(Self-indulgent navel gazing ahead. Plus words. Lots and lots of words. With a tinge of judgey misanthropy. Plus some legitimate stuff so I don't come off as some asshole judgey misanthrope. If I've already bored you by this point, you're gonna be hating my by the time I get to the closing parenthesis. Assuming I ever get there. I'm clearly in a cranky mood though, so I can't help you. Or is it won't? Anyway, abandon hope all ye who read from here. You've been warned.)
• Everyone at Kohl's
tonight was either moving too slowly, chatting in front of the
extra-large clearance shirts so I couldn't get to them or stupidly
looking in the wrong direction as they bumped their carts into me.
• Plus Kohl's didn't have anything I wanted. At least that I could get to.
• The cute guy who waited to hold the door for me at Barnes & Noble
and circled the CD racks with me and ended up right in front of me at
the checkout told the clerk that the CD he was buying was for his wife.
• Dinner at Cheddar's was accompanied by a full 30 minutes of
bloody-murder baby screams to my right and a bellowing right-wing
redneck hawking up gallons of phlegm and emitting an almost visible
effluvium of cigarette stench in the booth behind me.
• I got a
Facebook memory reminder this morning with my dismayed post about just
having shattered my iPhone screen. Which means I've been using and
squinting through and whining about my shattered screen for a whole
year. The Verizon guy tonight told me I had to get the screen fixed
before he could do anything related to my warranty, so I let out a long
dramatic sigh and reluctantly decided to suck it up and give up my phone
for 24+ hours to finally get it fixed and I drove over to the fully lit
screen-fix-it store just as my phone clock ticked over to 7:01 pm.
Guess why I'm telling you this. Just guess.
• Aside from a few blips, I've had at least three full weeks of good and
engaged and productive and present and functional and relatively happy
days. Which is an almost unprecedented record over the last 4-5 years.
So the new bipolar med cocktail that initially made me black out and
sent me lacerated and bloody to the ER seems to be actually working. But
the uncomfortable and frustrating and embarrassing side effects have
steadfastly dug in their heels, and I spent the morning wiping miles of
spider webs off my face and loudly chomping on invisible gum. And trying
everything in my power to sit the goddamn fuck still like a normal
• Plus I seem to have stopped peeing. Both in
frequency and volume. Plus I just told you about my pee problems. Which
just compounds the embarrassment. Nice going, me.
• Our lying,
petulant, willfully ignorant man-boy of a horrifying national
embarrassment of a president gave a morally and intellectually
infuriating press conference packed with accusations and excuses and
insults and tantrums and laughably implausible generalizations yesterday
that continues to send shockwaves through the media and the educated
class and the reasonable voices that he's well into his second year of
attacking relentlessly with a conspicuous and alarming and desperately
pre-emptive level of defensiveness. The last four weeks have made my
family and my ex and many of my friends almost physically ill with worry
and discouragement and deep, profound concern. And yesterday -- when I
heard a staunch man-boy supporter sum up the press conference with a
thoughtfully nuanced "he sure told 'em" -- it finally broke me too.
I have so many shoes and shirts and shorts and pants and belts and
socks and probably layers of flattened desiccated cats piled up in my
bedroom that I don't even know how or where to begin sorting and
inventorying and letting go of any of it. Sometimes it makes me feel all
cozy when I climb into bed surrounded by jumbled mountains of all my
stuff. But mostly it makes me feel paralyzed with panic and shame.
• All my real-life and Facebook crushes are pairing up and getting
engaged and getting married and are mostly straight anyway. Fuck.
When I blacked out and cracked the tile floor with my face last
December, I bit most of the way through my lip. It's still swollen and
hard like it's healed as scar tissue and I have a difficult time
drinking through a straw or eating without getting food all over my
• Hey, paired-up and engaged and married and mostly straight
anyway crushes who've been bored enough to read this far! How
ravishingly sexy am I right now? You should date me! It'd be fun!
Actually, dumping all this whiny shit out of my head and posting it here
after everybody's bedtime where it probably won't be seen has
alleviated most of my crankiness. Thanks, Internet!
• Except I'm still furious and incredulous and devastated about the petulant, inarticulate man-boy.
• And frustrated and embarrassed by the spider webs and invisible gum
and whatever fresh indignities tomorrow has in store for me.
Bitch Kitty will sleep contentedly on my clean laundry but won't exist
in the same room with me unless she can draw blood or crush spirit. And
sometimes it just quietly destroys a little bit of me.