Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Classy, spiritual strumpets

My friend posted a diagram of places a person might get a tattoo and what it said without speaking. You know, if you get them on your face you will probably never have the sort of job that includes paying taxes, if you get one on your ankle you are a little princess, etc, etc. There were numerous comments but I'm only going to post the following because let's just cut right to it, shall we?

ME: "If I got a tattoo, I think I would get a tramp stamp of the words "Tramp Stamp".
HER: "How about a tramp stamp written in Japanese characters?"
ME: "Surrounded by cherry tree blossoms. Fuck, if only I'd never promised my mother that I would never get a tattoo!"

Just imagine if I could have that spiritual tramp stamp, you know, something that says "classy" while also saying "I can shot gun whiskey with the best of them." Well now you can! I'll have to hire actual artists to really get this business going but a prototype is a prototype and here is mine. You're welcome.

According to Google's translation program, that is Bengali for "whore stamp"

Cheer Up, Ya Jerk

I was in a rotten mood yesterday. OK, I've been in a rotten mood for awhile now for various reasons, none of which I need to go into because for one, they are all throughout this stupid blog and for two, who wants to ruminate? My life is screwy just now and the second half of 2011 was challenging and, for various reasons, I've been pissy since last week.

Fortunately for me, I have friends who make me giggle with the things they say and one in particular who will try to draw me out when I'm in a particularly stomp-stomp-pout-fuck-you kind of mood. Yesterday he went above and beyond and drew me the following:
This is a lovely example of reciprocity betwixt friends. I was in a horrendous mood and was avoiding almost everyone for fear that I would act like a complete bitch (you know, more so than usual) to people. I was also upset because I was convinced that my old boss was mad at me (and had been for at least a week). Hunter knew what was going on and he drew me a picture to make me giggle and snap out of it. And it worked. I even printed it out and hung it discreetly in my cubicle so that I could glance over at it to laugh when I started thinking angry thoughts.

I say an example of reciprocity because last week, Hunter and I got into a bit of a kerfuffle over a link I'd sent him. He and I have some really big ideological differences we are both aware of. It isn't a big deal because we don't exactly sit around talking about religion and politics all the time. But Hunter was in a shitty mood and I was the the last straw or the flint that was needed and so he briefly took it out on me. It wasn't a huge deal and it lasted all of five minutes. Once I realized he wasn't just treating me like a dick and that he was in a bad mood, I started drawing him this:
Because that is what friends are there for. To make you laugh in spite of yourself and to snap you out of your worst moods. As it turned out for me, my old boss has not been mad at me and things are fine there. There are other things that haven't straightened out and I have some issues I really need to figure out and work through, but I also have a Happiness Fat Guy tacked to my cubicle where I can look over and smile. 
Bottom line: If you are prone to shitty moods whilst at work, try to have a friend who has access to a paint program who will waste time drawing you silly pictures.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Rallying the Troops

I told J about Stalker last night. I've written this post maybe three times and now I think I'm just basically going to say this: I finally told J and he wasn't mad at me though he would like to beat the piss out of Stalker. He is, of course, very concerned and I had to explain all of the options I have and how I'm not going to just let things happen.

I felt better for telling him and realized that I think the anger I've been feeling the last few days has been because of the recent events (the 1 a.m. email and the coming to my cubicle for no real reason). I've been put on high alert again after I finally managed to calm down. Hunter knows all about it but he isn't here and can't really help me. No one else in my company knows from me (I'm certain one guy knows from Stalker but I don't know who else he might have spoken with). So I've been on edge and nervous and uncertain without any back up. Now I have J and I don't have to worry so much any more about not having told him.

I didn't go into detail (I prefer not to relive every single moment of my life after all), but I told him the basics and let him know that this did not just affect me but my friend. He convinced me that I needed to tell someone in my office so I emailed my old boss late in the evening. I sent her a very black and white, dry, sterile account of what happened and explained that I just needed someone in the office to have documentation of it. Because what if Stalker decides to try to cause problems for me at my job? I don't think he will but then, I never thought he'd abuse his position and access my email in order to harass me so who knows?

So the secret is sort of out and I'm nervous about how old boss will handle it but I think it was for the best. I also hope, sincerely, that I don't ever waste another post on that mother fucker.

Friday, January 27, 2012

What I Do These Days

I posted the picture of the donkey that I drew and figured I might as well come clean. I've spent too much time during this work week drawing pictures. Bad pictures. Here are the other two.


Seeing as they aren't that great, one might wonder how much time I actually spent. Well, I have to find a picture online (thank you google.com/images!) and then copy from that, usually over notes I've made during the day. There is something therapeutic about it when I'm in a rotten mood.

In other work news
I'm moving! I get to move to a new cubicle and I am ridiculously stoked because it's a great cubicle. What makes it so great is that it is tucked away in a place where few venture on a daily basis so I'll get to hide away from the rest of the office. I made the request to move because there is a lot of traffic in my hallway that I tune out. Then someone will need me and they'll come to my cubicle and scare the living shit out of me (I'm jumpy). But the other benefit is that I won't have to deal with knowing when Stalker passes by. I know that sounds weird but I can usually tell who it is behind me and he has a distinctive walk. I'm still annoyed about his emailing me with his request so I'm more on edge these days. Hell, I had a nightmare last night and he was in it, threatening to tell everyone I work with about what happened. So that distance is a good thing.

Also, my friend, Hunter, is coming back to my office! He's only going to be here for a blink of an eye but I didn't think I'd see him again for years so this is a total bonus. All of my really good friends live thousands of miles away from me so I never get to see anyone and I made the mistake of becoming this guy's friend knowing that he lives far away (everyone else just fucking moved on me). So yippee.

Now I just have to hope my boss doesn't give me an awkward or bad performance review in the next coming months and I should have confirmation for my belief that 31 is going to be a good year (all it takes, apparently, is getting to move to a new cubicle and having a friend visit for a day).

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts

They never stop. It's the unpredictability. I've decided to exploit my disease whenever possible and I joke about it but still.

It doesn't stop, knowing that a week from now I may be in wheelchair, I may lose my sight, my cognitive functioning.

It has been months. When do I learn to live with it? When do I stop waiting for the other foot to drop? When do I go back to being the me I was before this?

I'm not weak, I'm not to be pitied. I am strong, I am a Viking, I am badass.

So when do I stop being such a fucking scared pussy? When will this stop consuming me?

Twenty One

Do you remember your 21st birthday? I remember mine. It was spent a a TGIFridays with my mom, UAE, Viking, and Uncle, where I had a roasted vegetable sandwich and a giant, blue, frozen margarita with a fish topped glass stir stick. Very tame. These days? Yeah, kids don't celebrate like that.

Upstairs Kid's birthday was Sunday and on Saturday he invited me to his party. Sure, I thought, why not pretend I'm a normal person who does this sort of thing? Huge mistake because 1: yeah, I'm not a normal human being and 2: I'm 31. I drove him downtown and found a parking spot after we found a place without any obvious signage stating that it was illegal. "I better not get towed, mother fucker. And remember, I'm parked on a slant." We went to his buddy's place, a really nice apartment in a building that used to be some sort of hospital and started the night off with 100 proof cinnamon schnapps mixed with apple juice soda (yes, that exists). Before long, the apartment was filled with a bunch of chemistry grad students, all but one of whom was much younger than I. I knew this was going to be the case but figured, meh, I'll be the oldest and can wow them with my knowledge of such things as a 401K, health benefits, and the 8 to 5 workaday world. We actually talked about all sorts of things from heavy metal, the Wu-Tang Clan, and how Austria's greatest trick was convincing the world that Hitler was German and Bach was Austrian. OK, so at one point I may have started yelling about how Paterno fucking dropped the ball and was not blameless because if you see or hear about a child rape, you go to the fucking police and not 'university police' (sorry dude, I don't usually do that. I usually only get really passionate about people not voting in this country when I'm drunk). But all in all, it was a good time and I spent part of the evening with the older guy, looking up his operating physician, explaining health insurance appeal rights, and what he should do in the future should he ever need to.

Around midnight, we walked to a local bar so that Upstairs Kid could be served his first legal drink. Based on the size and brightness of the sign, and the fact that it was three deep at the bar, I'm assuming it was a popular place. I actually ran into a kid that I'd met months earlier and that was rad. I talked to some other random friend of Upstairs Kid about HP Lovecraft. And I drank. A lot. My night started with the schnapps apple juice soda drink and, I believe, ended up with Guinness, but I had snake bite shots and at least one tequila shot in between. I also fell a few times. OK, I was fucked up, but if I'd been wearing different shoes, I might have been upright for longer (I pronate wickedly and before I knew this, I couldn't wear heals. That night, I was wearing snow boots with a wedge heal.) Still, I had fun.

Until I didn't. At one point, I had that moment of "shit, I'm drunk. Yeah, I'm done." So I did what anyone in my state might do, I left. Without telling anyone. I stumbled outside and started walking with the idea of getting to my car. I knew we weren't on the street where I parked but, come on, if you are drunk and you keep walking on the same street, you'll come to the right one eventually right? Fortunately, I didn't meet my car. Instead, I met some pavement and then, after I righted myself and kept stumbling, I met two very nice girls who had either been there themselves or hoped they'd find themselves if they were ever in the same situation, and they helped me to a cab. God bless the midwest and their nice people! These girls didn't even give me a hard time for being shitfaced, alone, and downtown! No, they were just very nurturing and caring and "no, it's OK. Really! Come on, we're going to get you home." How they hailed a cab in Columbus, I don't know. The cab driver must have had a sister or a daughter my age because he took my drunken ass fare and got me home.

Where I collapsed. OK, so he dropped me off a building away and I didn't realize it until I walked into a building and thought "hmm. I don't live here." Then I went to my building, took off my pants, and got under the covers. Sweet sleep! Until... sometime in the middle of the night, Upstairs Kid was sitting on my bed waking me up. He'd been really worried, regardless of his friends saying "she's 30, she can take care of herself!" so he used his key (he has taken care of Johan for me), let himself in, saw that I was in bed, and woke me up to double check. I then proceeded to spend the night taking care of his drunk ass. We sat in my bathroom whilst he held his head over the toilet. I brought him water and an apple (electrolytes?) and just spoke to him. Eventually, I realized he probably wasn't going to puke so I got him into my bed, put a bucket by his side, rubbed his back and assured him it was OK and that he'd be fine.

He was, of course, and he didn't even puke! In the morning we got a neighbor to drive us downtown to pick up my car, where we found, oh, wait, there was a do not park sign! Thus, I had been towed and we then had to find the impound lot. That was fun, going to the lot, where Upstairs Kid insisted on paying and spent some time trying to get cash from the ATM. Whilst he fucked with that, two EMO club kids came in for their car. One of them started talking trash about how he hoped he was never some sad fuck who worked at an impound lot and hungover asshole over here called him out, asked what he did for a living (teaching assistant) and then told him that he was no better than anyone, that I'm white trash and have a better job but that I'm no better than impound guy or EMO guy and that I didn't appreciate his pretentious, judgmental attitude. Upstairs Kid and I had to go outside so we could go to a bank to get the cash and neighbor said "dude, I think you made that kid shit his pants."

We got the cash and my car and then some McDonalds breakfast so all was well. But we both just laughed our asses off because we'd had a great time with some really random shit, my falling in public and then peacing out without word to anyone, his busting into my place and waking me up, the whole adventure that was getting my car. I'm not proud of my behavior and certainly wish I'd had more than a few pieces of cheese before I went out to the celebration, but I'm sure Upstairs Kid's friends have a story to tell and so do I. Plus, you know, life lessons and character building and all that shit.

All in all, I learned two things. 1: A 21st birthday is to be remembered. And 2: just because your friend is turning 21, does not mean that you are the same age.

I am busy and important, thank you.

Friday, January 20, 2012

A Friday

I only had to work until 1 PM today. Monday was MLK day and Tuesday was a vacation day for me, but I worked three hours (more actually) over those two days so was able to split early. I passed a few minutes bullshitting with girlfriends before I went so left at 1:15. I stopped by J's to drop off some mail and ended up on the phone for 30 minutes talking to my health insurance company on his behalf. J has primary insurance through his employer but I keep him on my benefits because mine are better. He received a prescription denial notice last month and when I called I was assured that it wasn't really a denial but a notice that his primary denied payment and so my coverage would pay. This time it looked like a denial of an appeal never filed. So we sat in my car whilst I talked to various representatives. J is a grownup and perfectly intelligent but I work in the healthcare field and have the vernacular and vocabulary and knowledge that he does not. So I spoke on the phone whilst he made jokes to make me giggle and slap him. It was sorted out, in his favor, and we were happy.

At 5 PM we ended up at a neighborhood bar where we had three drinks a piece, white wine for me and Murphy's stout for him. We talked about normal stuff before I started telling him random shit about MS. I told him how I renewed my gym membership, asking if there is a discount for people with chronic, incurable diseases (there is not). I told him how I talked to Viking at work and how that was a mistake because she is an old woman who doesn't think not to ask personal questions. "How are you doing with the shots? They hurt, don't they, when the needle goes in? J doesn't live with you anymore does he? He wasn't doing anything for you was he?" "No, Viking, the shots aren't that bad going in, it's just the side effects that bother me." "No, J lives in our old complex." "Viking, J is a great person, but we just don't live together anymore."

J got upset, to the point of tears. He has never done well with the diagnosis but I thought my making light of it would be OK. I thought wrong. He hates that I have this disease and that I have to give myself shots. No, I don't have to apologize, it's just that I am his wife, he told me in a quiet voice, and he wants to take care of me and take this away from me. I assured him that I'm the same person he met, the same idiot, the same jackass, at which point he made a joke. But he really hates that he can't fix this for me and I was honest and told him that I would like to be able to fix it as well. But I made damned sure that he understood that he needn't pity me, that I'm doing just fine. I would have cried myself if I didn't feel like I needed to take care of him.

We eventually went to dinner at our pub, where we discovered that our favorite couple, the ones who ran the place, had, indeed, moved on. J and I were greatly disappointed because they'd been there since we started showing up regularly. But we sat at the bar and enjoyed our food and agreed to meet once a week at a bar to watch one of the better NBA games. Whether we start next week or wait until after we meet for Super Bowl Sunday, I don't know. J told me that he didn't like that we'd gotten to the point where we had to make plans like this but I told him it was just what we needed. Dating like this is perfect, after all, for a couple that never really dated before becoming serious. I told him that if we are going to work out and be together, we need to really see how we are together. I truly believe he thought we just had some problems or disagreements to work out, whilst I think we need to get to know one another again. No matter what, this feels like a good compromise.

I dropped him off afterwords, and went home, where I let Johan out after he mistook my finger for a bell pepper and bit the fuck into it.

And that was the most of my Friday. 

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Balls Will Always Be Funny

We all have certain things that make us cranky, whether it be low blood sugar, hunger, boredom, sexual frustration*, etc. For me it appears to be lack of sleep. I didn't get more than four hours last night and felt sick with fatigue all day, which caused me to act like a total bitch. Not to acquaintances and clients, of course, just to my friends and my mother. Why the fuck do we do that, reserve all civil behavior for those we don't really care about on a significant level whilst subjecting the people we actually like to our worse behavior? I all but picked fights with two of my friends and was flat out rude to my mom over email. But when I had to train a colleague I don't work with much, I had all the patience and calm in the world and reassured her that what she needed to do was simple and I would always be available to help her. Is it because we know that the people who care about us will understand and love us anyway even if we act like complete twats from time to time? I don't know if I am the easiest person to take on a regular basis but when I'm moody, forget having a civil discussion with me on any topic other than "holy fuck am I in a bad mood and you know what, mother fucker? I don't give a fuck about anything today and will not give a fuck until I get some mother fucking sleep." Little ray of sunshine, that's what they call me.
 But certain things still made me laugh throughout the day and they are too good to keep to myself. One of the best was the phrase "enlarged scrotal vein removal." I didn't even know that was a thing! But balls will always make me laugh because I'm secretly a 13 year old girl who laughs at things like the word "testicles". I looked it up (wikipedia's blackout was annoying but there are always other sources) and it just got better when I found this site and read about the symptoms. Feeling a little dragging or heaviness in your nuts there buddy? When you were playing with your garbage did you happen to feel something like worms or spaghetti? Don't worry, we can take care of that for you. Heh heh, nuts.

One of the first things to make me smile was a column from Dear Abby. "Olympia" is 18, lost her first ever job but has two offers for college, and has decided she is going to work as a prostitute. As my friend pointed out, this was a 'do not pass go' move straight to hooking without any of that silly toe in the water stripping nonsense. Not only did she go from some ordinary job to selling her honey badger, she told her mother about the decision! Who the fuck does that? "You know what, mom, I'm not going to be a sucker like you working for peanuts. I have a perfectly good vag that I can sell and make a killing. You're dumb, you should have been a prostitute." And Abby's response was pretty cute what with her comment that this line of work will only be an option while "Olympia"s looks hold. Abs evidently hasn't seen the movie Monster or else she'd realize that men will fuck anything - and even pay for it.

Finally, on my ride home, listening to NPR, I heard the following statement made regarding Francesco Shettino, the captain of that cruise ship that partially sunk: "claimed he accidentally fell into a lifeboat". What an awesomely terrible excuse for abandoning ship during an emergency! I wonder if he also 'accidentally' pushed old people out of the way before falling overboard. Maybe he 'accidentally' grabbed a baby from a mother's arms as an excuse to get to one of the lifeboats first (by accident of course). Is anyone really supposed to buy that?

And with that I bid you adieu as I need to get a few things done before I pop some Nyquil at 8 o'clock so that I can get some sleep. I have a feeling I'm lucky to have the friends that I do so I can't exactly push my luck with more bad behavior.

*Be warned that this is TMI - Here's hoping that sexual frustration isn't one of my 'buttons' or else I'm going to be a stark raving cunt pretty soon.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Stars at Night

Dig It
Is it just me, or is it kind of fucked up that people dig up all of Egypt to find buried people? Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of archeology and can understand the importance of knowing about history but still, isn't it weird that we celebrate digging up intact funereal chambers? I guess it doesn't matter to the dead since, well, their dead (and for the wealthy and powerful Egyptian dead, they would probably be far too busy hanging out with their friends, pets, and riches in the afterlife to pay attention to what was going on back in the old home town). Still, there is something asinine about the idea of someone digging up my grandfather in 4,000 years and awing at well his casket remained intact (especially considering said grandfather did not want to be buried but wanted to be cremated so that no poor schmuck would have to mow over him).

Long weekend should equal productivity and adventure. 
Yeah, it doesn't, although I have read like a mother fucker. Seriously, have you tried the Larsson books? I've owned Dragon Tattoo for ages but never opened it until I started reading reviews of the movie. I was so hooked that I finished it in three days and bought the sequel because I wasn't about to wait on the library. Reading is one of the only entertaining pastimes I have left. I've canceled my cable and am considering canceling my Netflix to save that $8 a month. I've also sold all but my very favorite books and DVDs so that I have cash on hand for things like Johan's supplies. That sounds incredibly pathetic but as I told a friend, I'm not blowing guys in the 7-11 parking lot in order to buy a gallon of gas. I've even treated people to meals twice this week. Last Friday featured a monthly meeting with one of our clients and it was a bad one. My poor former boss has been beaten down over the last two weeks so when I finagled an invitation to the weekly lunch with my former department, I sprung for her. She wasn't pleased at first because it wasn't planned but she sucked it up* and accepted when I said, simply, "you've had a rough few weeks, you deserve it." And last night I met J at our pub so that we could watch the first half of the Giants/Packers game**. I would have liked to stay longer, drinking beer and finishing the game, but J wasn't totally down with that and it started to smell. J informed me that it was a 'kid' smell from one of the few tables that had small children and evidently, parents don't do anything about that smell anymore.

So yeah, pretty boring at chez Cat but what's new? I'm totally not making good use of my time and I haven't been to the gym in ages. I fell off the sugar detox bullshit awhile ago and planned on restarting today or tomorrow. But I'm not going to. Instead, I'm going to focus on low fat and gluten free in hopes of magiking my MS away***. I need my diet soda and I hate not being able to have fruit if I can't have candy so fuck you sugar detox, I'm going to eat lean meats, vegetables that I can stand****, fruit, and all the diet fucking soda I want. I will, however, detox for three weeks from booze as I need to rehab it for awhile after the holiday season (which begins with my birthday and ends tomorrow). But I'm not giving up diet soda and I'm going to quit with the whole milk and bacon because it doesn't feel right to eat lots and lots of animal fats even if some say we should go back to the hunters and gatherers for nutritional advice. I'm all for eating animals and what grows out of the ground, but can I at least eat the animals that dieted and weren't couch potatoes? Thanks!

At about 1 a.m. on Sunday morning I received an email from Stalker with a 'simple request' that when we see each other, we acknowledge one another with a friendly 'hello' or 'hey'. My response was perfectly 'simple' as well. "Go fuck yourself. And never email me again." Too much? I don't think so. He doesn't understand subtlety and I couldn't risk his reading between lines. It didn't help matters that earlier that day a mutual friend said something that sounded so much like Stalker that I panicked and asked him to prove who he was by answering a question about pet names because I was paranoid his email had been hacked.

And if you have a simple, innocent, impersonal request, do not email my personal email address at 1 a.m. in the morning. And if you've hacked into my email so that you can spy on me and then harass me for a few hours until I threaten to ruin your life, what right do you have to make a request of me anyway?

Now, if you'll excuse me, it is really cold outside and I'm stupid so I'm going to go take a really long walk. Without a bra on. 

*The last time we lunched together, former boss sprung for me without warning. So yeah, suck it up bitch.

**I was really pissed to miss this game because it was a good one from what I could see and I was only somewhat invested in the outcome. I'd been directed by Hunter to root for New York only because he's a Chicago guy with a grudge against Green Bay. I could get on board with that as I root for the Bears (family thing) but J also pointed out that Aaron Rogers is a great QB who was treated like shit by Favre and Favre is certainly not one of my favorite people.

***Don't worry, I don't really think I can eat my way out of MS... I'm going to wave crystals, light candles, and pray to my goddess spirit for that, thank you very much.

****The offer still stands.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

No comment

Here's a question for Ask Jeeves: What the fuck is my problem with other people being aware that I exist? One of my favorite bloggers is mimismartypants, whose blog I've been following for a few years (and in true fangirl style, I've read all of her archives... seriously, go to www.mimismartypants.com and see what that entails). She mentioned before that she has neck problems because she has a weird issue of thinking her head will fall off (I'm not doing it justice and if you've gone to her page and you see the volume of her archives, you'll forgive me for not getting it exactly right). That sounds weird but I just accepted it because I'm a total freak who is uncomfortable when people point out that I'm wearing color or have my hair down because it means they notice that I exist, physically, in time and space.

I was paid a compliment today, a very nice one. I was informed that someone found my "combination of wit, wisdom, and sensuality exhilarating." That sounds really great, doesn't it? What did I answer? "Yeah, I'm awesome, alright." That is how I answer most compliments when they aren't about something I'm wearing, in which case I can answer "I've had this for years and always get comments on it" or "I love this dress and it only cost $20." I've never been good with compliments although I answer with "Thank you" these days more often than I do with sarcasm because it is the societal norm and let's face it, I can take all the societal norm I can fake. But when I receive a compliment like that, I am startled and briefly taken aback because, what the fuck, why are you paying enough attention to me to form an opinion?

As I said to the same friend recently, I spend a great deal of time trying to be invisible outside of my work. I want people to know that I work hard, am diligent, loyal, dedicated, and competent. But I don't want to be on anyone's personal radar and I don't want to cause any trouble, not in a personal sense. Stalker fell in love with me and thought the world of me. My best friend, K, once said something like "there you are, disparaging yourself again" with a disappointed tone when I told her someone had complimented me on looking like a lady and I'd responded with "yeah, but I'm still the same old ox, just in a dress." It is more reflexive than intentional. I want to avert their attention away from me and make them laugh so that I can return to being the jackass and not someone you take seriously, again, unless it is work related.

Why is that? Why do I find the idea of people treating me like they can see, hear, and consider what I'm saying or experiencing so abhorrent? I really have no clue. Is it that I live so much in my head and don't find myself to be noteworthy? I don't mean that in a self-esteem way, I just don't find myself that remarkable. Sure, I think I'm funny, hell, I put a lot in this here blog that probably only humors me because I get a kick out of myself. And it isn't unreasonable to be complimented. I compliment people all the time, recently telling a friend that I was glad she was going to take over managerial responsibilities over a particular employee because I felt that employee, specifically, would really benefit from said friend's mentoring and managerial ways. I'm not flippant or sycophantic with the compliments, but sincere. That particular friend doesn't take them well because she isn't comfortable with having any spotlight shone on her. I just don't want to be reminded that I have any lasting impression on people.

But why? It makes no sense. There are people who have impressed me and influenced me greatly in my life and I will never forget them and, when possible, I seek them out to let them know.  Former teachers, friends past and present, family members, so many people have helped form who I am today and I'm grateful to them and will most likely be grateful to many in the future. Yet every facebook friend request I make to someone from my past begins with a message stating "You might not remember me, my name was x back then and you would know me from x y or z." The response is always "Of course I remember you!" and is inevitably warm and positive.

Why am I convinced that no one notices me regardless of the evidence to the contrary and, more importantly, why do I want to be forgettable? Any ideas?

Smells like pee

My desk, not me. Seriously, it smells like someone peed in my cubicle and it is driving me crazy.

I am super tired and want to go home and sleep and not do anything but that. Or play Angry Birds. I have an overwhelming urge to play Angry Birds or Bubble Ball.

I really need to stop drawing on food. I was drawing on hard boiled eggs for awhile but ran out of them. Yesterday I drew on the mystery fruit. Today I drew on my apple. I should just eat the food rather than decorate it.

I do not understand the following: Rihanna, Katy Perry, Miley Cyrus, Tyler Lautner, biographies of professional wrestlers, GOP primaries.

I do understand these things: Smart Food popcorn, Diet Coke, Masterpiece Mystery,Us Weekly, naps, wasting time disguised as intelligent conversation.

I don't care about the following: Most stuff. That isn't true, I'm just tired and apathetic. The best part of my day was the rousing discussion in book club (two other women showed up and one is my friend, Hadley, and she and I have been discussing the book for months).

Roscoe is a good name.

This is amongst my worst entries ever. I'm going to draw a picture 'right quick' to make it a bit better. Hang on.

Meh, still sucks. And you can see that I forgot the 't' at the end of paint.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Under the bridge

So the thing I meant to say earlier before I went on that weird gym tangent. It has been on my mind for the last week or so, kicking around in there like dusty marbles banging into one another as I tilt my head hoping they'll just slip out of my ear. It has to do with Stalker and I've been hesitant to write about it for a couple of reasons. The whole situation, especially in retrospect, actually affected me more than I like to let on and I don't generally like to think about any of it, preferring, instead, on the ostrich/sand approach. This is, after all, one of the only situations where I can get away with that approach. I'm also hesitant because what I'm going to say feels mean spirited even though I don't mean it to be. Stalker is a sympathetic character in a number of ways and, unless I'm talking about blatant shit like background checks and email hacking, to say anything negative about him would probably surprise the people we both know and make me look like a bitch. Hunter knows the most about it but even he doesn't have a fly on the wall perspective and he, too, feels a lot of sympathy for Stalker. They are the same age, roughly, in the same field, and occasionally work together. Stalker also had(has?) a tendency to unload on Hunter, much of what he said untrue, hyperbolic, and, at times, delusional. Hunter is a nice and forgiving man, which is one of the best things about him, and I've never blamed him for being so kindhearted toward a man who completely violated both of our privacy. We all have our own specific relationships with one another and his and Stalker's is different than his and mine and mine and Stalker's (like that sentence? Neither do I). But this means that I don't really have many outlets to talk about things that I've realized in retrospect and so my blog gets to deal with it.

Stalker is a nice, generous, and warmhearted individual. He truly cares about his friends, took a nephew under his wing, and will give you the shirt off his back. He's accomplished a lot in his life and has a lot to be proud of. He is, by all accounts, a good guy. However, he is also immature in some respects. If he didn't get his way, he would keep on and keep on and keep on the subject until I felt like a trapped animal, hoping to chew through my own paw to escape. I tried to explain once that his behavior made me feel claustrophobic (something he didn't quite understand but relayed incorrectly to Hunter, just as an example) because it was suffocating and stifling to not be able to just disagree and move on. I was so uncomfortable that I grabbed my shit and split just to get some air and get away from him. He admits to being one who fixates on things but I don't think even he realizes how he'll zero in on very specific wants and just push and push until he's all but pushed the desired item over the edge.

He was also extremely nasty when we got into fights and said oddly mean things about me. One time he accused me of using him. We weren't having a fight or anything, it just came out and he didn't understand why I was upset. What's more, it didn't matter that I was upset and he didn't want to understand. Instead, he eventually started yelling at me and telling me that I was twisting his words like I apparently always did to everyone. I don't remember half of what he said because it didn't make a lot of sense but it continued when I got home and he was sending me emails saying that I liked to hurt people, that I didn't care about anyone, that I could never love anyone until I loved myself, and so on and so forth. It was bizarre because it was vitriolic and Stalker is not someone that you would ever think capable of such intense hatred.

Here is another reason why I wasn't bursting at the seams to talk about this, the fact that I put up with it and allowed it to happen. Stalker was possessive and domineering in a way and I let him get away with a hell of a lot because I thought "oh, well, he didn't mean that and he felt bad." Truthfully, he didn't mean it and he did feel bad. This isn't abused girlfriend speech, trust me. You can tell when someone has a pattern of behavior and when they are truly shocked that what they did had consequences they weren't expecting. Stalker really is naive in a respect and without malicious intent. I let that excuse his behavior and allowed myself to be treated poorly because I felt so indebted to his incredible kindness and generosity (like I said, I am fortunate to have generous friends but I still feel guilty about taking what I haven't earned). I continually forgave him and he never learned. It wasn't until he had me literally scared of him and unsure of his actions that I snapped out of it and demanded that I be treated with a modicum of respect. So, in a way, I did behave like the victim of domestic abuse because I constantly forgave him and let it go without forcing him to understand exactly why his behavior was unacceptable. Instead, he said sorry, got a bit teary, and I said "OK, let's just move on." I basically invited the same thing to happen over and over. Don't misunderstand, I never felt bullied or scared into submission. It was more of taking an objective stance, as I so often did growing up, and thinking "he didn't mean it, he feels bad, he apologized, so my pressing the point and asking that my feelings be truly addressed would be petty." My friendship with Hunter is far more normal and benevolent as evidenced by the fact that I recently felt insulted by him and, instead of justifying himself, he took a step back and said that he did not want to explain himself more fear of firing me up further. He'd said something that I took to mean 'you'll grow out of your silly beliefs' and I knew he didn't mean it that way. He never once apologized and he didn't take the topic further. He just stopped it because he didn't want me to be upset. That is one of the best tactics to take, stepping away so that you don't muddy the waters further. I didn't feel like my hurt feelings were invalidated, that I was overreacting, or that he didn't care. At the same time, I didn't feel bad for him or that I should just let it go but let him know how and why he'd offended me. In short, I simply felt what I think really happened, he said something that he may not have thought about thoroughly, I felt the way I did, and we let it go rather than jumping down a rabbit hole together. Hunter had nothing to be forgiven for and I had nothing to forgive. We are friends, the world goes round, and he learned a little bit about me. What's more, the way in which he offended me is what I consider generic and unconscious because so many people do that shit to me without thinking. Just because he is my friend does not mean that Hunter automatically knows what buttons to avoid.

I did have a lot of fun with the kid. We went out, got wasted, danced, played a bit with controlled substances, and laughed our asses off. He is the most generous person I've ever met and I tried my best to keep him from being taken advantage of. But the moment he fell in love with me, he fell out of reality and things were fucked. I just didn't know it. But he was not the nice guy he claimed and still claims to be. I don't know if he was always like this or if it happened as it did because it had been over a decade since he'd felt anything romantic towards a woman. He was, in reality, immature, clingy, needy, cruel, and overbearing. I enabled it by being such a pushover and not standing up for myself when I should have done. That is to say, I have my part of the blame.

Here is why I can bring myself to talk about this. We all need an outlet and virtually none of the people we have in common will ever hear my side. I'm not going to all of the people we both know to give my detailed account of what happened because it is none of their business and I don't see the point. There are only two people who know us both who will likely ever know my side of things in this depth. One is my best friend and she, in a way, doesn't count. Sorry girl, I love you, but you only knew him for a year and you weren't here for the play by play. The other is Hunter.

I think that writing about it all is my way of getting my side out there without having to run some campaign to prove I wasn't some horrible girl who took advantage of a nice guy. Because I'm not. And Stalker isn't a horrible human being who preys on young girls to treat them badly. It was a terrible situation, a perfect storm, a horrible experiment. I feel and hope that it was specific to our personalities so that neither of us, or those on the periphery, ever has to go through it again. But it did happen and I do have a side and I am effected. Now, I believe, I can let the water flow under the bridge without a dam.

I have no Cherokee blood

It's true, I am. "So fucking" is the level of bored that I reached by 3PM this afternoon after a day spent as a virtual dervish of activity. Seriously, I killed it today with all my data entry and emails and neat stacking of paper. I think it was the unbroken hours of productivity that led to this current state of ennui and listlessness. Usually I break my day up a bit with reading things on the internet and chatting with my friends. But the internet bored me today and the main person I chat with is all busy with stupid work and meetings and obligations and responsibilities and the other people I usually play with are either not in the office or are super busy with big projects. Thus I am left to my own devices, which means I'm getting a lot of work done and thinking about ways in which I could stage a little mock battle between my pens and pencils under my desk, just to break the tedium. I have a feeling the pens would win because I have more of them and they are permanent. Remember pencil fighting? It always sucked when the kid you were fighting hit your fingers instead.

Oh! Here's something. I managed to take off my bra without lifting up my dress or going to the restroom. I somehow managed to unhook it through the fabric of my dress and shimmied out of it. No, I wasn't doing this just for something to do; the elastic (it's a strapless) was cutting into my skin and it was super uncomfortable. I only have 90 minutes left of work, I have small boobs, and I have a denim jacket on so it isn't going to cause a scandal (and no, I'm not taking any pictures). I have been known (by me) to free boob it at work from time to time but not at all often. It is so fucking nice though, when I can pull it off. I'm frequently braless at home when it is just me and the pig (it goes well with the pantlessness of my weekends) and I often go to the store without a bra because, pff, I have to wear a jacket so who will notice? But on those occasions when I can manage it at work, I just feel like such a badass and like I have something on the rest of the office because fuck all those mother fuckers, this bitch, this bitch right here? She's comfortable.

Mystery Fruit

I forced myself to go to the stupid gym and use the stupid elliptical last night. I did 2.5 miles in 30 minutes and when I stepped off after my cool down, my legs were made of jello and I was terrified I'd fall over. I went up a flight of stairs* to walk a half mile round the track before going home just to calm my legs down. It was kind of nice and relaxing to wind down that way, and I enjoyed watching two separate individuals who would occasionally sprint around the track. I liked watching them because they ran with their arms flailing about as though they were being chased by monsters or zombies or Dick Cheney or something.

We all have things we dislike when it comes to the gym and here is a list of mine since nobody asked:
  1. Super fit, skinny chicks who get on the treadmill next to me and run at 8 miles and hour whilst wearing baseball hats. I sweat like a Yeti and can barely run a mile at 5.5 right now so give me a break, will ya? 
  2. Any woman wearing makeup.
  3. Any woman wearing her hair down (unless her hair is too short to put up).
  4. Super fit, skinny chicks sitting at equipment and phoning in the work out. I work hard and I'm a Yeti.
  5. Men who clearly didn't put deodorant on before hopping on the treadmill next to me.
  6. People who don't wipe down their machines. Really?!?! 
I threw in the last two just to make it seem like I have less of a complex than I really do. Here are a few things I do like about the gym:
  1. When I see really fit people quietly working out in corners and not being all flaunty about it.
  2. How isolated and alone I feel when I'm on a treadmill/elliptical with my headphones on.
  3. When I see overweight people or people of my stature putting in an honest effort.
  4. Seeing people punch weight bags. I don't know why, but that just tickles me. 
  5. Seeing people working out with friends and using one another as spotters. I would like to have a spotter. 
I generally only bitch about the gym so I thought I'd throw some good things in there. I really do enjoy seeing super fit chicks who can do pull ups unassisted and yesterday I saw a chick on the third floor in a quiet little corner doing pushups and all sorts of things mixed in. I also like seeing super fit guys doing work outy things when they aren't being grunty and ostentatious about it. 

*The particular gym I went to last night has three floors and I believe three of the staircases are made of thick green glass with nothing in between. Hard to describe, really, but they make me really uncomfortable because I prefer to have something solid when I'm climbing steps, especially with jelly legs.

After eating roughly $5 of vending machine food yesterday, I went home, had a glass of red wine (really, just the one glass, I know, right?), pizza rolls, and ice cream. And now I'm back on the stupid detox with one variation; I am drinking diet soda. That's right, fuck you, I'm drinking a diet Coke. In fact... ahhh, I just took a sip. My plan is to drink soda (one a day) for the first week and then wean myself off in hopes that this will be easier. Unfortunately, I don't feel like eating chicken or cheese, the two things I brought with me, so I'm basically just not eating. We'll see how long that lasts before I shovel chicken down my gullet without chewing, like a snake. No gym today but I'll probably do stupid chores when I get home. I hate stupid chores. Maybe I'll just play with Johan instead.

I feel like there was something else I was going to say but, for the life of me, I can't think of it. Yeah, I'm certain it was super important, like about how I came to work and found a mystery fruit* at my desk or about how my feet are really cold or something. Actually, I just remembered what it was but it is for another post of all its own. I'll have to make a note so I don't forget. What the fuck? How did I have a topic all picked out and then end up writing so much about the gym?


Tuesday, January 10, 2012


Remember a few hours ago when I was all "I'm getting back on the wagon and going to the gym after work"? Yeah, fuck that shit. I'm going home, huddling into my couch, and reading a book. I feel like crap, worse now than earlier, and don't want to be bothered. I also seem incapable of doing any real work for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Instead, I'm emailing/pestering/annoying my friends with random things such as:
"A girl I work with just said "I loooove veggies". I told her that is because she is a genetic freak whilst thinking "fuck you skinny, healthy, in shape chick."

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I will blow the man who can get me to eat vegetables on a daily basis.

I really think it would be a man, too, because a woman would make me want to rebel and throw apples when I had a flash back to my mother making me eat green beans (which I would try to swallow without chewing with the aid of my milk... grossest thing ever).

Maybe I can put an ad on Craig's list...."
I also got Birdy to agree to let me ride in her utility cart down the hallway to the ladies room:

And now I am surrounded by large binders of audits that I need to QA. That makes me sound important, doesn't it? Really, I'm just flipping pages to make sure there are no misplaced documents or mixed medical records before Birdy sends them out. Super fun. But, it's about the speed I'm on right now so I may as well be grateful.

You know, seeing as most of the grownups are out of the office at the moment, I wonder if I could get away with changing into my gym clothes. Not that I'm going to the gym (I'm totally not, even if I did eat a little bag of popcorn and more M&Ms), but I'd be comfy. My sweater is making me sweat my tits off because today is actually nice compared to yesterday when I didn't have alcohol coursing through my veins and froze all day long.

Fine, fuck it, I'll go and do the elliptical (if I tried running I'm pretty sure I'd puke). This is the third time I've updated this post. Quicksilver was a good and premonitory title. 

And it is only stupid Tuesday

That is how I feel today. Yeah, I guess that makes a load of sense, huh? Yellow makes that picture feel uncomfortable (well, it does if you are me and you are a synesthete) and in my head I just keep thinking "dude.... what the fuck."

Yes lady and gentleman (I'm being kind and assuming I have two readers), I fell off the wagon last night and am still just walking beside it today. Stupid fucking sugar detox. Stupid fucking friend, KR, who is all healthy and inspiring and good at this shit. I had wine last night. Lots of it. I was supposed to just have 'some' because I have to run today but nope, I decided I'd have lots and not really eat much. Cause I'm smart. So I'm hungover today and treating said hangover with M&Ms and Sun Chips (three little bags). I am also drinking lots of water though, so I'm not a total fuck up.

I do like that the extent of my fucking up is pretty minimal. A little bit of candy, some chips, oh, and soda. Oh my god! Soda!!! How I missed my diet Coke. I think I told three people and the vending machine "I'm going to drink the fuck out of my diet Coke" and I did! It was glorious and I am filled with effervescent happiness just reminiscing about it. But yeah, I didn't have Chinese food or pizza and I didn't just sit and eat an entire cake on my own or anything. Really, the damage is minimal (or else I'm just talking myself out of feeling uber guilty).

I'm not taking this whole day off mind you. If the chips and M&Ms don't help, I'm just going back to the protein and nuts and unhappiness that I've been hanging out with for the past week (heh, nuts). And I'm still going to the gym, if only to punish myself by making myself run and sweat out the alcohol and feel awful. I couldn't run yesterday because I fucked up my shot on Sunday night and hit something and so had a very painful thigh. I did core work instead and discovered that my hip doesn't work right. Seriously, there are certain moves I can no longer do because it feels like my hip is going to come out of its socket. I've had this feeling before, whilst climbing a rock wall in college (oh those glorious days when I was healthy and thin!) and when I tried to be on top for sex (yeah, weird and random, right? I've not been on top in years and I don't really do blow jobs so I am the most spoiled sexual partner of all time). But not being able to exercise is a new one and I wonder if it has to do with running. Lousy body. I bet it wants calcium or something. There's calcium in prenatal vitamins, right?

So, yeah, that's where I am today. As I emailed my best friend, "being at work not hungover is awesome. I am at work and I'm hungover. " She jumped off the wagon last night in her own way. She also provided me with some of the best comments ever and I'll leave you with them to brighten you day:

Via text that came out of the blue:
"Soooo. Got so drunk last night that I peed the bed. A lot."

Email conversation:
ME: "So are you going to Taco Shack tonight?"

HER: "Hells yeah we're going to taco shack! I'm going to mow down on some yummy tacos and then  later tonight I'm going to give up my taco to him. That should make him feel better and be less mad at me."  

And that, that right there, is why she is my best friend.

And in case you were wondering, yes, she did give up her taco. I totally asked. Oh, and I think Taco Shack is actually the name of the restaurant.

Monday, January 9, 2012

Wicked Weekend

Poor Monday, always so timid after years of being abused by the work weary masses. I overslept yet again. I actually took a nighttime cold pill last night in order to get to sleep since that is where I seem to run into trouble. Once asleep I’m good, but getting there is a challenge. So whilst I am well rested, I am also annoyed at being 20 minutes late because I’m not a big fan of my ability to turn off all four alarms I have set on my cell phone when dead asleep. But, c’est la vie. I’ll get adjusted, I’m sure.

The weekend!Well, I never did sit down with my finances but, instead, avoided the issue. But I have it written down on three separate to-do lists for today so it should get done. I have $88 in the bank until Friday and am going to stretch that shit out. Well, I have to, don’t I?

So what did I do? Well, I did a whole bunch of chores like dishes, laundry, picking up the living room, etc. I cooked a ton of bacon (the savory flavor was used as a substitute for all things sweet during my first weekend on the detox), cleaned the guinea pig cage, and sundry other things. I also had a chick in another building threaten (and possibly follow through) to call the cops on me and three friends. It was Friday night around 1:45 and we were outside chatting. Her window, on the third floor, was open and I suppose we were a bit loud with our laughter. Now, had this woman said “excuse me, can you keep it down?” things would have been fine. But she came at us like a straight up cunt so I yelled back at her. She threatened to call 911, I told her to go ahead. She kept yelling and eventually said she was going to call the cops (again) so I said “go ahead, it’s three numbers!” Then we thought we heard her actually doing it so we scrambled into our own building and respective apartments. I’m not sure what cunt thought would happen. I mean, it’s a nuisance call more than anything because she couldn’t have seen us that well and she didn’t know our names or addresses so what was she going to do? I felt a bit bad because I don’t like to cause problems but come at me like an asshole and I’m going to give it right back.

Saturday had drama of another kind with my freaking out because J was not responding to my texts. The previous night we had agreed to go to the movies together and so I was surprised when I didn’t get any replies to various messages I sent from 11:30 a.m. through 3:30 p.m. Eventually, I drove to his apartment complex and managed to get into his building (people are so trusting) and found that he was home and his ringer was off, a fact of which he was unaware. My next stop was going to be local hospitals because he never avoids me completely, even if he is upset, but will let me know, at very least, that he is OK. The day’s plans were shot but we went to a used bookstore together and agreed that he would text me the next morning when he was up and moving. We did end up going to the movies on Sunday (Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows, heartbreakingly disappointing) and had a coffee together so no harm no foul.

Other than that, I didn’t do much, just chores and voracious reading so that I could send one of my current books to Hunter. The book in question is Wicked, and dude, have you read this? I knew it wasn’t going to be Harry Potter or something for kids but I was not expecting the level of pornography, religious debate, and political discussion. I liked it and found it very interesting, but it was not at all what I was expecting. Also made me wonder about the mind of the author. I included a note of warning to my friend to prepare him for this book (I previously mentioned the weirdness) but I hope he reads it because it was one of the more interesting books I’ve read in quite some time.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Time Dragon.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Sunday, and not the yummy kind

A friend of mine, Austin, actually made a request regarding my blog and cartoons. He asked that I bring back the days of the week as he really enjoyed when I posted those on Facebook. I've toyed with the idea of drawing the days again but never went through with it. But a request? How on earth could I turn that down? So I give you Sunday:
It's a good representation of how I feel about this particular day of the week. There is the conflict of looking forward to a brand new week in which to do better than the last, but also the regret that your time off from work has gone so quickly and you have to go back to 'real life' as I like to call it. So there you are, Austin, just for you.

More on my weekend later (not that it was all that exciting.) Right now I need to finish my laundry, take a bath, and get ready for, sigh, a new week.

Friday, January 6, 2012

The Allmighty Dollar

I know that is awful but you try using the Paint program without really putting effort into it.

Money, oy. Don't you hate it? I don't. I really actually like money. I like that it buys me things I like cheese and warmth and the things Johan needs and, occasionally, cute clothes, good things to eat, and entertainment. I also like physical money. I like large stacks of bills in my wallet, even if they are ones, a nice pocket full of change, and, my favorite, those gold Sacajawea dollar coins the U.S. came out with a few years ago (for all I know it was fifteen years but let's not think about that shall we?) I'm not one of those people who despise money without thinking about it. I do despise the enormous gap between the rich and the rest of us, but I appreciate what money can do for me and I've been fortunate in my life to somehow be friends with those who have more of it than me and, thus, enable me to enjoy my life a little bit. No one is whisking me away to Paris for a lovely weekend or anything, but a night out to a restaurant where I can drink beer and ogle scantily clad hot girls when I otherwise could not afford to do so is quite nice*. I'm sure J appreciates it when he can go to the pub with me and have a good cheeseburger and a few beers without paying a dime. I'm not a gold digger, though I joke about it often enough, I just like when I can enjoy myself without doing calculations to figure out if I'm going to overdraft or not.**

But! My rent is going to go up in March. I can't complain too much as I've been in this apartment for three years without a single increase (save for the utilities increase which happened mid year when I had a ton of water issues... yes, this is going up as well) but it still frightens me because I believe it means I'll have to move. I also got a credit card bill. I don't have the worst credit card debt, but I have enough to cause me shame at my stupidity. Between that, normal bills (car insurance, electric, cable), and student loans (really, I should just let them go to collections because I'll never pay them off), I have a lot of outgoing compared to incoming. Tomorrow I get to sit down and figure out just how much I have outgoing and when and come up with some sort of plan. Do plasma banks take MS plasma? If so, looks like I know where I'll be making a little extra on the side. 

I don't spend a lot on material entertainment or ornamentation. As I've said before, I basically shop at Target or Kohls for clothes and, since Stalker bought me so many shirts, I'm OK on clothes for the most part.*** Food, gas, and guinea pig items, along with normal stuff (shaving cream, cleaning supplies, trash bags) are my biggest needs. Sundries include booze, magazines, and impulse items like movies or rentals (Red Box). I'm also thinking of renewing my gym membership as it is too cold to run outside and I need to continue doing this if only because it is the most convenient and effective exercise I can get myself to do. And I mean need because everyone tells me exercise is good for MS. There are things I can cut out of my life, and I will do so, in order to save money, but I'm still sometimes gripped by the fear. I don't want to end up impoverished, selling family silver to pay the electricity bill. 

But I need to be strict with myself and make more sacrifices. Do I need more than basic cable? Do I really need cable at all? Internet, definitely. Dude, I'm addicted. But do I need television? No. I have DVDs. Can I survive if I only by necessity food? Absolutely, and this would probably benefit me in many ways and help me become healthier. My prescriptions and medical bullshit is covered because I did FSA this year (you put a certain amount of money into a debit card and use that card for medical shit) but that FSA cash comes out of each paycheck, as do my health benefits and a $1,000 charge because I am covering J regardless of that fact that he has access to his own shitty benefits . So my next check will be smaller than usual, as will they all for the rest of the year (unless I get a nice merit raise in March). So I must buckle down and track every penny and reformat my life so that I can afford to live in some way that is amenable to me. 

Don't get me wrong, I know damn well that I have it a lot better than others. It is a rare day that I have to think "can I afford gas or my medication" though those occasions do actually happen to me (Hunter was the last savior who bought me lunch that I could stretch into dinner and, therefore, buy $30 of gas and pay $30 for my Copaxone [this was before my FSA]). Didn't know that about me did you, that I sometimes have to make those choices that you hear about in Channel 6 Action News horror stories about elderly people choosing between food and medication. But I do. I bet you also didn't know that I spent at least $145 a month on prescription medications. That's why I did FSA; I added up my yearly prescription costs and had J do the same and came up with a number that I hope will cover us. Lord help me if either of us has to go to the ER this year because it will cost, at minimum, $600 as opposed to the $150 copay we had in 2011 (thank goodness I developed MS that year, eh, given my three trips for that purpose on top of J's two trips). 

And I can't just budget for the things I know, I must budget for the unforeseen and the forgettable. Oil changes, tune ups, car malfunctions, illnesses, accidents. What if one of us develops something horrible and needs a tier three drug? I don't think J is even done paying for the sleep studies he had last year though I believe his CPAP, the thing that helps him sleep without choking to death, was paid off when I gave him $150 (this, it kills me to say, is in part to Stalker; when you spend a lot of time at another person's house, you save money and can afford to give to someone else). 

Weirdly, one thing that upsets me is that I won't be able to give to charity as much as I did this year. I received a t-shirt from my local NPR station because I donated $90.50 during their Fall fundraiser. I forgot that I'd be getting a t-shirt. I also donated to various causes through work, to a local radio station, and to a care packages thing for troops thing. I felt good about doing it because I could and I knew my small contributions would help. Now I'm back to wishing I had $.40 lunch vouchers like when I was in the third grade, or that I'd taken a class in finance in my first year of college.

Part of me is in the vice grip of that fear but another part is oddly excited about the challenge of sacrificing, of inviting J over to watch the last of the television before I turn in the box, of taking all the things I can bear to part with to used book stores to sell, and of really beginning to live like an adult. But one never knows, does one? Maybe I'll hit my resolution of becoming rich and/or famous sooner rather than later and this will all have been for naught.

*Yeah, so what? J thinks I'm a closet lesbian and other male friends are convinced I'm gay. I like to go out and have beer and check out the waitresses that have to dress up like tarts because it is part of the 'view.'

**While it is nice that I have friends who can treat me, I always end up with a tremendous amount of guilt because I know I cannot reciprocate. None of my friends has ever held that against me and they have tried to reassure me that they understand and that they don't expect anything, but still, it's hard. I have my pride but I also have a terrible need to let people know that I truly appreciate what they do for me and fear that they'll think my words are lies, no matter how sincere I am, if only because I cannot show them materially.

***I've been wondering recently if it is weird that I wear clothes that the stalker paid for. I don't do it for any other reason than I need to wear clothes and the more recent items are the better. I got rid of anything I felt was 'meaningful' to him but the clothes I consider utilitarian. I don't know what that makes me, other than living paycheck to paycheck, but it is what it is. I'm not throwing away perfectly good shirts that I can benefit by. Give them to Goodwill? Well, I've needed new clothes for awhile now so at the moment, I'm the Goodwill shopper. What I don't pay in cash I pay in awkwardness, regret, and embarrassment.  

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Don't beat it. No, really, don't.

I forgot to pack a green apple with my lunch today. Normally, this wouldn't be a big deal. I've spoken about how time consuming I find apples in general (it's somewhere on this blog but I have no idea where... I did look, marginally, but didn't find it in two minutes so quit) and how if I cut one up I end up looking into the bowl thinking "well, I guess this is what I'm doing today." But we are not in normal times when we are detoxing from sugar. All I have to look forward to is one green apple a day, which I consume at work, and a couple of glasses of club soda with lime wedges in the evening. Sad, I know, but this is all part of learning to eat for fuel rather than fun or emotion. If I'd done this a long time ago I'd probably have far, far, far less weight to lose and I'd have developed a taste for my arch nemeses, vegetables, which I'm slowly doing.

Thus, the forgotten green apple was something of an emotional crisis. So much so, in fact, that I ran out just now for the sole purpose of purchasing a single apple and some pistachios. I asked my friend if she needed anything and she gave me a couple of bucks to grab her something for lunch and off I dashed down the road. And you know what? Everything was a round number. How often does that happen? I did two transactions since my friend was using cash and I was using a card. Her lean cuisine came out to $2 exactly and my purchases were $4. How does that even happen? I mean, they have tax here in Ohio so shouldn't it have at least been something like $4.07? Not that I'm complaining, mind, I was just really surprised.

On my way back to work, I had the following thought, out of nowhere:  In my opinion, 'beating off' is my least favorite term for male masturbation. Where the fuck did that come from? I wasn't thinking about any type of masturbation or even sex so how did my brain jump to "neat! Rounded numbers!" to euphemisms for jerking off? I suppose it doesn't matter; what does matter is that it is true. I really don't like the terminology or sound of 'beating off.' Can you believe that is the reason I decided to write this post? Just so I could say "my least favorite term for male masturbation is 'beating off'"?

Clearly, I only give my readers (all 2.56 of you) the very best when it comes to my genius and mad, gangsta prose style.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

The eggman cometh

Words Shmords
Something I need to stop saying so frequently and randomly:
"Ah! Come on stupid!"
This is always directed at myself and always for some stupid reason such as dropping a piece of paper or forgetting my coffee cup in the break room.

Something that made J crack up and posted at the suggestion of Hunter (background: I sleep with two stuffed cows, one of which I've had since I was three years old [fuck you, I am too still bad ass.]).

ME: "I can't find both my cows so I'm just sleeping with the one."
J:     "No cows."
ME: "Uh huh, usually two cows but tonight just the one. <speaking more to the cow or myself than to J>
          Who are you? Oh, it's old floppy!"
J:     "Old sloppy?"
ME: "Old floppy! We aren't talking about my vagina after all."

Just Dumb
I realized fairly early this morning that my outfit makes no sense. It would have done if I'd had all the pieces I'd planned on but I couldn't find my leggings (I really need to invest in a dozen pairs of black leggings). So, instead of looking cute and fun in black leggings, a black skirt, gray and white striped shirt, and colorful flats, I'm wearing a gray and white stripped shirt, black skirt, nicer black tights, and boots that are a bit much for this outfit. I should have worn a different shirt or a different pair of shoes or just worn black trousers instead. But evidently, I was dedicated to the idea of this outfit. That or I was so fucking cold that I didn't care to think too hard. Seriously, my bedroom is frigid. I finally got around to emailing my apartment complex about insulating the AC unit so hopefully, when I get home today there will be a ghetto plastic sheet masking taped around the fucker.

Sugar, Sugar!
Whilst I am at the moment convinced that I'm hungry all the time on this detox, I'm pretty sure it is just because I'm not eating enough* and I am getting a hell of a lot done. Yesterday I was stunned at how productive I was what with the diligent work day, 3.5 mile run at the gym, trip to the grocery store, cooking, washing dishes, and doing laundry. That may not seem like a lot but compared to my usual work day followed by lots and lots of couch time, it's pretty major. Hell, I wasn't even planning on doing laundry last night, it just sort of happened. Maybe today I'll accidentally vacuum or wipe down every surface. Who knows? The sky is the limit! And being productive is certainly more rewarding than plowing through my DVR'd show list whilst drinking and stuffing myself with chips. I dare say I feel pretty good right now. I even texted my friend, KR, to thank her for getting me into it because I'm really looking forward to the results and I feel good knowing that I'm actually doing something good for my health. I'm sure I'll end up freebasing black tar heroin by the end of the day so I'll just enjoy this moment while it lasts.

*Definitely a matter of not eating enough as evidenced by a conversation with Birdy here at work in which I said "maybe tomorrow I'll have two hard boiled eggs for breakfast instead of just one." I've been at work for five hours and so far I've eaten one egg, a few pieces of cheese, a green apple, and, just now, a chicken breast I cooked the other day. I'm not exactly eating meals, am I? 


Tuesday, January 3, 2012

I am jonesing for a diet coke

I am certainly killing it so far in 2012. I was meant to begin the 21 day sugar detox yesterday... but. Well, at 3:30 in the morning, I woke up and the best idea in the world seemed to be for me to eat mint moose tracks ice cream whilst watching Murder, She Wrote reruns. Other than that, I didn't do badly until the evening when I was cranky from being so hungry all day and ended up going to the pub with J, where we had a beer a piece, cheeseburgers, and, for me, my beloved pub chips and a side of ranch. Totally worth it. And, on the bright side, I did hit the grocery store on the way home and ended up cooking things so that I'd be a bit prepared. I've been sugar free all day today, ran 3.5 miles after work, and stopped at the store for more items to cook and prepare so that I don't want to kill myself from eating the same thing every day.

Surprisingly, things ended up going well after a very inauspicious beginning. On Friday I was so bored I started fiddling with my work email signature. Usually it says something innocent like "Jane Doe, Administrative Assistant." Throughout the course of the day, I changed it several times to such things as "Jane Doe, Secretary to the Stars" and "Jane Doe, EVP of Quackery." I forgot that I'd done this until I'd emailed four external parties with an email signature that read "Jane Doe, Honey Badger." Not my proudest moment although one person did respond saying he loved my "handle" and the end of his email said "Sent via my Dixie cup and string device" which I thought was funny.

I was actually looking forward to going to back to work after the second long weekend in a row. Too many days off and I feel unemployed, slothful, and in need of structure. I wasn't exactly in the best of moods all day and I didn't have as good an attitude as I'd hoped, but it really wasn't bad. Certain things pissed me off early in the day and I got a bit irritable in the afternoon, but nothing major and I only slammed my hands on my desk once when my boss hollered for me. Even though that man still drives me crazy and I hate parts of my job, I am beginning to reconcile myself to the fact that I might remain here for some time. That's a bit strange for me to fathom just because I was promoted so quickly in my old department and then transferred relatively soon after. But I have a good job that I can manage to enjoy and I have great benefits. I also have someone who looks out for me and says things like "you know how you are going to be evaluated in March? You want to have a file of all of your accomplishments and achievements to present to boss man." I've never had to do that before so wouldn't have thought about it. The two month's notice is helpful indeed. And, since I won't be drinking to capacity as often as possible as frequently as before what with this detox, I'll have plenty of mental clarity and free time to work on it.

Side note: I bought a bunch of fruit before I started this detox. A grapefruit is, inexplicably, on my living room floor and Johan is trying to eat it.

All in all, not a bad day. I even drew a face on an egg.*

And now, off to my slightly charred yet delicious steak and my train wreck snow peas. The recipe said crips and delicious, mine are soggy and probably burnt but hell, at least I'm eating some vegetables.

 *Afterwards, I put it in the break room fridge. I'mma eat him tomorrow. 

Monday, January 2, 2012

Right Brain Wrong Brain

Yesterday was clearly not one of my better days. Despite the fact that I've been taking medication regularly for years, I still have intensely low moments when I feel devoid of any joy, color, or reason. I met my first day of 2012 with one of these moments. To be fair, it wasn't simply a matter of my screwy brain this time. There were two events that precipitated my melt down and, because I'm so wholly oblivious at times, I did not prepare myself.

The first occurred during the early afternoon when J came over to pick up his new health insurance cards. He also took a number of his belongings that have been stored in my office since he left in July. I told him that there were a few crates I had to go through because they had both of our belongings. He civilly but coldly said "I'd appreciate if you would take care of that as soon as possible." I felt like he'd hit me. We didn't laugh once when he was here and it was all business. I walked around for hours reminding myself that I had no right to be sad and asking myself if it was better for him to hate me.

The second event happened in the evening when I was giving myself an injection. Everyone thinks I have a great attitude about having MS but I still have my moments. I flipped out and called my mother and just sobbed because I don't want to give myself shots anymore. My thighs both have sore spots, large lumps, from where I assume I must have hit the muscle. My right thigh has a red mark that I'm fairly certain is a burn from an ice pack. So I called my mother and told her that I didn't want to do this anymore and that I didn't think it was fair for me to get all the 'weird' problems when my brothers don't seem to have anything at all wrong with them. I wouldn't wish for either of them to have MS, of course not, but I will occasionally get very self pitying and cry about how it isn't fair.

So that's what happened, or at least, what I think happened in my easily primed brain. Sometimes I am incredibly tired and want to just give up. I used to assume that we all had times like that but I'm beginning to understand that what I think about is a bit different. I don't think about running away from my problems by going on a vacation or quitting my job for something in a different industry. No, I think about just quitting entirely and killing myself. Right brain. Left brain. Right brain. Wrong brain.

Suicide can be a very selfish thing and that's generally what keeps me from coming up with actual plans. I think about the people who I would hurt, especially those who have had a hard time recently. I think about how unfair it would be to make my family deal with something like that; not just the me being dead bit, but the dealing with hearing the news, dealing with the logistics of death (removal of my body, what to do with it, notifying relatives, dealing with all of my belongings). I think about how Johan might be neglected for days before someone found me and how he might not like wherever he ended up.

But I also know, or at very least hope, that these intensely low moments will fade away eventually and that if I'm patient and stick it out, I'll get back to the self that enjoys life and is more likely to joke or giggle than sob and despair. I can cry and be upset and wrapped myself in blankets on my sofa and be distraught but if I just wait, if I can just wait a god damned second, it will pass. The terror that it might not is the most difficult part of these moments but I am absurdly good at avoiding thinking about things that scare me. 

Writing so as to have a record helps with that fear because if I can look back and see that I've been through this before, I'm more likely to feel certain that I'll be OK again. I find yesterday's post incredibly embarrassing. I don't know why and I don't care why but I do. However, I know myself well enough to know that I have to leave it so that the next time my wrong brain takes over, I can look through my posts and see that I'll come through. It was one nightmarish day out of how many perfectly fine days?

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Death Rattle

Do you ever seriously think about suicide? About how you really can run away from your life forever? I do. I sometimes just think, "fuck this, fuck all of this" and think about taking the pills washed down with vodka, that would help me end it all. I suppose that is surprising, given that I'm a cutter but I'm afraid of pain so I would never take my wrists as a way out.

But I think about it from time to time. How much better it might be if I just killed myself. Killed myself. That sounds awful doesn't it? I love life. I love all that life has to offer. But sometimes life is just too much and I want to stop it. I want to stop the feeling, the experiencing, the living. Sometimes I feel that going to sleep forever and having my brain stop would be the best thing.

I'm not going to do it right now so please don't call my mother and make her worry. I know that I have an obligation to a few people and that to kill myself would hurt them. I also know that my life is fantastic and that I have nothing to complain about. It's just my stupid, worthless, broken brain.

But it hurts. Sometimes it hurts all day, ever day. I am on medication but that isn't enough to combat life, I suppose. Someone said, and was correct, we are all born with a death rattle.