The world just looks gloomy today, at five in the morning: cold rain, dark clouds, air so cold it takes a person’s breath away. Almost like Mother Nature is sad, or depressed, and expresses her emotions in the weather.


Lonely highway, two lane blacktop, faded yellow line following beside the car like an obedient little puppy. Engine roar, tires hitting hydroplane, rain off the roof; sitting behind the wheel of this beast is simply a girl trying to get to her minimum wage job in the early morning hours.

Bass, guitar riffs, welcoming noise that brings her back to a soft nostalgia. A song she hadn’t heard in years, yet she knows every single lyric. Almost like a friend that’ll always be there when she needs them.


Gloomy skies, pouring rain, lonely two lane blacktop with faded yellow lines, but the music is all she cares about. Singing along at the top of her lungs, not caring how she sounds or if anybody even hears her.

For the first time in a while, she feels happy. Like no stress in the world could ever exist when she has her music.

Turn it up for all eternity.





Hello! Finally, a real piece instead of a rant! Incredible!

Literally sitting in my car at 5:30 in the morning, waiting until I have to work…. But hey, boredom and great music make for creativity!

The song that inspired this piece was Celebrate by Mitchel Musso. I remember when it first came out, and it was one of my favorites for a really long time. It slowly drifted off my playlist, and I’d forgotten about it.

But thank goodness I’ve got it back!

Thank you for sitting though my mediocre work. Means a lot. (Insert heart emoji.)

So, eternally cranking the volume,



Early Morning Stress Chat

So, it’s currently 4:35am in BC…. And I had to set an alarm for 7am because of work…. But what’s the point setting an alarm when a person can’t even sleep? Right?

I’m not a doctor, but I couldn’t sleep for the life of me because my legs hurt like hell. Growing pains, overuse, stress — I have no idea why they’re hurting me to the point of tears…. I took an ibuprofen around 4, so hopefully that helps….

*Massive sigh to try to suppress the tears*

So, I have a full shift today, and I’m not looking forward to it.

Isn’t that just sad? A job I did love, and now I’m not looking forward to it? Now I dread it?

I think that’s so sad.

I had a chat with my boss yesterday about the issue, about the other coworker and what they said, and how I felt, and other coworkers who had made me feel that way before yesterday (yes, there’s more people who feel the need to bully and hate me because I try my best to do my job….) And my boss told me that I should ignore the negativity by not letting it get to me, and report it if it continues.

I’ll try to ignore the negativity, and think of them as “words with no meaning”, but they still feel like knives between my vertebrae…. But what if those blades don’t touch a nerve…? I’ve just got to hope they don’t touch a nerve. That it’ll just leave a flesh wound. That it will heal and I’ll be fine.

Breathe, and breathe, and breathe some more. Take today one breath at a time. Don’t stress. Relax. Go to work and enjoy it because that’s all that matters. Haters and bullies in the way don’t deserve to crush my feelings.

*Massive breath of fresh countryside rain to cleanse my lungs and clear my mind*

Well…. Thank you, reader, for sitting through that whole stress rant. I appreciate it. Sorry if it was a waste of your time. Lately, I’ve just been needing to rant. Once things clear up, and this stress deflates, I should be back to posting my regular content.

Breathing deeply,


Another Life Update (that nobody asked for….)


I had to go to work today. And my shift felt like absolute dog shit.

Firstly, a coworker made me cry because they were telling me what to do, then when I told them I was doing it, they came back with “don’t give me fucking attitude.”

Yeah…. I “love” my job….

It feels like hell there. It used to be a fun place to work. Now it’s hell. Just watching the clock ’til I can punch out. Avoiding eye contact with all humans. Speaking as little as possible. Pretending I don’t exist.

I’m not an expert, but I don’t think that’s what work is supposed to be. But, what do I know?

And tomorrow is a early shift…. So hopefully things go better…. I just feel like shit…. All I want to do is take some pain pills, and never leave my bed…. Ugh, wish me luck tomorrow.

Going to sleep, hopefully sleep off my mind and thoughts….

Until the smoke clears,


*Warning: Life Update, or something like that….*

Hello…. Dear reader, if this post is even being read…. And if it is: if you’re sensitive to profanity, I suggest you don’t read anymore. Because there’s a shit storm of curse words in your near-future.

I haven’t been blogging for what feels like years, though it’s only been months…. I think the last post was February, or something…. Um…. So, what’s happened since? Where’d I go? (Not that anybody cares, but….)

Stress has nearly killed me. Thoughts have been drifting in and out of my brain for what feels like a dangerous eternity, and there’s been so many simple times where i have no fucking clue anymore…. Sure, one could say I’m exaggerating, and you’re entitled to your opinion.

My headspace lately has been a ticking fucking time bomb. One second, I’m decently mellow, and the next second, I want to get in my car and drive off a steep embankment into the Fraser River. And it seems that no matter what I do to distract myself from all of the oppressing bullshit, it always finds its way back to fuck up my day.

Let me rant about the bullshit, shall I?

People who tell me they’re my “friends”, and only ever contact me when they need something from me. Whether it’s a car ride, or money, or attention, or whatever the case may be. It’s never just “Hey, let’s just talk and discuss some shit, and maybe get to know each other as human beings.” It’s always greed, in one form or another. Because it always seems that sitting and talking as human beings is too complicated, and gets classified as “being too clingy”. (When I would rather talk to people about shit like that.)

And also recently, I’ve had friends just fucking turn into ghosts! (And if that ghosting bitch is reading this, show your sulfur and I’ll bring the silver.) Like for NO FUCKING REASON, no words from them, or any explanation as to why, they just vanish like they were never even there to begin with. Shit like that fucks me up, because I go back and I think “what did I say to them, what did I do to them, what could I have done better??” And I never get a straightforward answer! Maybe there’s so many things I could have done, or maybe there were none!

Like…. I’m just…. I have no idea!

On top of my “friends” not being “friends”, work has been hell!

My manager appreciates my work — I mean, I WORK MY ASS OFF. And I’ve only been working a year here. And, since I’ve impressed my manager and I’m dedicated and hardworking, they grant me more hours.

My “fellow colleagues” don’t have the same vision my manager does. THEY THINK that since I’ve only been there a year, and they’ve been there 10+ years, that “the manager shouldn’t be giving hours out to fuckers who haven’t been here enough to learn how shit works, and to fuckers who don’t have years of experience under their belts.” (Actual line from an actual “colleague”, by the way. Fucker nearly yelled that while I walked into the room, and it was CLEAR AS FUCKING DAY that they were talking about ME.)

Yeah. I get it. I haven’t been working at the same deadend job for 10+ years. But I work my ass off every damn shift. I don’t cancel on shifts just because it’s Friday, or just because I feel “sick”. I’ve gone into work and have WORKED LIKE HELL when I’m ill! I’ve only called in sick a handful of times, when I really was sick and I was coughing my lungs out.

There was another “colleague”, who was talking to the fucker “colleague”, and I asked him away from the fucker, “Were they talking about me?” I knew they were, but I wanted to see if this bitch would weasel their way out of my question.

They said yeah, they were.

I ranted and told them that I’m sorry if the “colleagues” hate me because I’m accepting hours and I’m working my ass off, and if that makes them mad, I’m sorry! But there was no reason the fucker had to bitch about me, and hate on me and complain!

The “colleague” replied with, “See? The reason they said those things was to get under your skin. And it’s working.”



And YES! I AM PISSED OFF! BUT they still don’t need to gossip shit about me and make me feel like shit!!

And you might be thinking, “Well, it’s just one person, don’t let it get to you.”

It’s literally the whole fucking department.


They’ve been bitching for MONTHS! Because I’ve been accepting every hour I’ve been given, and I work like hell, and I want to prove myself and that I’m a decent worker and that I am reliable and trustworthy and honest and incredible and a decent human!


So, what does a person do when that happens?? Stop working harder than I need to? Start slacking off like everybody else? Not show up for work for the hell of it? Call in sick when I’m not really sick?


Ugh, I’ve got a fucking headache now….

So, to put this whole post in a nutshell, my life sucks. And I feel stuck. And I hate my life. And I really just want to smash my fist through a concrete wall.

I’m sorry you, reader, sat through all of that…. I applaud you, and I thank you, and I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time.

So, until I can fix my mind again.

Unnecessarily candidly,


Sick Day

As I barricade myself

In a blanket fort,

While choking down 


And NeoCitrans

And Fisherman’s Friends,

I am left

In my own world

Of solitude,

Of coughing up my lungs,

And praying for my chest.

Naps are many,

But not of good quality.

I’m always tired,

And tired always.

I wish only

To beat this sickness

And be better,

Like I was before this all happened.


I can’t remember….

It feels like I’ve been


For so long….

Oh well,

Put the kettle on,

Fill the medicine cup

To the ten mL line,

And let me tip back

The concoction

That could only be described

As pure nasty.

Let me nap

And rest

And pray

That my sickness will leave me







Ello, ello, ello!

Haven’t written in a long minute! Holy crap!

Well, let me update you: I GOT SICK.

So, I was thinking how I could be productive, and all I wanted to do was write.

So I got a poem out of it!

Let me know what you think!

Choking down another shot of Buckley’s,



*WARNING* Possible rant? I don’t even know yet…. Let’s just talk and see where this sh*t show takes us, hmm?

There’s these little things that keep triggering me, that keep bringing back a thought or a feeling or an emotion, that I thought – and almost wished – I’d forgotten about. I keep getting hit with all of this nostalgia, remembering sh*t that had happened to me in the past, and things I’ve learned and grown from, and I just… I don’t even know. I honestly do not know. Like, I sort of like remembering things that hold a place near and dear in my heart, because they have shaped me and made me grow as a person. But then I hate it because it feels like it’s ripping my heart from my chest.

You feel?

Like, it’s just brought back by little things that I remember – seeing a picture or a quote, or just some really simple sh*t that would have no other real relevance – and at first, it’s nice. It’s comforting. It’s like things used to be, before the pain and heartache.

But then, reality seems to slap the sh*t out of my heart and it hurts, it burns, and the pain feels like it’s unbearable. Like, things can’t be like they used to be. Things aren’t simple anymore, and they can’t be fixed with a wad of duct tape and some glitter stickers.

The pain’s been done, and I cannot fix it.

It hurts. Things like that really hurt. And I wish it didn’t hurt that way, but it does. And I guess, all that can happen now is to either dwell on it, grow from it.

And I really don’t want to dwell on it.

So… onward and upward? Keep on keeping on? Build a bridge and get over it?

Thanks for letting me word vomit. This is different from my normal “blogs”, but this was just on my mind, and I just thought I’d write it off, and share that little tidbit, about my weird and somewhat confusing brain. Still trying to figure out how to read the fricken manual.

Forever hitting the snooze button,


An Ode To My Darkest Days

You saved my life.

That is not an exaggeration,

Or an overstatement,

Or a wild and crazy lie I’ve taken years and years to create.

My Darkest Days,

You saved my life,

And continue to save my life.

You first came to me one dark and painful day.

A day of black and white,

Of numbness and void,

Of loneliness and the feeling of wanting to die.

There was nobody for me to turn to.

Not my friends,

Not my family,

Not people who said they cared when I knew they didn’t.

Music was there to comfort me,

Taking me into its soft and caring arms,

Telling me everything was going to be okay,

That there’s always a rainbow after the storm.

And that was when I met you.

You sat idly by,

As if staying close to make sure I was okay.

You came and introduced yourself,

And I was immediately hooked.

You soothed me,

You took care of me,

You saved me.

You made me feel like I was strong,

That I was going to make it out alive,

That nothing could bring me down to the point of wishing for my very last breath to happen already.

You have ways been there for me.

Through the years, you never left my side.

You always came back to make sure I had a place to turn to,

And I always turned to your loving arms.

My Darkest Days,

Thank you,

For being there for me when nobody else was.

For guiding me through the void.

For showing me the rainbow after the storm.

For holding my hand and never letting go.

My heart will always belong to you.

I love you,

My Darkest Days.






Forever listening to My Darkest Days,


My Greatest Fear

Branches snap beneath my feet as I run as hard as my body will let me, away from the very thing I fear most.

The black sky above me feels as though it’s crushing me, allowing very little light to show me the way. Like it, too, has teamed up with my greatest fear, and hopes to destroy me all the same.

Aside from the snapping branches, my racing heart is the only other sound I hear. Like it’s going to beat its way out of my chest, and explode like fresh bombs around me, as if they’re being dropped from the black sky above. Like the very thing that proves I’m still alive could just as simply end my life.

Winding past gnarled trees and over knotted roots, balance becomes something I no longer have, and something I desperately crave. With no light, my sight becomes useless, like sunglasses at night.

The black sky is taking out my senses.

Chilling me to the bone is this cold winter night. I cannot feel, or even comprehend, whether my body is working or not, like it should. And since there is no balance, I nearly know if up and down are where they’re supposed to be.

The ground slaps my face then, as if it, too, is against me. The dead leaves cover everything there is, as if trying to smother any sign of life. They cover me, too, as if they’re still trying to complete that task.

My limbs don’t listen to me as I try to get up. They lay, unmoving, as I will them to even twitch. I only receive stillness from them.

In the dead of this cold winter night, my racing heart begins to slow to a dull beat. It is now that I truly realize one small thing, as my greatest fear creeps up on me, taking my last breath:

I am doomed.






Forever fearing,


Crystalline Ice

Crystalline ice, falling from the sky. Most think it’s pretty – beautiful, even. They don’t know the truth behind the angelically white snow. The horror that exists behind the immortal beauty, and the war that ensues between opposing worlds.

Black sky, frostbite breeze, and that crystalline ice that’s falling from the sky.

Gunshots echoing even louder in the cold. Coming from a chilled and smoking rifle barrel, aimed directly at a scared little girl, who’s crying so much that her blood red tears freeze to her cheeks. Her loved ones, fallen dead all around her in the snow, seek to sink into themselves in true death.

The night’s deadliest creature, the man thinks from behind the chilled barrel, his wild eyes locked on the scared little girl. As innocent as they may seem, they all have to die.

The immortal child cries, pleads, BEGS. But the vampire hunter only tightens his grip on the rifle, and pulls the trigger.

Echoing gunshots, frostbite breeze, and that crystalline ice that falls from the sky.

Most think it’s pretty – beautiful, even. They don’t know the truth behind the angelically white snow. The horror that exists behind the immortal beauty, and the war that ensues between opposing worlds.






Ello, ello, ello.

Just another vampire piece.

Forever baring my fangs,


So Be It

I walk this highway, with no real destination in mind. It’s all about the journey, they say. So be it.

Hitchhikers die all the time, my best friend screamed at me before I left; even now, I swear I can hear her voice on the wind.

She always worries so much. That’s why I like her, I guess. She worries enough so that I don’t have to. I mean, I probably should, but…. I don’t know. Living carefree feels blissful sometimes; I couldn’t imagine worrying about things to ruin that feeling.

Cars and trucks whip last me, also seeming to have no destination in mind. Back and forth, they never stop coming and going. Where from and where to, it doesn’t matter.

Like everybody says, it’s all about the journey. So be it.

A beat up black pickup passes me, its right turn signal on as it pulls off on the shoulder. The passenger side window rolls down, inviting me. Inside the truck, behind the wheel, sits a man with kind eyes. He asks me if I need a lift, and the chilling breeze around me screams the voice of my best friend, reminding me hitchhikers die all the time.

Her voice fades as I lift myself into the cab of the beat up black pickup, closing the door behind me.

This man is friendly; during the ride to the next city, we talk. He’s a decent conversationalist, never letting the conversation lull. It’s almost nice.

The grey day turns to night, and the truck rides on.

Until it pulls off the highway, at a rest stop.

He cuts the engine, locks the doors.


He leans over.

Touches me.




Still doesn’t.



Can’t breathe.


He dumps my body in a dirty ditch between where I’d been and where I was going, and drives off into the night without looking back.

Like everybody says, it’s all about the journey. So be it.







Last Thursday, I was inspired by the theatre group I go to. And so here is a dedication to the ever-taking Highway Of Tears.

Thumb out with a gun in my bag,