Thoughts Unleashed

~Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys. Respectfully~

I really wish people understood just how unbothered I am these days. When I say, not my circus, not my monkeys, I mean that with my whole heart. If something doesn’t directly touch my life or the lives of the people I love, I don’t care. That might sound cold, but honestly, it’s the only way I keep my mind clear and my heart from breaking over things that aren’t mine to carry.

I’ve always had deep empathy, and I used to let other people’s problems eat at me for days. Then I’d find out it was all rumor and gossip, and I’d feel like a fool for giving it space in my head. These days, when I hear things, I usually keep them to myself. I did recently pass something along because I felt that person needed to know, but that was the exception. I just can’t do that anymore — it only feeds the garbage people say about each other, and I can’t stand that energy.

I know people talk about me too — I’ve heard it. But I don’t bother addressing it. Some folks are just so toxic they can’t help themselves, and I want no part of that. I’m old enough to know: if someone talks about others to you, they’re definitely talking about you to others. That’s why I know exactly who gets a seat at my table and who doesn’t. And I’m very careful about what I share — people think I’m an open book, but very few actually know the real me. That’s a gift more people should learn to give themselves. It’s protected me and my family for years.

The funny thing is, I’m a social person. People meet me and within minutes they’re spilling their life story, then wondering why they opened up so fast. I just have that kind of energy — I can read people like a book. But after that? I need to recharge. That’s why I disappear after work. I use up all my energy being “on” for others.

And the emotions? I feel them all. If someone’s angry, I tense right up and, if they get short with me, I’ll tell them exactly how I feel — no filter. If someone’s sad, I want to hug them. If someone’s happy, I feel their joy. It’s beautiful and exhausting at the same time.

At the end of the day, though, it all comes back to this: Not my circus, not my monkeys. If it doesn’t affect me or the people I love, do your thing — just leave me out of it. Respectfully.

We See You:
The Truth Behind Manipulation and Insecurity

There’s a disturbing kind of cruelty that some people carry—the kind where they secretly do things to hurt or inconvenience others, just to laugh at the discomfort they’ve caused. This isn’t harmless fun. This kind of behavior is a red flag—one that points to deep psychological issues, often linked to psychopathy. Finding joy in someone else’s confusion, pain, or frustration isn’t clever or funny—it’s toxic.

These behaviors often walk hand in hand with narcissism. Narcissists crave constant attention. When someone else becomes the center of admiration or joy, the narcissist feels threatened. That’s when the manipulation begins. They’ll twist the narrative, create drama, or subtly make the other person look unstable—all to shift focus back to themselves. They don’t care about truth. They care about control.

But here’s the thing: it always backfires.

People start to see through the games. The fake kindness. The performative concern. The sly comments meant to plant seeds of doubt. They catch on. The narcissist ends up exposing their own insecurity, not the supposed flaws of the person they tried to discredit.

Gaslighting is another tired tactic—acting overly kind or supportive just to influence someone into doing what they want, then laughing behind their back like they’ve pulled off some master move. But people know these games now. The manipulator doesn’t come off smart—they come off petty and emotionally stunted. It’s not power. It’s desperation.

They may try to paint someone else as crazy or unstable, but in time, the truth becomes clear. The real issue lies with the bully. The fake smiles. The whispering gossip. The need to make others small just to feel big. It’s all rooted in insecurity and emotional immaturity.

Most people don’t even waste their energy fighting these manipulators. They let them continue—because watching someone unravel in their own web of lies and fake behavior is its own kind of justice. Those who gossip about others are usually just terrified their own flaws will be noticed. But trust this: the rest of us see it all. And we’re no longer fooled.

Has anybody else ever had a feeling they had a ghost who refused to haunt them? I have a random thought to share.

I’m pretty sure my old house was haunted. Not in a scary, “poltergeist throwing plates” way, but in a passive-aggressive, “this ghost is embarrassed to be associated with me” kind of way. Hear me out.

I first suspected it when I was in the shower, belting out an impeccable rendition of “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. I hit the high note—badly—and felt an odd, icy breeze pass through. At first, I thought, Oh no, the ghost hates my singing. But then I realized the ghost didn’t slam the door or make the lights flicker in protest. No, it simply left. Left.

Another time I caught it again—well, sort of. I was standing in front of the mirror, having a fake argument with my old co-worker, Steve (changed his name to Steve here 🤣). You know Steve—the guy who sends unnecessary “Reply All” emails like the world needs to know his every thought. Anyway, I was mid-rant, waving my toothbrush around for emphasis like a lawyer presenting evidence. That’s when I saw the faintest shadow in the corner of the room. It lingered for a split second before disappearing, almost as if it sighed and thought, Nope. Not today.

But the kicker was the weekend I decided to deep clean my house. I started in the kitchen, determined to organize. Five minutes in, I remembered I hadn’t checked the mail, so I wandered outside. On the way back, I noticed the plants needed watering, so I grabbed the hose. That led to me washing my car, which made me realize I needed to vacuum the floor mats. Two hours later, I found myself deep-cleaning the bathroom and wondering why there was a half-empty box of cereal on the counter.

As I stood there, utterly confused about my own life choices, I swear I heard the faintest ghostly groan of frustration. It was like my spectral roommate couldn’t handle the chaos anymore. I imagine it went back to Ghost HQ and told its friends, “I cannot haunt this person. They’re exhausting. She’s on a perpetual side quest! I’m trying to manifest spooky vibes, and she’s over here arguing with Steve again!”

Now, I don’t even try to impress the ghost. I’ve fully embraced being the most un-hauntable person ever. I talk to myself in weird accents while cooking, I narrate my cat’s life like I’m hosting a nature documentary, and I’ve started adding dramatic pauses to my shower concerts, just in case the ghost does come back. I’m convinced it’s out there somewhere, shaking its ghostly head, telling its friends, “This one? This one’s too much. I’m haunting Karen down the street. She’s boring, but at least she vacuums without getting distracted.”

So, tell me I’m not the only one. Does anyone else think they’re being silently judged by a ghost who’s too embarrassed to haunt them? Or am I really just this chaotic?

Ode to Angela, Maine’s Winter Hermit

My name is Angela, and I loathe the snow,
Why I live in Maine? Even I don’t know.
The cold bites my face, the wind chills my spine,
This frosty hellscape is no friend of mine.

I’m social, I swear! But lately, it’s clear,
My best conversations are when I’m near a mirror.
Warm sherpa wraps me, fuzzy socks to my knees,
Who needs the outside? I’ve got warmth and cheese.

True crime podcasts whisper tales of gore,
As I paint bright beaches on my studio floor.
My cat, Luna, thinks I’ve gone mad in the head,
But she’s the lunatic—cats can’t talk, I said!

In this small coastal town, there’s no Uber, no delivery store,
I brave frozen tundras just to eat more.
The air hurts my face, my soul takes a hit,
But hey, at least my fridge is well-lit.

Depressed? Not a chance! I’m great company,
I’m funny, insightful—a true friend to me.
The snow can’t last, soon the sun will appear,
And I’ll crawl from my blanket, one with spring cheer.

Until then, I’m cozy, my laughter abounds,
As I craft my escape in soft brushstrokes and sounds.
A toast to my hermit life—warm, weird, and true,
Here’s to Angela in Maine, surviving winter’s coup!

I saw a meme today that said: “Today I plan on being as useless as the G in lasagna,” and it made me wonder how many more of these I could come up with. I needed to challenge my brain a little today, hahaha. Can you think of any others? Here’s what I came up with:

~Today I’ll be as happy as a cat with an empty Amazon box.

~Today I plan on being as lazy as a bookmark in a cookbook.

~Today I’ll be as confused as a chameleon in a bag of Skittles.

~Today I plan on being as quiet as a mime at karaoke night.

~Today I’ll be as salty as a pretzel that got dropped in the ocean.

~Today I plan on being as sneaky as a kid hiding broccoli under their mashed potatoes.

~Today I’ll be as motivated as a sloth on a Monday morning.

~Today I plan on being as awkward as a giraffe on roller skates.

~Today I’ll be as dramatic as a toddler who didn’t get the right color cup.

~Today I plan on being as lost as a sock in a laundromat.

~Today I’ll be as random as a squirrel with a sugar rush.

~Today I plan on being as extra as whipped cream on a five-layer sundae.

~Today I’ll be as petty as a seagull stealing fries at the beach.

~Today I plan on being as mysterious as the “other” sock in the dryer.

~Today I’ll be as unbothered as a cat knocking over a glass of water.

~Today I plan on being as stubborn as a toddler refusing to put on pants.

~Today I’ll be as sweet as a cookie fresh out of the oven—until someone steals a bite.

~Today I plan on being as unpredictable as a pigeon at a wedding.

~Today I’ll be as chill as a penguin in a snowstorm.

~Today I plan on being as excited as a dog hearing the word “walk.”
🤔🤣🤷‍♀️

(Wrote a silly little fictional story this morning)

Chaos in Paradise

Angela squinted at the sunlight streaming through the blinds and groaned. Something didn’t feel right. Rolling over, she nudged Neil. “Neil, wake up. There’s... there’s a snowblower in the bathroom.”

Neil mumbled into his pillow, “Snowblower? In Mexico? Sounds like something you would dream up after three Margaritas too many.”

Angela threw off the covers and marched to the bathroom. “Explain this!” she demanded, pointing to the gleaming red contraption taking up most of the floor.

Neil rubbed his eyes and strolled in, still groggy. “Huh. I definitely didn’t order that.” He opened a cupboard in search of coffee and immediately forgot to close it, leaving Angela to slam it shut behind him.

“Great. Another mystery,” Angela muttered, already hyperfocusing on solving it.

Before Neil could reply, a pair of howler monkeys landed on their patio with a thud. One grabbed Angela’s double espresso, chugged it, and burped. The other gave a dramatic sigh, as if sharing the secrets of the universe. “Word around the jungle is... check the minibar.”

Neil frowned. “Is it normal for monkeys to talk here?”

“Forget the monkeys!” Angela cried, flinging open the minibar. Instead of snacks and drinks, it was stocked with cans of Spam and a neon green wig.

“I don’t understand. Why would anyone leave Spam?” Angela whispered.

“And why a wig?” Neil added. “Doesn’t match my complexion.”

The monkeys cackled, swung off, and left them more confused than ever.

The First Meal That Wasn’t

Down at breakfast, Angela marched up to the waiter. “Two coffees, fajitas, and churros, please. We’ve got a lot to figure out.”

The waiter froze. “I’m sorry, Lady, but the chef is... missing. And we’re out of churros.”

“Out of churros?!” Neil cried.

As if on cue, a mariachi band burst into the dining area, playing suspenseful music. Angela and Neil exchanged a glance. “Why do I feel like that music means trouble?” Angela whispered.

Before they could question it further, a bellhop sprinted through the room carrying a box labeled Antique Toasters. “Not again!” he shouted.

Poolside Clues

That afternoon, they lounged at the pool, still baffled. Neil sipped a frozen margarita delivered by an iguana in a tiny sombrero.

“Nice touch,” Neil said, raising his glass to the lizard.

Angela, ever observant, pointed at the ice cubes in Neil’s drink. “There’s a message!”

The cubes spelled out: Check the patio flowerpot.

Rushing back to their suite, they tipped over the flowerpot and found it stuffed with tube socks and a Mount Everest snow globe.

Neil held up a sock. “Useful for... snowshoeing? In case we time-travel back to Maine?”

Monkey Braids and Gossip

Determined to get answers, they headed to Fifth Avenue for shopping. Amid the chaos of vendors hawking souvenirs, they spotted a salon with a hand-painted sign: Monkey Braids: Perfect Style, Wild Price.

“Braided hair might help me think,” Angela decided, dragging Neil inside.

A team of monkeys worked furiously, twisting Angela’s hair into intricate plaits while Neil’s more basic braids received far less enthusiasm.

The monkeys chatted as they worked. “The one who enters your room has a fondness for churros,” one said casually.

Neil’s jaw dropped. “The churros thief is real!”

Angela sat bolt upright. “Wait, are we solving a robbery and an infestation of random junk?”

High-Flying Clues

Their next lead came when Angela insisted they go paragliding. “We’ll get a bird’s-eye view of the resort. Maybe we’ll spot something suspicious.”

As they soared over their suite, Neil gasped. “Look! Someone’s going into our room!”

Angela squinted. “Is that... the trumpet player from the mariachi band?”

“We knew they were up to something,” Neil said as their parachute dipped closer to the ground.

The Rooftop Confrontation

Following the mystery intruder’s trail, they ended up on the hotel rooftop. There, the entire mariachi band lounged around a table, eating churros and laughing.

“You!” Angela stormed in, her newly braided hair glinting in the moonlight. “Why have you been filling our suite with random junk?”

The trumpet player raised an eyebrow. “Relax, Señora. It was a social experiment. A new escape room concept we’re testing. You were our first participants. The churros were supposed to be your final clue!”

Neil groaned. “You’ve had the churros this whole time? I’ve been starving for three days!”

Before Angela could unleash her full caffeinated fury, everything went dark.

The Awakening

Angela and Neil woke up back in their suite. Angela rubbed her eyes, glancing at the perfectly normal room. “Was that... a dream?”

Neil scratched his head. “Must’ve been that last margarita.”

Just then, a howler monkey swung onto their patio, grabbed Angela’s coffee, and winked.

Angela stared in shock. “Neil, did that monkey just wink at me?”

Neil took a sip of coffee. “Maybe we should skip the margaritas today.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Neil leaned forward. “So... fajitas and churros for lunch?”

"Call Me Menopause Mary"

Hi, everyone! Thanks for reading my ramblings. Let’s talk about something truly thrilling, mysterious, and downright infuriating—menopause! Or, as I like to call it, the crazy rollercoaster ride from hell.

I’m back at writing again—mostly because if I don’t laugh at my life, I might actually lose it. Transparency is my thing, so if my misadventures can help someone else, great. If not, well, this isn’t the place for you. Exit stage left if you can’t handle hearing about what us women go through.

Let’s start with the basics: Hot flashes. Holy mother of sweat! I keep to myself these days because, honestly, it’s just easier than explaining why I’m sitting in my bra and panties with a cold washcloth draped over my face like some kind of sweaty mummy. Call me Menopause Mary, the queen of overheating and spontaneous wardrobe changes.

And let me tell you, I’ve gone almost six months without a period, which means I’m still in the delightful perimenopause phase. (Don’t clap—this isn’t an achievement.) Apparently, you have to go 12 months without one before you’re officially in menopause. But Mother Nature loves to mess with me. I’ll go months without anything, and then BAM—spotting out of nowhere, like a guest star in a horror movie.

Picture this: I’m mid-flight on a four-hour trip, wearing cream-colored linen pants. Linen, people. Do you think I was prepared? Of course not! So there I am, shoving toilet paper into my underwear and tying a sweatshirt around my waist like I’m trying to bring grunge fashion back. Lesson learned: Always be prepared for the nightmare scenarios.

Now, let’s talk about cravings and weight gain. I’ve got nighttime cravings for all the salty, sugary junk I can’t enjoy anymore because the minute I eat it, my scale starts screaming. Good news, though! That perimenopause bloated belly starts to shrink when you’re transitioning into menopause. So... yay? A tiny silver lining in a sea of misery.

Oh, and the joint pain. What fresh hell is this? Suddenly, my knees creak, my elbow is outbof commission, my back hates me, and my sciatica has become my new best frenemy. I sleep with a heating pad, pop ibuprofen like they’re dinner mints, and rock compression sleeves on my arms and knees like I’m training for the Senior Olympics. Gold medal in hobbling, anyone?

Then there’s the brain fog. I walk into a room and immediately forget why I’m there. The milk ends up on the dry food shelf, the cereal in the fridge. I write things down, then lose the list. I forget words mid-sentence and hope the person I’m talking to can just read my mind. What was I saying again?

Oh! And the impulsive decisions. One day, I decided to chop all my hair off because I thought it’d help with the heat. Spoiler: It didn’t. Now I hate my haircut. But hey, it grows back... eventually.

And don’t get me started on alcohol intolerance. One minute, you’re sipping your favorite drink, feeling fine. The next, you’re drunker than your embarrassing aunt at a wedding. I’ve learned to laugh it off and blame it on crazy menopause brain.

Migraines? New. Horrifying. The first time I had an ocular migraine, I thought I was dying—colorful lights, spinning, full-on panic. I was like, “This is it. The Grim Reaper is coming, and he’s wearing disco lights.”

Let’s not forget the bonus symptoms! Anxiety, depression, itchy skin, acne, random chin hairs, deodorant that suddenly quits working. My face care routine now requires more moisture than the Amazon rainforest. My libido is confused, my nails are brittle, and apparently, my nose has decided that everything stinks. And eczema? Why not? Let’s add that to the party!

Honestly, I thought getting older would take longer. Nobody warned me about this madness. I knew about hot flashes and periods ending, but this? This is next-level insanity.

So here’s my advice: Do your research. Take your vitamins. Drink water. Eat protein. Wear comfy clothes. Avoid people—kidding! (But seriously, sometimes it helps.) And don’t be afraid to do what works for you—whether that’s medication, hobbies, or just yelling at the sky in frustration.

Thanks for joining me on this journey. Let’s do it again sometime—assuming I can remember where I put my notes.

~Angela