cold one or go to bed. They sit there going “uh im so tired and I have to work at 6am tommorow.” and i’m thinking “lucky you i have to go to work right now.”

Then theres the why are you tired. Its not a desk job! I am sore, my bodys recouperating for tonight. Physical hobbies and lifestyle + physical job = me tired! My family has never done anything physical before. They just don’t get it. They tell me, “well its your fault. you should just quit.” this annoys me to no end. Not “wow were proud of you for working hard.” just “live off someone else like us, be lazy. make bills, not pay your debts” mentality.

Shit, some empathy and pride instead of distain and making me feel like every ache i get i deserve because im doing something wrong.

*sigh* Daylighters.

This is what i dream of

 This is what i dream of

this is what i dream of

i dream its cold
middle of the night
darkness racing with everlasting light
pale softness dancing, bare and free
rolling in sea foam
im shivering
you hold me
you take me home
you love me
tell me everything will be alright
that im yours
and you wont change your mind
in the morning.

let my spirit run
as free as my soul
let it wander the earth
like the reckless being i was meant to be
let it love unconditionally
without judgement or question
not seeking reciprocity
but a small sense
of understanding
that this is what i am
never holding back
the wind that comes and goes
blowing through your fingertips
in the
chilly ocean spray filled night
caressing your skin
before returning
to the sparkling endless skies.

love me for what i am
then let me go.




I want to let go

I want to let go

Im crusin tumblr reading someones awesome poem about getting high and fucking in dirty laundry and I absolutely love it because it describes everything im seeking in life right not. Which may see weird, and like my goals are going south but theres more to it than that.

See, I have always been a perfectionist. I follow every rule all my life I’ve been the good girl. High goals, big dreams, work hard. School, family, expectations. Do everything im supposed to, nothing im not. The right guy, the right friends, the right life.

And I lack happiness most of the time because I’m always reaching for the next thing.  I remember spending my eight grade summer, the last summer I ever had, studying algebra so I could be in a more advanced class in high school. After that, every summer was spent in summer school so I could take extra science classes during the school year. High school was not spent dating or in clubs. It was spent getting ready for college. College was spent studying while other people partied, to prepare for gosh knows what. My whole life has been in anticipation for the next phase of life. Never living now, living for tomorrow. Half of it has gone by and im still saving for the house and the dream marriage and maybe the kids ill have one day. Paying bills, saving money. For what? This is who I am. This sad girl who never enjoys life because she never lives it.

I just want to let go so badly. I just want to say fuck it to the good girl rep and the morales, and impressing my mother. Fuck it to what people think about me and always being so prepared. I’ve always looked around at everyone having fun and told myself “don’t worry. Your time will come. When your 60 and have a healthy retirement plan they’ll be struggling and you’ll get to have fun.” Life is short, and I’m getting very tired of living this way.

I just want to live. So when I read this poem, that I did not write at all, I was envious. Here, In this dark little room someone created, is everything I want in life at this exact moment. And as messed up as that is, maybe its possible to see just a little of why that may be.

Again, I didn’t write this. The link to the author is on the bottom. I am very grateful to her for writing it because it is helping me learn more about myself. This is a world i’ve never been a part of so I wouldn’t be able to express it like she does.


This is not a poem.

I want to get high and
Fuck you underneath the stars
Not the real ones, in the sky, I
Don’t want Orion and Cornucopia
To witness this no I just want to
Throw you down on my single bed
Under cheap, glow in the dark constellations
I want to smoke in bed while listening to Nina Simone
And disregarding her advice 
I want you to fuck me amongst dirty laundry
And blunt wrappers, knocking empty
Beer bottles filled with cigarette butts
Off of bedside tables
I want to run my hands through 
Your unwashed hair and let you
Suck red wine stains from my lips
I want to get drunk in a dark room and
Fight about nothing until we come down
In a spiralling mess in each other’s arms and
Fuck until we are laughing and crying and
The days are passing and no one knows
What to do about us because we are lost
In this room with the dirty laundry and the
Drugs and the cheap plastic stars which
Seem to judge us from above
I want you to tie me to the bed and
Tell me I can never leave because I
Am yours and all we need is each other
And these drugs and make me forget that
There was ever anything else but this
I want to get high and fuck you
This is not a poem.



On why I blog

On why I blog

After I posted the angry swearing rant before this, I thought I’d come on to apologize. I then realized I actually might have people who read this thing and freaked out. My brain automatically started censoring itself, worrying about whether what I write either entertains or offends people who may read this. I went through this and started thinking about things I should delete, or wondering whether I should stick to a theme or one type of topic that would be of interest to readers to get more readers.

Then I remembered why I started doing this.

Remember Myspace? Remember blogs, where you really wrote what you wanted? My myspace was a true expression of whoever I was at the moment through themes, pics, blogs, rants, happy poems. My friends were people I really was friends with, who knew me well enough that I never worried about sharing my thoughts with them. They never got the wrong idea or took it the wrong way.

Then came Facebook. Now suddenly people who aren’t my friends are my “friends.” Coworkers, people I barely know, relatives, parents, grandparents, exs, non-exs, strangers from other countries, people I hated in high school, elementary school teachers. People I would otherwise not want to talk to ever are on there.

The thing is, you can’t write shit with all these people around. Every time I write any post,  any one like “oh im mad about work.” I have to sit there and go through all these lists of people and figure out who it might offend or who might rat me out to someone else. Restrict. Restrict. Restrict. I have to have a “public face.” “family face.” Any poem I write gets responses of “is this about so and so. Are you fighting?” I have to go through my own page and censor other people’s posts so other groups of people don’t get the wrong idea. “Don’t be mad hunny.” <aunt> “don’t be so dark people might thing stuff.” <mom> “don’t act weird. Try to be normal.” All the time.

And I thought, if I can’t be myself, then why do I do this. I mean, Facebook makes me miserable. It’s the perfect example of me struggling to be someone im not for people’s opinions I don’t really care about. I almost deleted Facebook until I found the one old friend I was looking for for years. Then I thought, okay I’ll find somewhere else to express myself.

So I try to truly express what I want to write about, not what I should write about. Whether its happy or stupid or emo or angry. Because at some point everyone needs to stop being an empty shell and start finding out who they really are.  I need to do that by not creating myself in the image people want, but by exposing my thoughts even if there not entertaining or assimilating.

So if you do read my junk, a big thank you to you. I do apologize if its not always “good stuff” or if it sometimes offends or if the subject matter changes more than my socks. This is for me.




cuss words ahead

I am sick and tired of the favoritism at my job. Warning: there will probably be extreme cuss words


I bring in drs note. Can not lift more than 5 lbs due to cracked rib. Brown Shirt talks shit to everyone about me like im faking it and hopeless. The lightest boxes I end up carrying is 10lbs. Most are much heavier including pushing an entire pallet of items with no machinery.


Its 5:31am. The time I finish work. Big boss tells me to start another pallet of work. He assigns someone to help me, thanking her profusely. Like last night, that person drops my shit on the ground and ditches. Brown shirt assigns someone to help me. That person says they can’t do it. I ask Brown shirt to help me, she says no. I ask her again after an hour of overtime. She says no, I should do it because practice makes perfect. She sits and watches.

Hour and forty five minutes after im supposed to leave, Orange shirt cunt of a whore approaches me, asks me if im gonna fix the pallets someone else puts up. I say no, I am not touching that pallet. She tells me she’s gateing off the aisle till someone fixes it. Like I care. Is she gonna take the aisles toys away and give it a spanking because of me? She says safety is everyones job. I tell her and everyone else bitching about me, then somebody else who’s actually on shift can do it. I am going home.

So I leave a circle of bitch power hungary cunts standing around looking at a pallet bitching about me like there actually making a difference. Hey I know, why don’t one of you get the dam machine yourself and do it. Then you can talk.

Fuck all of you. I know im gonna catch shit tomorrow about this cause I’m not the favorite. But you know what, you can all kiss my ass cause I’m sick of taking your shit and im not staying at that dam place another minute longer for free.




Tv Show: Whitney – Unmarried Couple

Show: Whitney

I’m watching this show Whitney on Hulu. Its freakin hilarious.

Its a show about a couple thats been living together for 3 years and are in no rush to get married. They don’t fit into the relationship mold everyone expects. What an awesome concept!

I’ve never seen anyone touch this topic of unmarried couples. I’ve never heard of this show, probably because religious controlling zeagots prevent it from entering mainstream media causing people to think non married couples shouldn’t be ostracized from society.

And it makes me wonder more about this topic and what other couples like this go through.

In this episode, there trying to get a dog and there filling out the application at the shelter and it says “single” or “married.” Even though there together, they have to put “single.” fill out separate applications, and then they go through a lot of bs. This was really interesting to me.

What do you think about relationships between people who have been together for a long time and are unmarried?


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Last night I got stoned and bloody for the first time

Last night I got stoned and bloody.

I went out to be social last night, still reeling from the motorcycle positivity and open mindedness on Friday.

So I hung out at a friends house, drank half a beer, while they got stoned. Did not know you could get “contact high” from second hand smoke. But, apparently I did for the first time. Heres my thoughts on that.

I always thought getting high from pot would be like that feeling of ecstasy right after really good sex when the room is spinning and your entire body feels good. Or like the adrenaline off going 100 mph with the wind in your hair. Mind altering like a 70s movie where the world looks like candy land and everyone’s funny and happy and you have the urge to be Michelangelo the painter.

It aint shit! It was boring. I was like “this is it?” Okay slightly relaxed, a bit friendlier and more mellow. But shit, I get more chemical changes in my body from a can of red bull or a beer. This is barely anything. This slight spaciness is worth dumping girlfriends, loosing jobs, starving cause your broke, getting kicked outta your house, burning you family, hurting people, and basically giving up everything in your life? Wtf?!! This! This is nothing. All that hype. I get better rush off jumping off a waterfall. I always thought the extreme things I do was to make up for the fact that I wasn’t getting high so I can catch up with everybody. Its nothing compared to my normal life. Its boooorrring! Omg I can not believe this little thing means so much to people. Its stupid. Idiots. It just made me feel really lazy. Fuck that I’m going back to skateboarding.

Which is what I did high and drunk. I bombed a hill with my longboard. Lucky there was no cars. I was racing a skateboarder, not realizing how much faster a long board is. I passed her, flyin. Approaching the bottom of the hill I realized my foot coordination and balance was off. Saw the gravel and sharp turn. First thought that ran through my head: “Never go faster than you can run.” Yea. I knew I couldn’t run that fast. But I tried!

Tried to do the running jump off my board. Got three steps across the road. The last step was too slow. I went flying. Skidded across the road to the grass. Someone ended up flipping over bashing the back of my head on something hard. Realized the next day I owned an helmet and I had never skated without it. First time and I crash. Left forarm cut up. Upper left arm, scrapped. Stomach scraped from when shirt ran up. Left thumb, Bruised! Never saw the pad of a thumb bruised very strange. Back of head, possible concussion. Right knee worst part, bleeding. Ass, hurts.

I’m lying on the ground saying “my head hurts. It really fuckin hurts.” Afraid that I might have to go to the hospital stoned. The guy I just met sprints down the neighborhood freakin out trying to make sure I was okay. Apparently I had just missed hitting a metal pole which I would have if I hadn’t tripped. They try getting me up. Then they take my board.

I’m up in a second. I take it away from them. And I ride back. My friend says I’m ready to learn to ride a dirt bike.

* Sibhi

mama says

Lesson Learned:1.  weed aint shit, much better highs in life. 2. probably not a good idea to ride drunk or high. 3. long-boards way faster than skateboards. 4. I can handle.