Yeah, yeah, wtf is with the river dance references, Morgue? What can I say, scumbag brain latches onto something and…off we go.
So yesterday…Dad brought my kid back. Spook had to take Chaos out to show him what a cute kitty she is. At which point he starts griping that the cat weighs almost nothing, do I feed her…WTF? She’s five months old and one of those lean cats. The other cats are fluffy fatasses, sue me. Then Dad started bitching about my yard looking trashed and the old microwave sitting outside giving off radiation and….JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP, IF THE LANDLORD ISN’T ON MY ASS, WHY IS IT YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS, OLD MAN????
Then he and stepmonster started stomping on my hormonally fried emotions. “Spook had such a good time.” “We took her here and there, she got to do this, we took her out to eat, the church gave her toys…Our dog just loves when she comes over and she adores him…” Gloomy emotions made me go silent as I pondered my utter uselessness as a parent because I can’t afford to take her places and I don’t have a big dog for her to play with and…Maybe she’d be better off with them, maybe I am just a waste of fucking space…
I was glad when they left. If I want to feel shitty about myself, I have a scumbag brain to do it. And a kid.
I managed a shower yesterday, which felt like a major victory, sad as it is.
Then after two days moping in bed in pain I decided to give this “moving around cures cramps” thing. It worked. For about an hour. I even lifted a forty pound bag of cat food to put into our bucket. And then the cramps came back twice as bad and I returned to my blankie fort. Fucking LIES. Just like “exercise will help depression”. What they fail to discern is that it’s a short burst of “I feel okay” like having a soda and then you’re splat again. LIES. Society and its fucking LIES.
In an act that’s not my normal skin flinted nature, I took my kid through the Mickey D’s drive thru for a Happy Meal. I didn’t feel like cooking or battling her over what to cook. Plus that’s twice in one week I’ve had both mom and dad point out how deprived my child is because I can’t afford to take her out to eat. I doubt I’d be so easily guilted if I weren’t so hormonal and hyper sensitive. But it is what it is and it made her happy so whatever.
I got her to bed with only a couple of tantrums. I don’t even remember what they were about now. Probably her screaming at me. Which was another bone of contention with dad and stepmonster. I reminded Spook she couldn’t play on her swingset because of her behavior Friday getting her grounded. She poutily looked at stepmonster who says, “I’m not the one that grounded you, don’t look at me.”
Niiiice way to back me up, you witch. They tell me I “put up” and “let her get away” with her bad behavior but then when I try to toughen up on her, I get no back up. It felt disrespectful.
Sleep was its normal “wake and sleep” cycle. She climbed in bed with me at some point. I had a bitch of a time getting back to sleep. Off and on, my left knee kept aching. Painfully. Normally, it’s my right knee that gives all the trouble. Surprise. Today’s the left knee, it’s swollen like a grapefruit and hurts if i bend or stand or walk on it. My mom used to say when her knees hurt it meant the weather was going to change. I thought she was nuts.
It snowed last night and after a weekend in the fifties, we’re down in the twenties. I guess that achy knee superstition has some merit after all.
So I finally survive the worst of the ovary oompa loompas only to have grapefruit knee. Excellent, Smithers.
I don’t see myself getting much done today. The cold gloom and snow are not helping me want to power beyond the aching knee. Who knows, maybe by swearing off housework I will eventually accomplish something.
Ya know, I really would like to post something positive.
Unfortunately, positive things are allergic to me, I guess.
I just know if I can survive the rest of the winter and this court thing with the donor…Maybe just maybe the spring warmth will lift me out of this hole. Even partially would be fine with me. I am not looking forward to my doctor appt in March and telling him I’m still not magically cured. I dread that resigned look, that repeated too much, “You’ve been on everything…” Not to mention the new formulary for my script plan pretty much nixes trying anything new. No more Focalin.No more Restoril.
And I still need to get my lab work done for the 1200mg lithium but damn it, I keep forgetting to take the evening dose so no point getting an inaccurate read…It’s not laziness, it really is too much going on in my brain. I keep saying I am gonna set my phone alarm. Except alarms freak me out and give me panic attacks so…
I am one steaming hot mess.
Not yet 9:30 a.m. and I am ready for a xanax.
When I die, I am donating this scumbag brain to science. Let them figure it out and maybe learn something so no one else has to feel like this their entire life.
Then once they’re done, I’d suggest an exorcism, a cremation,and burying the brain about 12 feet down and covering it with concrete.
It’s an evil brain, I am telling you.