In spite of a rough (normal) morning start to get my kid off to school…I managed to put gas in the car, go pay bills, run a couple of store errands, even had lunch with texting chihuahua (my treat, to balance the scales on him buying me stuff).
THEN came The Call. My phone never rang, but while in Dollar Tree, I heard the voice mail alert. (Tracfone/Safelink wireless, your service SUCKS!). Panicky, I looked to see what call I missed when I was right there, able to hear fine. Phone never rang. I checked voice messages and BAM…”It’s the school nurse, I found some nits in Spook’s hair…”
Kid is a freaking lice/nit magnet.
Pleasant tone but resigned, “I’ll come get her.”
From there, my “decent” mood came crashing down, SPLAT. I don’t think people who’ve never dealt with nits/lice have any clue what a chore it is. Especially when you have absolutely shit eyesight. Dread, dread, dread. I fetched her, brought her home. Checked her head three times, finding maybe a dozen itsy bitsy teen nits. To her credit, she no longer kicks, screams, and fights me. (Thank pegacorn for the droid wifi thingie to distract her.)
It was just such an abrupt mood crash. And YES, I know, that is situational, cannot be blamed on bipolar. Still…Splat is splat.
THEN…from out of nowhere (or ya know, missing a dose of Pristiq cos I didn’t have the money for the refill til today)…Hypomania and I am the chat room typing chihuahua even though my friend is on a low.
Not mention how many people who have stopped in (all ten on them!)…it seems our timing is all off and that aggravates me because I really want this chat room thing to work. It’s such a good place to vent, especially if you are trying not to include personal identifying factors in your blog post to avoid…trollage. Last night, Bex and I had a long wondermous chat with Siobhan (did I spell that right?) and she said she’d come back because we were a “tonic”. I had to make sure it didn’t say “toxin”! But yeah…Bex and I have this sarcastic humor mixed with our mental stuff that is a little entertaining and mood lifting.
We get it, period. Even if your depression or anxiety are situational…We understand. We are here for you.
At the risk of sounding redundant…If anyone wants an invite to Freshly Depressed (in honor of our much loved and missed Blahpolar/Kathy as well as the wordpress community itself)…Can’t invite you if I don’t have your email addy. And I want everyone and anyone who needs to vent or get some support to visit.
On another note…It really sucks to get your check and realize two hours later…You’re broke again and you’ve blown nothing on vapid materialism. Survival is the name of the game and it drains whatever you’ve got. I am very accustomed to it but it still agitates me. If only I could justify buying a lottery ticket…But since I have been binge watching Numbers…I know the odds and it would be more wise to spend that buck on a pop or ice cream for my kid.
Hypomania is fading…But the anxiety is dying down because I know my day in the dish dealing with dish dwellers has come to an end. I just have to survive til my kid nods off then I can nod off.
Except it never works that way. I go to bed at a decent time. I toss, turn, mind races, get up to pee, fetch a glass of water…Toss and turn some more.
Sleep eludes so I break down and take a Melatonin or extra Xanax…
And then it’s even harder to rally come morning.
Flustrating. (Yes, that is a Morgue word, frustrated+flustered=flustrated.)
But I am alive and kicking so I guess I should be grateful.
If only out of spite for my detractors who have shown no faith in me and given me zero support and all criticism.
Fuck you, cockweasels, I am gonna live forever even if it tortures me. I want to torture you, too.
Oops, my charm school classes were an epic fail.