May 25, 2013

I would like to be less angry now and a little more calm and collected.


Almost a month since I last wrote.

I’ve had a strange, lingering depression. I feel like an apple crushed for juice but there’s not a lot in me. There hasn’t been for a whole month. I started smoking cigarettes again. Stress level is way up there. Not feeling so hot.

I don’t know what is worse–knowing you have no more refills on a medication you desperately need and having to go see a prescription-pushing, plastic-faced doctor you owe money to because you missed the last appointment because the office never called to confirm and they charged you $35, or buying the other medication you really need and it being full of seeds, stems, and leaves, with barely any bud in there at all, and you feel like you’re smoking dirt.

I’m also tired of those “it gets better!” messages. Oh just fuck off will you. Damn it, by now I’m ready for the shitty days.

Memorial Day weekend is a horrible time. I don’t like remembering dead people who suited up and went and did important things in the name of ‘Murrica. I don’t much care, quite honestly. They joined up to die and they died. The end. We remember them to honor their “sacrifice”, to appreciate what they did for all the freedom in the world you guys, to feel guilty, to get an extra holiday, to sell some red white blue shit to old grandmas.

I’ve gotten a lot of hell before for saying shit like this. Usually it comes from people who are buying the red white blue shit. Or from people who joined up to die but haven’t died yet. Or from people who knew / loved those that joined up to die and died. Or think that freedom is the best thing in the world you guys, who don’t even realize the ugly truth:

Freedom is an illusion. We are all in prison.

They joined up to die, died, and were set free. But you and I? We’re still stuck in hell.


April 28, 2013

Last week I ran my roommate to the ER and we ended up staying there for just under 24 hours. It was very emotional, very trying, very I-don’t-ever-want-to-do-this-again-dear-god. I took the rest of the week off to take care of my friend and I haven’t left her side unless it was to run important errands for us. I paid bills, I talked to Human Resources people, I called her family doctor and made her an appointment, I yelled at my manager for telling me she wasn’t my kin why should it matter, I brought her water and food and got her caffeine at 1 AM from the soda machine that stands outside of the tiny trackside mart down the street. I helped her from place to place, I got her clean clothes and towels and tucked her into bed every time she got up, I brought her orange juice and kept her water bottle filled and brought her entertainment and kept her from being bored. My friend needed my help this week, and I was there to give it.

Damn it.

My tax check came in during all of this, thank goodness, because my paycheck will be utter shit now. And after all of that, after picking up cigarettes and putting them back down again (I’m on day two without smokes, go me) and after missing important doses of my medication and bla bla bla bla, I spent $100 on a big bag of funky green reefer, damn it.

Everything is real cool. I am so chill. 

Things are smooth now. No hurts, no sores, no imperfections in two CAT scans and a lot of bloodwork and 24 hour hospital observation. We’re just recovering now. Whew.

calm of the storm

April 17, 2013

Calmer now. The waters have receded. We’re moving onward.


many things

April 9, 2013

I’m not dead. Yet. I’ve just been knitting and watching documentaries.

I have also been slowly recovering from a spike in rapid cycling, which sometimes happens. I distanced myself from people and gave myself some time alone. It helps me to become reclusive. People tend to set me off, and I don’t want to hurt them by saying something ridiculous that I didn’t mean to say.

During these times the dumbest things come out of my mouth. For one, I can’t speak straight, so my words are jumbled, and sometimes I stutter. Once one of the new hires at work got very suddenly too close to me and it frightened / unnerved me so much (because if there is one thing I hate with a passion, it is people getting too close to me without prior permission) that I started hard enough to gasp for breath and immediately hit a s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s. I had been trying to say the word “six”.

She giggled and asked if I was okay. All I could do was mumble yes and get back to what I had been doing, as far away from her as possible.

See, all of this comes back weeks after it happens. I couldn’t have written about this instance directly after it had happened; not even days afterward. It had to settle and boil down and be analyzed from top to bottom. I think I hurt her feelings, because she seemed to approach me gentler after that. Anyway, she only showed up for one more day, then quit.

I was relieved. I could not have dealt with extremely sudden invasions of my personal space. Work is stressful enough and my manager doesn’t have any understanding of personal space because she is affable and touchy and grew up in a house where you reach out and lightly smack another every time you say something you feel is remotely funny for some reason. One more closing in on my space makes me feel sick.

I’ve been known to say things that are entirely inappropriate. Hell, it’s my specialty. I don’t say these things in a comedic kind of way, though–oh no. I have to be awkward as hell. I have to turn a shade of puce when I talk and look suspicious because I fidget and lose eye contact.


But, it’s okay. It happens. The best thing to do I have found in this situation is to just keep your mouth shut and try to think what it is you want to say rather than actually say it, even if you do feel it is relevant, because it probably is not.

It helps, it really, really helps, to have a conscious rein on things. My rein is “okay it’s time to go hide inside and knit for days upon days now.”


April 1, 2013

I was off for three days. Three blissfully lazy, wonderful days. I did none of the chores I needed to do. I feel like a slob but I do not care. Not one fuck given. It was a great miniature vacation.


feel like a picture

March 28, 2013


[hint: it’s a wallpaper, click to enlarge]


March 28, 2013

I haven’t written in a while. Whoops.

My days have been heavy with work and then coming home and playing video games and then flopping down for sleep. Sometimes after episodes there comes a stretch of nothing where the brain tries to recuperate. When socializing happens, you win a few friends, you lose a few more. At work, you try to maintain the Face That People Expect To See. Your diet loses a couple of points as you consume hot fudge sundaes with extra hot fudge.

I alternate video games. Last time it was Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, and before that, Okami. This time, it’s Harvest Moon: Animal Parade which is a very soothing time-waster. When I play video games now, I think of Carl Sagan saying to his son, “Never show this to me again. I don’t want to waste time.”

Eat a few sour cream and onion cheesy poofs. Turn up the dorky music that makes you feel better. Drown out the voice of reason a little longer.

I took up a journal, but I’ve only discovered an unhealthy decline in the perfection of my penmanship. I’m appalled.

There’s a three day weekend coming up, wherein I’ll probably only get out of my clothes to attend a family Easter dinner, and only grudgingly, which means I’ll wear comfortable things.

Otherwise, it is either a). Venture Brothers marathon + knitting; b). Firefly marathon + knitting; c). Writing

I’m tired. But it’s one more day.


March 22, 2013

It’ll be a long day at work, something I’m not necessarily looking forward to but ready to pound into submission nonetheless. Grr. Grargfg.

I get such a strange, dreadful anxiety when I’m close to being out of medicine. It’s almost a physical pain. An eerie tightness in the chest.

feel like a picture

March 22, 2013

Green Curl[hint: it’s a wallpaper, click to enlarge]