When I was a kid, Day of our Lives was on before All my Children. Different networks, but sometimes I would be exposed to Days. I vividly remember the saying, “like the sands of the hourglass, these are the days of our lives.”
My sand has almost run out with very little remaining in the top of my hourglass. I am at a crossroads. We will see what happens to me and where I end up.
I am still awake which is an accomplishment in itself. I wanted to come on and write. As some may know, I write some articles on Medium to earn a good 4 cents a month.
As I have been questioning my life throughout the past two weeks, strangers (of all people) help me survive and rekindled the spark I spit on to ensure it sputtered out.
I had someone contact me today who found me from my Medium articles. My Mercari articles caught their attention. They told me they were well-written and I thought maybe I can write.
A few weeks ago I donated all of the copies of my book to the libraries to pollute minds. My neighbor who donated them said someone read the entire book and then gave it to someone else to read. Maybe I can write. May all of this suffering and pain is worth something.
As Kurt Cobain said, “thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.” I cannot thank everyone who has wronged me enough. You will have your story told one day to the world. The thing about Memoirs is they tell the truth. Sometimes I have been the monster.
Boys’ behaviors today had me know the moon was changing. Strawberry moon which explains the sweet gestures.
I am an idiot who has been hurt too many times and opted to ignore the gesture. By the time, I realized it, the gesture was interrupted.
I missed out on an old friend who left a void and things have not been the same since circumstances changed.
The flirts are out in full force.
Strawberry moon, purple rain, and a raspberry beret.
It has been nearly 90 days since I left social media platforms, Twitter excluded.
I probably had over 1,200 “connections” and “friends.” Approximately 20 people sought me out. I am sure the number is less, but I’m not going through and counting.
I visited a “rough” part of town; some people would deem “dangerous.” A group of men were outside, laughing and smiling. I said hi to them because they are human beings and honestly have more than me. They have a sense of community and belonging. I do not have that.
Don’t get me wrong, I have a support system. My friends would put most people’s to shame. I thank them and love them for the care packages, crap to sell, and the welfare checks. They know who they are.
Strangers have helped me survive, and I thank every one of them. Some strangers have gone on to be my support system. I do not know what direction my life is headed, but I know where I’ve been, what I’ve done, and who I am. How many people have that?
People are too fixated on material things they want rather than need. They lose themselves trying to keep up with trends and putting on a performance in life.
The self-proclaimed “power user” who told me I need to “move past my pain” was a person who would go on pummel me into more pain. How much pain can one possibly take in their life?
The fact that he still haunts me has bewildered me. I honestly wish he would move on from whatever delusional dance he decided to drag me into. The dance of darkness, doubt, destruction, and debauchery has ended for me.
That being said, I will be taking a course involving “power users.” I have to take exams and suddenly feel like. Rodney Dangerfield in that movie, “Back to School.”
I got Clifton gone and now I have to kick the AHREFS bots out. Plan A did not work and I will need to become more aggressive, which is no problem. Certain countries may be unable to access this site. I may do a redirect to his site. Tomorrow because I am too tired today. Stupidity exhausts me. Calling it a night.
The United States Postal Service abbreviated as USPS has officially pissed me off. I have lost $200 in the past month because they cannot seem to get their shit straight.
I shipped one package priority (thank fuck), but a refund cannot replace disappointment from the shipper and receiver. Typically, I ship mostly first class, a service not affording me the luxury of insurance.
On June 7, 2019, I went to drop off around 5:00 pm. It must have been quitting time for the man I have heard bitch about me as he was chatting one day and I walked in. “Ugh, I have to go. She is here.” Piss off fucktard. You are fortunate to have a fucking job and not have to sell your soul in an attempt to survive.
Four packages had Harry Houdini’ed, meaning they vanished that day.
Guess what? The USPS does not care. It is not their fault. I attempted to speak to the postmaster who sits on her ass all day, pushing a pencil looking busy and acting important. How she runs a large post office is beyond me. Maybe it’s a case of “it’s not who you know, …….. “
I was directed to the website where they always give me a blanket insincere apology.
I am the one who is screwed over. I do all my shit on my own except transport the shit. I need the USPS to do just that, and they cannot even get that right. “Going postal” only refers to the customers they dick over.
Solutions. Do you not think I have thought of everything?
“Have your mailman pick them up.” First of all, it is a woman who is already overworked, and my mail does not arrive until after 4:00 pm every day. Do you think she wants to be burdened with me even though “it’s her job?” She is busting her ass, and I am sure she is underpaid for being overworked.
“Wait in line for them to scan it.” Oh yes. with one or two associates working the counter, let me wait in a long-ass line when time is money. It is 2019, I should not have to wait in line because technology exists to save me time.
“Print a SCAN form and then it’s on them.” Nothing is their fault, if they lose it, I still get screwed. Why waste my time?
“Drive to another post office.” I don’t know if anyone knows this, but the USPS is financially fucked as am I and I am not wasting more of my gas driving to the next town which is not nearby to ensure they perform their job correctly.
FedEx and UPS are too expensive, and I feel even slower than the USPS. The USPS is not my responsibility. They have HMFICs making too much money to figure their inadequacies out. They keep raising rates, and the quality continues to get worse. Get your shit together because you are a misled organization or government entity-whatever title suits you when it is convenient.
The way I picked you up as a visitor is unconventional and you visit every day twice a day. It’s been over 6 months and I should no longer see you. I am sure I know who you are.
If you are who I think you are, GET OVER IT!
Obviously, you do not possess technical superiority as you once claimed because I caught you. You definitely struggle big time with SEO. Need help? I can get you to land.
What if I cannot write?
Self-doubt surfaces and perhaps an additional lie was told by the asshole as part of his ploy to leave me torn asunder. Was anything he said true? He stayed in his subdued life as he pushed me into a downward spiral. Thinking he was a friend and maybe a fan, manipulation was the only thing in his master plan.
Perhaps this entire trek has been a talentless train wreck.
My content was issued a warning stating that I am being watched. Whatever.
My own mother does not even know I exist hence why would anyone else wonder about me? If I went missing, by the time anyone noticed, the first 48 hours would be exceeded. That has always been the case. Living my life fearlessly and recklessly, it is shocking and somewhat disappointing that I am still here.
If something does happen to me, the warning and threat have been recorded. Unlike most pansies, I do not fear death. The only thing I have left from all this carnage is my life and if he wants to take that, he could be my guest.
On August 9, 2018, a company called Visme had emailed me offering me a free membership. I released my book August 11 and was working on that. Nothing else mattered. Everything carries a date. I write memoirs.
Last week, they reached out again to follow-up. They are a competitor of Canva. They wanted me to leave Canva and go with them. Being a good person gets me nowhere. I wrote a list of expectations in exchange for my user experience with them. Naturally, everyone wants something for nothing and frankly I AM DONE.
They never responded. I am a Leo. Leos are loyal. I will continue to use Canva and Canva has my full-fledged support. They offer beautiful designs, are affordable (unlike Visme), and do printing as well.
Also, Canva has a female co-founder and CEO. They are not based in America because the Divided States has issues with allowing females to run companies. If you know me, you know I support female-led companies because women are better leaders.
Canva does not pay me to love them and speak highly of them. Canva is an amazing and caring company and everyone should use them. Check them out.
I am a writer. I write very descriptive product descriptions. If you opt to be ignorantly blind and NOT read the details, do not tell me you are disappointed. Look in the mirror, fall on your ass, and get yourself humble. You truly do not know how blessed you are that something was smaller than you thought because YOU chose to NOT read.
Driving drunk at 7:00 am is never a good idea. Blowing through stop signs, driving 70 MPH on a road with a 20 MPH speed limit, and nearly colliding with me is dangerous. Blue SUV a VUE PA KRJ-1823. This woman is a hazard to society.
ahrefs -what is with the obsession? The bots you send to this website endlessly deems you pathetic. I have tweeted you several times asking what the fascination is and you opt to ignore me. I am calling you out right now. Cut it with the crap. Find someone else to cyber stalk-creeps!
Has anyone ever heard of Duck Duck Go? Another bot-infused, self-proclaimed “private” search engine. I know who owns them and they say your searches are private, but I hate to break it to you, they are not.
Also, Saturday IS NOT a business day.
Blackened water fills these silenced lungs
Drowning in words from too many tongues
In sorrow and sadness, I drown
Everyone scattered as I fell down
My broken crown falling to the ground
As I looked up, I saw no one was around
In the heavy, scalding waters I soak
As each one of you went onto revoke
Will I ever come up for air?
Am I just headed nowhere?
Perhaps, I will be resurrected?
After never ever being selected?
Will the black water fill?
When will I lose my will?
Will I just die and bloat?
Will I survive and float?
I really do not feel like writing this post, but I need to explain how search results work.
I cannot find a job regardless if I act poised, professional, polished, profane, or personal. I paid $500.80 for this website hence it is my property and it is my personal website. I have a 1st Amendment right and when something lands on Google as a result of my website, I can remove it, but it will still show up as a search result. If removed and clicked, it leads to a 301. It is still a search result.
Taking posts down does not erase them from the search results. I have to go out of my way and get it removed. Frankly, it is not worth my time to remove any content I posted because I have a choice and right to write whatever I want on my website.
Sometimes, I test my SEO strength. Page 3 is never good enough and neither is page 2. I want page 1. Page 3 takes 1 minute, page 2 takes 5, and page 1 takes 10 minutes.
Do you know how much money companies waste in SEO Strategy and Social Media Advertising? It can all be done within minutes and I do all of my own for free. Self-taught. Yet, no matter what I do, NO ONE WILL HIRE ME.
When you are in your home and off from work, do you wear your business suit all the time? I am sure you don’t. This is my site, my domain, my home on the web. I sure as hell am going to do what I want on it. I apologize if you do not agree with my content posted. I do not ask anyone to visit my website. Visitors come by choice. This site is not monetized and I am not a beggar.
17 years later
Some things just never change. I want to write a book Melissa’s Manic MENmoirs so you can meet these pieces of work.
For four years, this disloyal douche told me he was leaving his delusional duchess and here she thinks they are happy. Oh yes, he is ecstatic to have a burden by his side.
Over the course of those four years, I dated another disloyal dick who knocked a chick up while we were dating. After deeming myself officially done with men and doing well with it, enter the most demented of douches in the summer of 2017. He was married and did a number on me. Another one who was unhappy, moving out, in a loveless and sexless relationship, and was somehow intrigued by me.
Nothing physical happened (even though he told me he wanted it to), but emotional shit did. He discounted the whole thing, but I remember him telling me one night he loved me and never loved his wife. Months later, he told me he needed me in his life. When I didn’t conform to him, I was discarded and the whole situation was discounted. He chased me. The more I tried to scare him away, the more magnetic I became. Talk about breaking my fucking heart. He was the modern-day Ron. I just got over him for good maybe two months ago. He is the one who sent me on this crazy-ass journey and if he checks in, I am sure he is laughing his ass off at how fucked my life is.
What really instills the ire inside of me is all of the lies. They lie to their significant others. Why would I think they would be telling me the truth? People wonder why I have MAJOR trust issues and am skeptical and cynical.
Well I was super extra and super emotional. I now know why. After not getting a period for three months, finally today Aunt Flo came to town. I knew I wasn’t knocked up because I took tests. Maybe if I was, a DNA test would prove to the bed-ridden beauty that Prince Charming has been cheating on her. He is a weak coward just like his sick spouse. The weak love the weak.
Have I mentioned, I am no longer holding ANYTHING back? No one will hire me anyways so why act all poised and proper when I can talk about whatever I want because I paid $500.80 for this website. It’s mine. If you don’t like it, bounce.
Even though I know I keep your attention. Why have any shame? Judge me all you want because IDGAF.
I can point out your nasty Monistat just chilling in the bathroom and your designer handbags hanging around. I can send you screenshots with time stamps and you still do not believe that your boyfriend has been cheating on you for four years.
“We are happy.” Maybe you are, but he sure as hell isn’t calling for me over the past four years. He lies to you just like he lies to me telling me he has been planning on leaving you, saying, “there are problems, things aren’t good.”
Here you are living in your perfect little bubble thinking Mr. Wonderful is who you imagine him to be. You are weak and need him so much that you don’t believe that he has been very disloyal to you. Obviously, you haven’t satisfied him sexually in four years. Yet, keep thinking he is content and complacent because he is neither with you.
You two definitely deserve each other. He loves to be needed and you have no one else so you will cling to him and be a burden to him.
You were the rebound chick. Once a rebound chick, always a rebound chick. Keep using him to live rent-free and have a sense of false love.
A SMALL TOWN GIRL WITH A BIG TOWN MIND
