YEP. I am 42 years old and I am wearing footed zip up jammies in sky blue with a white sheep print all over them. Sexy? No. Warm, cozy, and comforting? Hells, yeah.
Besides, my sister gave them to me, didn’t cost me a penny. If I were drunk, I’d wear ’em to Wal-mart in hopes of securing a spot on that peopleofwalmart website.
So the noisy maintenance continued until damn near 7 p.m. Best I can tell, people are moving in. Or the prior tenants left so much behind they’re using a Uhaul to get rid of it. I just want the noise to fucking cease and desist. Five solid days, for fuck’s sake. I always hate getting new neighbors. They usually either play their music too loud for ten straight hours or have three or four dogs barking the entire night while they scream at each other and the cops show up. Damn it.
Today’s anxiety makes me want that hubcab sized Valium salt lick. Yeah, I functioned, eventually. But the anxiety never really did let up so what does functionality count for if you’re still battling the “skeleton crawling out of the skin” feeling? I spent all day waiting for some nasty message from R about me not being there already. Well, sorry, but I couldn’t bring myself to go there. After 20 years and seeing me puke over the side of a gambling boat cos my anxiety is so bad, you would think he’d finally grasp it. He does not. i live in fear of his attacks against my neuroses. I don’t think I would if it cut both ways. But noooo, his fear of heights is legit and doesn’t need to be beat. I have fucking panic and anxiety disorders and I should get over it. PLAY FUCKING FAIR, FUCKSNARTS.
Still…when he texted tonight, sending me a picture and declaring his fear he has pink eye…I put my pajama’d kid in the car and went over there. He couldn’t see much cos his eyes were so puffy. His loving family was yelling at him via phone to go the doctor BUT stay the hell away from them until he’s no longer contagious. He’s been sick all week with the coldbola, now this. I felt bad for him.
And that’s when it became crystal clear that I don’t do this shit for him, for smokes, none of that shit. THIS is just who I am. I am decent. I am compassionate and empathetic whether you deserve it or not. Besides, after two weeks of getting my ass kicked by a multitude of ailments…Paying it forward, as his wife’s up north at her daughter’s for the weekend. Now that he’s potentially contagious, they’re shunning him…Yeah, it’s less about him, even though I admit he’s been there for me a lot more than half my damned family..This is about me being who I am. I have marshmallow center and it’s not optimal because it can be used against me but…it is what it is.
Main reason I was compelled to go was, he had eye drops for treatment but long as I’ve known the man, he cannot put in eyedrops. It was a comical scene watching him test out contact lenses. That last about two days and he went back to his glasses. So Spook and I went over and I put his eye drops in for him. Cos I am decent, in spite of my misanthropy and sarcastic humor and bluntness. I can’t stop being me and sink to the uncaring level of others. It’s not me.
Besides, I am a freak. When I was sick the last thing I wanted was anyone near me. He offered several times to get me anything I needed, meds, 7-up, soup. I’m just not a graceful sick person, I wanna be left alone in my misery in my blankie fort. Of course, not everyone is like me and he needed a friend so…There I was. I’ll hate myself next time he does something to hurt me or piss me off but again…This is me, I can’t be anyone else.
I told him to keep me posted and if it’s worse come morning, call me and I’ll give him a ride out to promptcare. (I can’t fathom driving with both eyes puffed up like beet red golfballs, can you?)
Other than that we have no plans for the weekend except…Um mommy getting her shit together for housework type stuff. And I’m not even all that worried about it. The Uzi fire noise to my central nervous system all week and the weather affecting my moods and functionality has lead me to a place where I feel entitled to some “broccoli” (vegetation) time.
Methinks it may be time for my footed jammy self to crawl beneath vanilla bean blankie and call it a night. Oh, how I wish I had the clarity and energy to write. I want to write so desperately. I need my fiction soup, my soul is on life support now…But since my mom declined to babysit tonight (and it’s my own fault for letting it slip that Spook got violent and hit and scratched me when I wouldn’t let her use the tablet, for the first time mom actually sided with me on the “no reward for bad behavior thing”) I am gonna be home all weekend at the mercy of Bratzilla and Melissa the ghost girl. Who is apparently now mute and can’t speak which is why she won’t talk to me.
I blame myself for starting the whole ghost/haunted thing. Six years ago I had an electronic tealight candle that was turned off but it kept flickering on. So I got cute and declared we had a ghost named “Eggar” (after the Vincent D’nofrio character in Men In Black) so now…my daughter has adopted a ghost friend.
I am soo gonna be leader of the PTA one day.
And by PTA I mean, Psychotic Traumatizing Association.
I rock the casbah that way.
Niters from me, the pajama sheep print, and my warm cozy footed jammied toes. I may feel like a toddler but ya know what…
Comfort rules. And these things are less grotesque than muumuus.
