Damn these days…

Insomnia and anxiety are great, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

There are so many things I could be writing about, but they’re not getting written because I just don’t have the mental fortitude for it. I write plenty of posts dumping out raw emotions that never get published. They just sit in the drafts folder never to see the light of day. It feels better to purge my brain, and everything I write here, I write for me, but some things just don’t necessarily warrant public perusal. I haven’t kept a private journal in years—I’ve started many, but never maintained—I guess posts that sit unpublished serve that purpose these days. It works, I suppose.

Anyhoo.

Instead I’ve been writing.

… I’ve spilled several thousand words on a dumb fanfiction venture because sometimes you just need to give your brain a little reprieve and focus on something silly. It’s ridiculous and stupid and it entertains me endlessly.

… I’ve been plotting a way to combine two existing storylines into one. Separately they fall a little flat, but together they actually have some substance. But they’ve been tackled from so many angles over the years, I need to make sure I have my characters in order before I start pounding out words, or it will implode before I even really get started.

… It amuses me how inspiration can strike from even the most minuscule details. I read something that someone else wrote, and one, tiny little comment stuck in my brain that rapidly morphed and mutated into an entire storyline (or several, if I’m being honest). And while I thought it was just my warped imagination running rampant with exaggeration, months down the line, I’ve apparently hit the nail right on the head. Some people are just easy to figure out, I guess.

… I’ve been mulling over a number of ideas sitting in the active writing folder, seeking inspiration, wondering what I could do to make them work better. There’s one in particular that I really want to be working on. I have some stuff written for it (actual narrative!) that I really like, but the over-arcing plotline is just so boring that it’s really difficult to know what to do with it. I’m a total sucker for the everyday mundane, but this stuff is a total snooze-fest even for me.

… When I’m fumbling around trying to put together character lists or timelines, I retreat to my home architect program and start designing houses for these as yet unwritten stories. Or redesign existing floorplans to better fit the tales they’re intended for. I spend hours working on plans and perusing house plan websites for inspiration. It just adds to the excess of information I have rolling around in my head on any given story project that really has no relevance to the actual story, but it’s there if the need ever arises. And it’s much easier to describe surroundings if I have a visual reference to study.

… Writing. The bane of my existence and the love of my life. Both at the same time.

 

She’s such a piece of work—her husband too. She is totally one of those people that will carry on endlessly about how much she absolutely loves both of her children and she couldn’t possibly choose a favorite, but it’s blatantly obvious that she does favor one over the other to an extreme degree. In her case, she fawns all over her younger son, and her first born barely gets any attention by comparison. They’re always so irrationally harsh with him and I’ve never seen him do a damn thing wrong. I just don’t get it. He’s smart, he’s sweet, he works hard. He’s an amazing kid and his parents don’t see it at all. They’ll totally take credit for it if someone else points it out, but they don’t actually acknowledge that with him.

Really, at fifteen, he’s leagues smarter than his parents and they’re threatened by that. The only way they know how to cope with it is by trying to make him feel bad about himself, which is the one thing they’re actually good at. Every time they put him down I just want to throttle them. I don’t know how anyone can treat their own child like that.

I just want to hug the shit out of him and tell him he’s worth so much more and deserves so much better.

But who am I?

Just some virtual stranger with no clout to help him.

 

I’m drinkin’ tonight…

Not really.

It’s just a Train song. (I really need to ask Bob to help me with getting the custom “now playing” field back on my posts.)

Though if I actually drank I probably would be blasted right about now. But I don’t. So I’m not. Alas.

Instead I’m sitting here at ungodly o’clock with a mug of tea steaming up my glasses and I’m pretty sure it’s mocking me.

The anxiety pit has been out in force for the past week or so and I can’t pinpoint exactly what’s causing it. It hasn’t been this bad in quite some time so it’s throwing me all out of whack. But I gotta say, I haven’t missed it or its glorious side effect of physically gagging at the mere thought of putting food in my mouth. I’ve lost six pounds because of it. Which I wish I could be happy about, but I feel like absolute shit, and I’ll gain it back as soon as the pit finally clears and I can eat without wanting to hurl all over everything. Bob and I have spent a good chunk of time puzzling this out, trying to pinpoint some sort of trigger, but we’re coming up nil.

I guess that’s why they call it Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Severe anxiety for no discernible reason whatsoever, but you’re ready to start hucking rocks at people.

It both sucks and blows and not in the fun way.

Pat Monahan is helping. (Oh Red Rocks…I wanna go back.)

*ahem*

Anyway.

I’ve been writing things. Not a lot by any means, but a newer take on an old idea with a lot of new…ish parts factored in has currently caught my attention. And I’m not going to argue with several thousand words in less than a week when I’m lucky if I get a handful on any given day. I spent a good chunk of time this weekend talking at to Bob about this project because I was having a difficult time figuring out the conflict between the two main characters—because I really don’t know how to write conflict of any kind—and while he doesn’t know much about writing, he’s gone through a lot of conflict resolution training at work and was able to apply it to my dilemma. Having a husband to indulge my crazy is the greatest thing ever.

My writing tends to follow trends over time and as of late I’ve been putting in a lot more kids. As in, main characters have them. Usually snarky teenagers. It still screws with my head, because we all know how I feel about catching pregnancy, but it doesn’t stop me from writing it. I have a tendency to write about vomit too, and we all know how vomit gives my panic attacks panic attacks.

ANYWAY.

It’s been twenty-some-odd years (give or take) since I was a teenager and I really have no clue how to write them. (I barely knew how to write them when I was one.) Because I’m apparently a relentless glutton for punishment, I’ve found myself reading twitter feeds and tumblr blogs written by teenagers, and then I find myself reevaluating my life from the things I have learned.

1.) The memes. They are endless. And I do not understand the reference to most of them.

2.) Tumblr is beyond my realm of comprehension.

3.) I really would not survive being a teenager in this modern age. I barely survived the 90’s and the assholes I went to school with. If the people I went to school with had, had access to the technology kids have now…oh ye gods it would have been an even bigger nightmare than it was and I didn’t even think that was possible. God speed, Kids. I do not envy you in the least.

4.) Like, can you not?

5.) Reading things written by a fifteen-year-old makes me feel like a creepy old woman. Because I probably am.

No matter how much I want to hug the shit out of them for being so bloody adorable, if I need to research teenage behavior, I should probably stick to the ones I actually know. I’ve got three of them at my disposal. Even if it leads them to [justifiably] believe that Auntie Sara is out of her freaking gourd.

Willing to bet it…

Listing…

1.) Insomnia is a royal bitch.

2.) Every twenty-eight days, my uterus tries to kill me. This may or may not be a large contributor to list item number one. Currently, at least. The rest of the time is a mixed bag of fun. And by fun, I mean EFFFFFF Youuuuuu.

3.) Somebody told me recently that I’m young in terms of changing my mind about having kids. I’m 35. So…no. No I’m not. But thanks.

4.) Trying to write things and am continually reminded that I am absolute horseshit at writing narrative.

5.) I’m drinking peppermint tea. And because my brain hangs onto ridiculous things, all I can think anytime I drink mint tea is smells like pot…

6.) I have been listening to the same band for three months straight. As in not listening to anything else. I know it’s getting to the point of excessive when Bob starts singing along to whatever I’m listening to.

7.) I’ve had grocery bags full of books sitting in my living room for an inexcusably long time. They were transferred from my parents’ house and I finally went through them. I have only actually read a handful of them, and more of them I don’t even remember buying. There are a lot of books off the bargain rack at Barnes & Noble. I picked out what I plan to keep (which could be further whittled down at a later date) and put the rest back into grocery bags to be eliminated in some fashion…donated…somewhere. And I still have boxes stashed in the second bedroom full of books that moved from the previous two places I’ve lived with Bob. There are likely a whole lot more to be eliminated from that pile too.

8.) I self-medicate by spending money. This is a realization I finally figured out within the last couple of years. I spent so much money on so much shit I never needed—so much shit I don’t even remember buying—and now I have the privilege of going through all of it and purging the tangible evidence of my personal shame from my life. And by privilege, I mean soul-crushing regret.

9.) Clinical depression. Don’t recommend it. At all.

10.) One night…recently…I was laying in bed, trying to get to sleep, and suddenly, I HAVE THE PERFECT SOLUTION FOR OUR DVD STORAGE! And then I was wide awake, so I got out of bed and started searching Amazon for supplies. I have condensed 300-ish movies down into one 10×14-inch box by eliminating the plastic cases and putting the discs into sleeves. I’ve kept the bigger boxed sets in tact because they are already pretty space efficient, but now instead of two overflowing bookcases of DVDs, there’s roughly one shelf. Which will make shopping for living room furniture (new TV stand, bookcase, end tables) much more flexible since we don’t have a few hundred movies to contend with.

11.) I’m currently working on doing the same with my CD collection. It’s much slower going. I have way more CDs than DVDs, and there is far less existing organization happening. The music isn’t going to fit into just one box, but even filling two is going to take up so much less space than a few hundred jewel cases.

12.) We have a lot of plastic to recycle now. Fortunately it can all go out with our regular recycling…over several weeks. Did you know that CD jewel cases are recycled into cassette tapes? Because when you recycle plastic, you also travel back in time. Apparently.

Been off that track…

It’s after six in the morning. I haven’t slept. The in-laws are supposed to be coming over right around the time Bob has to leave for work so his dad can beat Joel the Obstinate and Cursed Jetta (TM) into submission.

Or hook up his battery charger.

Whichever.

It’s Monday.

I’ve been working on a story project for the past few months that is a very slow slog. I am actually quite in-like with what I’ve written on it so far. One of the issues I’m running into with it (aside from the never-ending writer’s block in general) is where exactly I need to end it. My original plan had a pretty clear cutoff, but the farther I get into it, the less sure I am of where that cutoff should actually be.

Kate’s dad dies. (Yes, another Kate…shoosh.) Her Jewish-When-She-Needs-To-Be mother decides the family (five kids, plus spouses and offspring) needs to sit [unofficial] Shiva following the Catholic funeral. (There’s a reoccurring discussion of hypocrisy in the Baylor family house.) In the time they are together, things come to a head between Kate and her over-critical mother—and again with the even more overly critical grandparents. There is also the issue of the youngest sibling’s addiction problem resurfacing and the strain it’s causing on his marriage. And Kate’s ex-husband is suddenly back in the picture. She called him to tell him about her dad and now things are changing.

Things were supposed to end as life was starting to return to normal post-bereavement. Then the Kate and Ex-husband Marc aspect started to take up more importance. And for awhile I thought I knew where to cut off the story with that—entertaining the prospect of reconciliation. But the more I fill in the story, the more I realize, more needs to be said.

The big question being: how much more?

I could possibly condense it into a…lengthy…epilogue. I guess it would depend greatly on just how much conflict I want to dredge up between them in the process. Marc is the one who ended things and if he wants his wife back, he needs to regain her trust. Trust is something that Kate struggles with beyond measure for many reasons. It’s going to be a monumental feat on both sides of the table and clearly not something that is going to [realistically] happen overnight. But slogging through the everyday mundane aspects of life while that trust is rebuilt doesn’t really make for a very interesting story. I could go so far as to tell it all the way to them living together again, and possibly getting remarried, but aside from intermittent conflict…it would be kind of boring. (Not that the Cliff’s Notes is all that exciting as it stands, but I’d read it.)

I could also divide the story into parts that would make a significant time jump less jarring, but it’s really actually two separate stories. The plan as is, is about the death of her father and how the family copes in the early days. The reconciliation is basically a spinoff of that. The overarching story isn’t Kate and Marc. It’s Kate navigating around her mother, interactions with her brothers, and finding a (new?) place for her ex-husband, all while trying to come to terms with her dad being gone.

At this point I’m probably just over thinking everything and I should really just shut-up and WRITE.

“Mom, relax. Everything’s fine.”

Marc watched Kate as she walked out of the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear. He shook his head, turning to Darren sitting at the counter, finding him eyeing him critically.

“Gotta say, it’s kind of weird seeing you here. This is where she really picked up and started over—new house, new car, new dog. It was when she finally started showing signs of life again. Now suddenly…you’re back…and here.”

“I don’t know if back is the right word,” Marc rubbed his chest absently, leaning against the counter behind him.

Darren sat up straight, “Are you saying this is only temporary?”

No,” Marc’s eyes widened and he shook his head, “God I hope not. I’m just…right now I’m letting her dictate how things go. I don’t want to force anything on her. If she tells me to get lost, then I will. I don’t want to, but I will. I can’t hurt her again.”

“Do you want her back?”

“More than anything.”

“Have you told her?”

“Sort of. I’m kind of afraid to. I don’t want to scare her off.”

“I don’t think you’re going to scare her off. She invited you into her house. She might not be ready to just pick up where you left off, but she’s opened the door to the possibility.”

“And how do you feel about all this?”

“Me? Why should my opinion matter?”

“Because it matters to her. If her brothers aren’t happy with it, it’s definitely going to influence her feelings on the matter.”

“Not as much as you think. But we’re all pretty much on the same page on this so far. If you’re over your selfish-prick-existential-crisis, then we’re cautiously optimistic something good can come from this. Something broke in her when you left. She’s gotten better over time, but she is not the same person she was with you. Since you’ve been around, there are definite changes in her. Signs of the old Katie we thought were long gone. If you break her heart again, we will kill you. But if you’re here to stay—in whatever capacity you both agree on—then welcome back. Believe it or not, we all missed you.”

Marc swallowed hard to dislodge the sudden knot in his throat, “I’ve missed you guys too. I didn’t realize just how much until I saw you all again. I really hate that it took losing your dad to make this happen.”

Darren sighed tiredly, nodding, “Dad really loved you. He was devastated when you left. But he was always a strong proponent of better late than never. He would have loved to see you and Katie be able to reconcile. But I think he’ll be able to rest easy knowing that you’re here to take care of her now that he can’t. She’s by no means helpless, but she doesn’t need to be so goddamn independent all the time. She could stand to give up control once in awhile.”

Marc snorted, shaking his head, “She never gave up control when we were married.”

“Fair point,” Darren shrugged, “But she could use a partner to share the load. Even better if it’s someone who knows how to take care of her properly when she really needs it. She’s tough as nails and a whole lot tougher than she gives herself credit for, but she deserves to be taken care of too.”

When I first starting working on this project, every time Kate and Marc were mentioned together (in the story, in my head, wherever) it sounded strange to me. It bugged me for a long time before I finally figured it out.

Kate and Marc are the “famed” Jenkins siblings producing music almost exclusively for Chance Records artists.

They are in…a lot…of different stories.

Seven…if I go through all my folders and find new, old, and stalled projects.

I’m so used to them being brother and sister, pairing two characters with the same names together in a romantic capacity just seems a little weird.

Doesn’t mean I have any plans to change those names.

But weird nonetheless.

Four in the morning and I’m staring at the stars…

The only light connecting me to where you are…

I don’t know how many different posts I’ve started and deleted lately. I feel the overwhelming need to write something, but…I got nothin’.

Nothing coherent, at least.

No, no. Less coherent than usual.

It’s four-something in the morning and…guess who’s not sleeping? I had a few nights in a row in bed at least. And it’s now Friday so…weekend.

Emerson Mouse and I (Do you think I sit here alone all night?) have been whiling away our sleepless hours watching painfully awkward music numbers.

Glee videos.

We’ve been watching Glee videos.

I don’t even watch the show but I’m a sucker for Kurt and Blaine duets (okay, Artie too…), and they’re the only reason I know any One Direction songs, which should make my baby Ellie proud.

Or something.

I should really get back to the Ryan Star listening. He’s been working on shoving O.A.R. out of the way for the past couple of days. (Not entirely. I’m not ready to let go of them just yet…and now I’m imagining a Ryan Star and Marc Roberge collaboration…and picturing Richard On playing guitar on these songs…and…I should probably just stop…)

I couldn’t tell you what exactly it is about that man’s voice, but hot damn.

So many inappropriate things I could say.

But I won’t.

For now.

*ahem*

What?

Picking just one song is damn near impossible.

Erm…

Probably should have picked THAT ONE.

Won’t let it bend…

Oh hey, Insomnia.

How’s business?

I have some expletives and rude gestures for you.

*AHEM*

ANYWAY.

a.) Emerson Mouse and I are sitting here, done with our lukewarm tea, staring at 6AM on the clock and not feeling the least bit tired. We went to bed at our regular time and never fell asleep. Two-plus hours later, we got up and here we sit.

Yes, the “we” in this scenario is me and a stuffed animal.

Does this surprise you?

It shouldn’t.

b.) We’re getting a new dishwasher installed on Saturday and the kitchen is currently a disaster. Not because the dishwasher doesn’t work. (It does. Sort of.) Just because we are lazy and terrible at doing things. The machine has many flaws and defects and it’s been a problem child since we moved in. The rinse agent compartment leaks both into the basin and on the outside of the door. (I’m pretty sure that’s a safety hazard.) The “short wash” cycle smells like something is burning. (Again. Safety hazard.) Anything plastic comes out with a white film on it and tasting like soap. And anything on the top rack tends to come out with mystery crud on it that wasn’t there before it went into the machine. (Even after vent cleaning and vinegar/baking soda.) The dishwasher needs replacement and our “big ticket budget” is currently funded for such matters.

c.) We also bought an air compressor and are ordering an automotive battery charger because Joel the Obstinate and Cursed Jetta (TM) is currently sitting dead in the garage (AGAIN) with two questionably low tires.

God. Dammit. Joel.

d.) I’m due for my annual physical and out of refills on important pills. And since my regular doctor of seven years left last summer, I still need to decide which [closer to home] clinic I’m going to switch to and which doctor I want to try seeing.

e.) Adulthood is overrated.

f.) In writer’s block news…still blocked. Though my brain is currently turning on an existing project and a possible character overhaul that may or may not be a bad idea. I’ll have to actually try it out and see how it goes. It can’t be any more of a train wreck than every other project I’ve spilled onto a page.

g.) Haphazard lists are much easier than coherent paragraphs.

h.) This wavy hair business was not there before I had it cut. Where the hell did it come from? It’s weirding me out.

Also I really need to work on my white balance because my hair is not that red. Not even close.

Falling through the sky…

I have two scrapes on the back of my hand from smashing it two different times on the bottom of the stair railing. As it turns out, there is a rather sharp edge on the end of the railing. They don’t look like much, but son of a mother they hurt. It should also be mentioned that I was carrying a laundry basket both times and therefore must stand by my claim: Laundry is fucking dangerous.

I’m convinced whoever did all of the wood work in this house when it was built purposely made every possible wood edge as sharp as fuck because I have gouged out more chunks of skin in the last two years than I have in the last 33 combined.

We’ve been in our house two years (as of the 15th at least) already. Holy crap.

We went to Target this week and if the damn pharmacy keeps moving up my auto-refills I’m going to have my pills a full month in advance. It was the first time taking my new phone out of the house. It wouldn’t fit in my jeans pocket and I didn’t want to put it in my purse until I get a screen protector for it and walking into the store I realized I had suddenly become one of those assholes. One who can’t walk through a damn store without my fucking phone at the immediate disposal of my face. Bob put it in his shirt pocket to spare me further self-loathing. We looked at screen protectors and ended up not buying the one generic option they had because it was twenty bucks for a pack of three when Amazon sells the same thing actually made for my phone (Samsung Galaxy S2) for about three dollars including shipping. Out of all of the screen protectors I’ve looked at on Amazon not one option exceeds $5. WTF with the $20, Target? I am not paying twenty bucks for STICKERS. And I love me some stickers.

I had a dream about suffocating due to not being able to breathe through my nose. (Sounds startlingly familiar to reality as of late.) When I woke up, I was physically gasping for air. I was actually capable of [mostly] breathing through my nose at the time so I have no idea if it was a reaction to the dream or if I had actually stopped breathing. Either way it was disturbing as all hell and there was no going back to sleep.

In related news, I’m back on the “sleep two hours at a time” bullshit schedule. Ask me if I’m happy about that. Go ahead. I dare you.

Speaking of dreams nobody cares about, I had one this week that started the gears turning on a possible new story idea. Because what I really need right now is another story project to throw in the fire. I’m only pushing about twenty different projects around in my head right now. Granted probably half of them are just brain purges, but still.

My ADHD Card, let me play it for you.

Could be worse…

Could be raining.

It’s been about five years since the last time I had an actual cold.

Coincidentally, it’s also been five years since I’ve had a job.

I don’t want to jump to conclusions over here, but I think the two could possibly be related.

Bob has had a number of colds in varied severity in all that time, but somehow I managed to avoid catching them.

Until this one.

Apparently in my hiatus, I have forgotten completely how to cope with a damn cold. Jeezuz.

Coughing, wheezing, sneezing, snot, snot, snot, and horking things out of my lungs that were not meant to be seen by human eyes. (You are welcome.) I need a nap after taking a shower and all I want to do is lay in bed and wallow. But laying down just makes it all worse and sitting up makes me want to fall over. So really, I’m an absolute joy of a whiny wuss to be around right now.

And what makes it all the more sad and pathetic is that this cold is really not that bad compared to chest colds gone by. I’m just a big, snot and phlegm laden baby.

And apparently I have been moaning constantly in my sleep. Bob says it’s a very pathetic moaning wheeze on just about every exhale.

I am just all kinds of sexy here right now.

Sheep and I will just be over here with tissues jammed up our noses and gargling saltwater.

But I will say this:

At least it’s not a fucking stomach bug.

I will stab you in the face with a rusty butter knife and burn your house to the ground if you give me one of those.

It’s that late night smell…

I don’t sleep at night.

I nap.

Because two to three hours of sleep is not a night of sleep.

It’s a fucking NAP.

As much as I love naps (and I do love naps) it’s ridiculous that I am only capable of sleeping two to three hours a night. And those aren’t even continuous hours. Those are broken into one-hour-or-less intervals.

Why yes I AM about to start hucking rocks a people.

Let’s just say there’s a reason my music listening habits have been a little more…obsessive…than usual.

I’d be in a gaddamn rubber room by now otherwise.

Sometime back in 2006 I was alerted to a website called Last.fm. I have no recollection how I originally found out about it, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. There is an iTunes plugin that tracks your listening habits. And because I’m obsessive about my music listening habits, it seemed like fun times to use. There is a huge margin for error with it, but I think it is a fairly accurate depiction of things. Also, this doesn’t include the HOURS of iPod listening I did at my desk at work because I never used the iPod connectivity capabilities. I’m too lazy for that. There’s also a big gap from somewhere in the last five years, because when I met Bob, my listening habits took a dive, other than on the Music Choice channels, and I didn’t log many hours in iTunes until sometime after we moved into LivingLocation#2. And they’ve seen a big spike since we moved into our house last year. (LivingLocation#3)

According to my last.fm stats as of right now I’ve listened to 47,628 songs from 649 unique artists. (Also not accurate, but really, what can you expect from a free service?)

And while we’re looking at stats, my current iTunes library sits at 7,251 songs, which is 19.5 days worth of music and 35.08GB of space used. This does not include all of the CDs I own, or the arsenal of mp3s I acquired sometime before iTunes even existed. I have absolutely no idea how many different artists this includes as I am too lazy to figure that out. iTunes says there are 945 different artists in my library. I take that number with a grain of salt also, as I do not consider collaborations to be separate artists from the individuals involved. If two people do a duet, they are not three different acts, iTunes, they are two who did one freaking song together.

ANYWAY.

My top 10 most played artists in last.fm are rather unsurprising. And haven’t seen a whole lot of movement over time. Better Than Ezra worked their way in within the last year when I discovered that I really liked more than the five songs that were on the Drive List. And then saw a massive spike when a handful of songs ended up on the Ben & Marina soundtrack. Sometime within the last two years Rooster Teeth worked their way into the top 10 based mostly on the Red Vs Blue season 8 soundtrack. If I ever catch up on all of the podcasts I haven’t listened to, it’ll see another spike in numbers. And now…in little over a month, there has been a new entry in the top 10. (Actually the top 6…soon to be top 5.) And really…I’m not that surprised.

Bob walked in after work yesterday, paused to catch the song that was playing, and shook his head with a grin.

“Boy, when you fixate on something, you REALLY fixate.”

Yes.

Yes I do.

Ask me if I care.

The answer to that would be NO.

That’s 1,800 plays in approximately 12 weeks, when he first landed in iTunes, and roughly 1,450 of those plays are just from the last three weeks.

If I’d had the last.fm service and iTunes back when I discovered Ingram Hill, their numbers would probably be at least double that of 3 Doors Down. I listened to June’s Picture Show almost exclusively for MONTHS. They have a new album coming out next month. I am stupidly excited for it. Andy Grammer will have to take a back seat when that one lands in my hot little hands.

In the meantime…

I still want to pinch his cheeks.

I’ve been Oh Hell No…

I can never seem to spell San Francisco correctly on the first try. At least not without staring at it for several, perplexing moments because it never looks like an actual word.

Today’s Friday right?

I never know what the hell day it is without checking a calendar several times a day. It’s been a really bad week for keeping track of that.

It’s been…a week…this week. Meaning: not a good one in terms of my mental health. A lot of unidentifiable stress and anxiety. A lot of wanting to stab people in the face for being fucking stupid. A lot of DEAR GOD I NEED SLEEP, BUT I CAN’T FUCKING SLEEP. It could all be prelude to Hell Week. I’m hoping that’s all it is. But it’s a little on the extreme side even for me.

Though maybe not for unmedicated me.

My attention span has been even shittier than usual too. I can barely read more than a paragraph or two without feeling like my brain is going to implode from trying too hard to concentrate. Even mindless games of solitaire are proving to require too much focus.

It’s probably a good thing I never got out the door to go see my mom this week. The drive alone would have killed me.

FEH.

FEH, I say.

In other news…the dress I ordered finally showed up. I tried it on and HOLY CRAP IT FIT. You know, as long as I stuff my gut into my trusty waistnipper.

I was leery of the empire waist factor because even sickly, boney waifs tend to look pregnant in an empire waist dress, but it doesn’t look too empire-y when it’s actually on. Now I need a new bra to wear with it. Because the last two strapless bras I’ve had have been absolute failures. I had a good one that got mangled in the underwire. (The price I pay for machine wash/tumble drying all my bras. I’m not hand washing a damn thing please and thank you. If it’s not machine washable, it’s not worth having.) The next one poked me in the armpit to the extent of leaving a mark for two weeks. The one to replace that did not support my giant jugs enough to hold them up even close to where they’re supposed to be.

Big boobs are OVERRATED.

Also bras are way too effing expensive.

And underwires are a product of the DEVIL HIMSELF.

But when I put the dress on and looked in the mirror, I was actually surprised I liked what I saw. Ghastly white bat wings and all. I didn’t look ginormous, or pregnant and when I walked out into the loft Bob did a double take and said, “Oooh.”

Hanging on the door, it looks really short. But I am really effing short so it hits right about the knee. It’s also a “petite” so it’s made to fit short folk.

Not bad for twenty bucks AND machine washable.

Maybe when I get a proper bra I’ll take a picture of me actually wearing it. Granted I put it on, on a day my hair doesn’t look like I haven’t showered in days, despite having just taken a shower. This short hair business with almost no curl is just a hot mess.