Daily Archives: September 6, 2017
So I came up with and finished another little flash fiction piece called “Drifter” about a guy having cold feet the week before his wedding. I had struggled with it last year but picked it up again for the fiction class I am taking and got a pretty good spin on it to end it. I’m saying for class that I was inspired to tell the end of a story first like the novel we are reading now.
Boy, is this novel a hard read. it loops around and around and takes the unreliable narrator to new heights, with her undercutting every word she says to where you can’t believe a word she says. Or understand it, for that matter.
Got to class this morning and the door was locked up tight. I had to hunt up the English Department administrative assistant to help me open it. It was so frustrating. So that delayed class but it was okay. We went over the poem we were supposed to read and even had time for a bit of a review for the test Friday. I made copies of that today and have it ready.
Had a girl come to me today for accommodations for testing. We worked it out, and I almost told her I understood, that I was bipolar but thought that would be oversharing. Better to wait on letting something like that loose among students until I absolutely have to.
Hope everyone has a good rest of the week and that Florida and other areas be spared Hurricane Irma.
I guess it is only fitting to follow up “I’m The Ugliest Girl I Know” with another chapter in my Journey to Vibrant. When you are dealing with chronic illness, you find you have to give up a lot of things that brought you joy just because it is too painful (physically and emotionally) to …
Why 570? It’s the name of Motionless In White song I was just rocking out to. Because their music epitomizes what I feel, some days all snarly and demonic, some days I just want to sing out for someone to LISTEN, and most days I alternate between both extremes. Thus their music is my new anthem. I won’t subject you to it because it is pretty harsh for most, even me at first, but then…Youtube it if you’re even curious. Spork of fortitide if you survive a minute in. Much love if you actually like it (bet you don’t, I’m seriously rocking the harsh metal in my old age.)
I had another meltdown yesterday. Not at the shop, no I managed a few juggling acts with the mess idget left me to deal with and I was hanging by a thread but hanging. Nope. It was going home. I talked to my child about why she had been grounded. For once, she managed more than “I was bad” or “I don’t know.” I thought, wow, she’s learning. So I let her play. Big mistake. One friend, fine. Then come the older kids trying to divide and conquer so Spook doesn’t play with the littlest girl, N, who they insist has head lice yet she’s in school so I am inclined to think with the school doing head checks this week they might have noticed…
At one point all the noise outside just made me snap. I made Spook come in for supper and not five minutes in, all three of those older girls burst in our door without a knock screaming that Spook’s cat was dead. Well, the cat being mentioned was swirling on the floor at my feet yet they still got Spook all riled up and I just leaned against the kitchen sink and closed my eyes and gnashed my teeth, taking deep breaths until I could manage, in a less demonic tone, to tell those girls, “Just go home.” I was so furious. I felt so violated. I mean, just the day before I had shown these girls-all of them 11 and up- a sheet of my rules. I only have six rules and one of them is DO NOT BARGE IN UNINVITED. Yet they just continue to do it. I shouldn’t have to have my door on lockdown at 5 p.m. over some rude brats.
After that, I just felt…emotionally raped. Yeah, it is the right term, because if someone violates you in any fashion, it is an assault, sexual or physical or mental. I got her to finish eating, got her cleaned up, in bed clothes, and she read me a book, then I melatonin-ed her and by 7:45 she was ready for bed. (This is pretty normal even without melatonin,now that the temps have dropped and it gets dark sooner, my kid has always adapted bedtime by season that way.) Finally I could just hole up in my bedroom with the drone of Unsolved Mysteries, a fluffy kitty, and texting my sister about how shitty out lives are. By nine, I was over and out. Done. But then after tossing and turning 45 minutes with the hamster wheel in my brain turning, I was reduced to melatonin. Still slept like shit, kept waking up. It got so cold I went to make sure my kid’s fan was off and window closed and she had enough blankets. This is late October cold, not early September cooling off. No wonder I am circling the drain, it’s been so abrupt.
And so comes the seasonal affective disorder. Ya know, what the masses call “winter blues” and what all the psych professionals will be improved by a pricey sunlight lamp WHICH DOES NOTHING TO MAKE IT WARMER THUS MY MOOD IS STILL IN THE GUTTER. This is my double edged sword. Cold weather means the feral brats will be kept inside, but it also means a trip down the rabbit hole for me. Less anxiety, deeper depression. Then come March-ish when it starts to warm up, I will rise from the ashes of SAD and likely go hypo then either stabilize briefly or go into another depressive cycle. I could be a damned textbook case of this shit and these doctors still wouldn’t have a bloody clue.
I told my kid she’s not playing today, at all, and I am not backing down. See, between the stress of the shop and her and her friends yesterday, I got so anxious and freaked, I threw up all my supper. I mean, all of it. Nerves. This has to stop. And while it feels unfair ‘punishing’ her by not letting her play, she can’t seem to make it a day without a drama with those kids and it’s unfair that I am the only parent who ever has to put up with it in their yard and house. But if the stress is manifesting in vomiting and stomach aches…something’s gotta give, even if it means my kid hates me. I will try to give her playtime, but I am taking a break from her friends for today at least.
Adding insult to injury I texted R last night and asked if he could just at least leave me some lunch money as I can’t even afford a baloney sandwich and he said yep…This morning…Not a cent left. And I didn’t pack anything. FFS. Is it too much to ask to be minutely considerate? He’s the one choosing to do the two job thing and frankly, I put together that little outside contracted job pretty well,all he had to do was show up and box up some televisions, I did the calls, the emails, the paperwork (which needs Faxed and again, he didn’t leave money for that either)…Not even a few bucks for a burger. And of course, it will be all “I was exhausted, I forgot” and he will make me feel guilty for further taxing him with my piss any problem of ya know, not even having $1.08 to my name for a damn frozen burger at Dollar TRee. Because I totally knew the donor was gonna lose his job and screw me and Spook over financially. I totally saw it coming and went on a buying binge, what with that luxurious gas in the car thing and oh, donations to help with the bug infestation, and that big filet mignon we’re eating…oh, wait, we eat pork chops, chicken, and Hamburger Helper while he spends $20 on a jar of fucking Saffron to accent his chef-y cooking.
Wouldn’t hurt me in the least if he ended up on the street. He’s done it several times before and survived. Come the big blast, he and the cockroaches will be the only things left alive. Possibly, Trump, cos evil just doesn’t fucking quit.
Okay, I went off on a tirade but you get my drift. I am melting down and cracking up and it goes beyond just money. I have mental disorders that are being drastically worsened by outside circumstances and while I used to crumble and cry, now I just get ranty and pissed off and start thinking of how a Z-whacker to a skull would sound…
But it would have to be a zombie apocalypse for me to go that extreme. I found a winged bug inside yesterday that the cats had maimed, but I still lifted it gently and set it outside so it could at least crawl off and die instead of the cat devouring it or kids stomping on it. I mean, God’s creature and all. Only roaches, donors, and Trumps escape that classification.
Not that I have any strong opinions.
And I still want Kentucky fried chicken for lunch.