Morrigan's blog: "I rant...therefore I am."

Eight years.

Eight years of nights at home, friendships lost, empty beds, and sleepless nights.

Eight years of worrying about everyone else before myself.

Eight years of doing without all the things I've ever wanted just so that we could have all the things we need.

I feel liberated.

I want to dance. I want to sing. I want to come home from work every night bone-weary and ready to drop and sit down to write again...and really mean it. I want to smoke, I want to stay up all night on purpose, I want to start a new corset collection and fuck 'til I lose 20 pounds.

I want to belong to someone. I want to be wanted. I want to be owned.

I want to step out onto my front porch and cry out to the moon and the stars, give it to me now...I want it all...and whatever you do, world, just...please...make it HURT.

I had a terrible, awful, no good, very bad day today. I woke up still exhausted. I dragged myself out of bed and practically crawled into the bathroom to get ready for work. I called my best friend to see how she was doing [a lot of family drama there...not really my place to say] and she was upset so I had to be there for her. After the conversation, I was concerned about her and a little bit more down. I hung up the phone just as I was walking into work...and beginning a day filled with the most fucked up, frustrating, mentally draining phone calls ever.

I hate people.

But yesterday...ah, yesterday...

I thought I'd never get to have another girl's day without my daughter along. My roommate and I went to the naughty store and bought a few things [giggles maniacally], had Chinese food for lunch, and had our nails done. It totally reminded me of things I used to to with my best friend. Long weekends on Vince's farm as she proudly displayed the newest contraption built for her dungeon and crazy Saturday afternoons racing around St. Louis and Jefferson County while Dina scared the fucking hell out of me as she drove, talked on the phone, and smoked a frigging joint all at the same time. Talk about multi-tasking.

I can never quite be that girl again. That 20 something chica with the Misfits bandana over her long braided hair and the black wife-beater fit snugly over her tits. I'm older. I'm wiser. I'm fatter and sassier. I'm way more jaded.

I've dealt with the best and the worst that humanity has to offer. Mostly the worst. I've spent years surrounded by rednecks, cheaters, liars, tweekers, and lowlifes.

And, you know what?

My fucking life is FUN.

Well, at least it's fun often enough to keep it interesting.

So, yeah...give it to me. The laughter makes the tears more bearable. The taste of the food is worth the hours of cooking. The heat of the tequila makes me tingle. The beat of the music soothes my soul. The pain reminds me that I'm alive.

I am invincible.

Come on, world, make me your bitch.