A to Z Challenge 2024: Day 14: Neurotic Neverland

 

Image by Angelo Giordano from Pixabay

Let’s get this out of the way first.

I believe Michael Jackson was innocent of the crimes he was accused of.

I have no desire to engage in arguments on this subject.

That being said, I will proceed with what I want to discuss in this post.

When I was in my late teens, you couldn’t turn on the radio without hearing Michael Jackson. He was really taking off as a solo performer. Although I enjoyed his catchy tunes, I also envied his popularity and his seemingly effortless confidence. He had an incredible star power that a fuckup like me could never hope to possess.

Years later, when I learned about the anguish Michael hid from the public, I found myself empathizing with him.

Neverland Ranch, in all its over-the-top ostentatiousness and Jackson’s befriending of boys, was his way of trying to give himself the childhood he never had.

Down inside, the superstar I envied was an anxious mess tortured by his own feelings of inadequacy.

Michael Jackson was a lot like me after all.

A to Z Challenge 2024: Day 13: Meal Planning

 

Image by Dorothe from Pixabay

I often see meal planning viewed as a miserable task that women rather than men are saddled with, and I suppose that’s true. I’ve been divorced since 1994, and I didn’t do any meal planning in those days. We mostly ate frozen dinners or takeout. We only lived about a mile from the nearest grocery store and there were multiple casual and fast-food restaurants close at hand.

These days, I find meal planning helps me stay organized. I live way out in the sticks and work from home, so I can’t just pop into the grocery store or order takeout.

Admissibly, if it weren’t for my son and I sharing a home, I wouldn’t bother. I’d just eat sandwiches and frozen dinners or not bother to eat. I don’t do well living alone.

I am that rare woman who enjoys and even covets meal planning, and it certainly isn’t because I’m some sort of trad wife. I’m not any kind of wife. I’m an unapologetic feminist who pushes back against sex stereotypes and prescriptive gender roles. Meal planning helps my chaotic brain stay on target with organizing my day. Also, I’ve found I like cooking, so long as there isn’t too much prep work involved.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

Ornery Owl

Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors

"Just like Julia Child, I enjoy cooking with wine. Sometimes the wine even makes it into whatever I'm cooking."

Bitty Bunny

Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors

"I've got a carrot you can use in your next concoction. I taste-tested it for you."

Hangry Wyrm

Free use image from Clker Free Vector Images

"Hey, Ornery, maybe you could cook the carrot in the wine."

Cactus Clem

Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors

"I know your homemade mozzarella experiment ended up more like ricotta, Ornery, but I hope you make it again. Drinkin' all the runoff whey made me feel like a new cactus man!"

Ghost Town Grover

Free use image from Clker Free Vector Images

"I ain't sure how much you can take Clem's assessment of yer cuisine as a compliment, Ornery. He drinks runoff ditch water too."

A to Z Challenge 2024: Day 12: Limerence Is A Losing Game

 

Image by Victoria from Pixabay

Limerence is a lousy lie that likes to let itself get mistaken for love.

By the time you realize it’s limerence and not love, you’ve already lost the game.

Limerence is intense, all-consuming, and completely one-sided.

I have never been in love.

I have been in a limerent state many times.

A few of these episodes came close to being my undoing.

After the last time, I realized I don’t know how to play the love game, and I don’t want to play any more.

Don’t feel sorry for me or tell me I need to keep trying or reassure me there are good guys out there.

I don’t even give a fuck.

If Prince Charming showed up at my door this very minute, I’d tell him to keep on walking.

When it comes to love—I mean limerence—I’m just plain too old for that shit, and I’m just plain done.

End of.

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

Image by No-longer-here from Pixabay

"Crap, it's Prince Charming! I'm just going to hide here and wait until he leaves."

A to Z Challenge 2024: Killers!

 

I’ve gone through much of my life feeling like there was a noose around my neck.

This sensation is caused by laryngospasms, which, in my case, are primarily caused by anxiety.

Because my throat was tensed up so often due to stress, I developed vocal cord dysfunction.

I went through two months of physical therapy to unlearn the erroneous lessons that stress and anxiety taught my body.

Even now, I have to make a conscious effort to focus on exhalation because my larynx defaults to closing on inhalation.

Stress: it’s a killer, and it will fuck you up. No joke.

Enjoy some relaxing music.

https://odysee.com/@DetenteMeditation:b/detente-meditation-music-2-hours-deep-2:b?r=GTwnGJ4fFBQfzuJgpHVpfKBKaC9b8B16

A to Z Challenge 2024: Day 10: Just Lost Track

 

Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay

Well, would you look at that?

I thought I’d posted ahead to the twelfth, but I’m two days behind.

If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s fucking up.

I guess everyone must be good at something.

Even if it’s something bad.

Like keeping heads in your refrigerator.

I’m not talking about lettuce.

I always say no matter how much of a fuckup I am, at least I’m not a serial killer or something equally as detrimental.

I’m just a schmuck who would lose track of my brain if it wasn’t glued into my skull.

Welcome to my world, People!

~Ornery Owl Is Chagrined~

Image by Lubos Houska from Pixabay

A to Z Challenge 2024: Day 9: Island of Me

 

Image by Viktor Kirilchuk from Pixabay

Does the Island of Me have a population of one, or should the myriad of characters floating around in my imagination stand up and be counted too?

If we did count them all, how many would there be?

I occasionally wonder if I’m a character in someone’s story.

If so, I’ve decided they have a sick sense of humor, and if I ever get out of this book, I’m going to whup their ass.

Then I’ll return to the Island of Me, even though sometimes I’m not sure I belong there.

Still, if not there, then where do I belong?

~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~

Free use image by Gordon Johnson on Pixabay

A to Z Challenge 2024: Day 8: Hysterical Neurotic

 

Image by Christian Dorn from Pixabay

This one's short and sweary.

When I was sixteen years old, I was branded a hysterical neurotic by a clown of a shrink.

I realized this guy was a bigger fuckwit than I was, even though I was a self-deprecating, self-destructive, self-medicating trash fire of a human being.

He labeled me a hysterical neurotic, and I labeled him a dipshit with his head so far up his own ass that whenever he farted, he thought he was seeing clouds.

I’m still proud of my younger self for not buying the bullshit he was selling.

He didn’t give a damn about anyone he stuck labels on.