The Great Spork Revival

I thought after a respite I was ready to face the dish again. All it took was three minutes to get on the main drag and bam, I started coming undone. Too much traffic, too much noise from thud thud thud car stereos, too many people, too sunny, just…too everything. Nothing catastrophic happened, if you discount me inadvertently blurting out “douchebag” thus teaching my kid one more word she really shouldn’t know. Oh, well. Traffic brings it out in me. LIFE brings it out in me.

At the gas station I went to close the door and of course, my kid had darted behind me to grab something out of the car and  her upper arm got pinched. Enter bloody murder screams. Okay,she got a red mark, maybe it will bruise but she’s been told a thousand times to pay attention to what she’s doing and what’s going on around her. It’s not that I am apathetic, it’s just…Jebus, how many times do I have to tell her. She pays attention when with others, at school. It’s like her worst is reserved for me. And there I am, kneeling down, inspecting her booboo, trying to be sympathetic and calming, and the store manager is a few feet away smoking casting disapproving glares my way. Because I have that dead tone going on where everything sounds pissy. GRRR. Just like when the satan voice comes out and I get dirty looks or people mutter. Well, you didn’t hear the first six times I asked the child quietly only to be ignored. Satan voice at least gets her attention.

Little traumas: I saw camoflauge crocs today. On a dude. Made me want to throw up a little. I don’t care if they are trendy and comfortable, I abhor crocs. And fauxhawks. If it makes me a snot, so bet it.

I can’t even watch shows without anxiety creeping in. I have been on a kick rewatching old episodes of The Practice and I get a little hyperventilate-y every time an innocent person is convicted, knowing it does happen and reversing a conviction is close to impossible. (I watch way too much 48 Hours and Forensic Files to think otherwise.) The donor used to tell me I was ridiculous, don’t do anything wrong, you have nothing to fear. That kind of idiocy best not be genetic or my kid is doomed.

I get a tiny twinge of “ick” every time I am in public and see all these people, even the elderly, even the dumber than dirt set, using a pricy Smartphone. I don’t know why it offends me so much. It’s not a jealousy thing because I barely use the phone I have, I don’t need an upgrade. I have computers if I want to use the net or hear music. It’s just irksome the way people seem surgically attached to their phones, even when allegedly socializing with others, not to mention being forcefed youtube videos from someone’s pocket or purse constantly. Just…Stop. I’m like some cranky old man, two steps from yelling GET OFF MY LAWN YOU WHIPPERSNAPPER.

It also irks me the way people who aren’t in a couple are treated like lonely pathetic creatures. Fact is, much as I’d like to want the true love and other fairytales domestic thing, I really don’t. I get bored easily. I get annoyed easily. I LIKE being alone, it’s not some affectation because I have no options. Not to mention how hard the mood swings are on others. It’s hard on me, but I’m strong enough to cope. No one else I’ve encountered seems able, or willing. Their problem.

“I paid $1800 for this suit because my image is important to me.” Grr, I really wanna throat punch elitist snots who say things like that. Spend oodles on your bleeding image, just shut up about it. Otherwise, you’re little more than a well dressed classless shmuck.

I am pretty sure I’ve lost my mind as I’ve let the spawn play with the devil girls (whose father said they couldn’t be at my house but has apparently changed his mind to keep the kids out of his hair for summer) and I even let them come inside to use the bathroom. I offered snacks. WTF? Last week I was a bumbling mess,hell this weekend, I was pretty sure if I let anyone in the door things would explode. Now it’s like…Wary, anxious (perpetual state these days) but…whatever. My kid is laughing and having fun. It’s not so much having her out of my hair or I’d be out begging the Y to take her for the summer. Which I should do but she burst into tears repeatedly and begged me not to make her go because it’s scary…What can I say, I relate, even if it’s likely to fade away once you acclimate. I’m an enabler. She’s not even six, ffs. I can be clingy mommy. But I want her to have a good summer. My discomfort is, well, the norm, with or without her little friends.

It’s 6:37 p.m. I cooked supper. Cleaned cat boxes. Oddly,I’m not feeling all that insane. The anxiety is bubbling under the surface, but it’s manageable because for some reason, my brain isn’t delivering gloom and doom messages. It happens. Rarely but it does happen. I’m achy, that whole bruised skin thing I get, but…I don’t feel so bad. My sporks revived. Thing is, with spork revival, you lose your heavy duty metal sporks and get stuck with the flismy plastic ones that break off in your food. Sporks is sporks is sporks, I guess. I think I have six plastic sporks in my grubby little fist, maybe enough energy to not just bathe my kid but perhaps myself, too. Hell, I may not even cryptify myself before 9 pm. I’m feeling nutsy kookoo, in a good way. Jebus, after the last six weeks, I think I am due. I wish it would last. Of course, by saying that, I am being pessimistic and self sabotaging myself, so say the scumsucking sunshine spewers. Meh.

The thing is, with me, I can be flying along fine or even high, and then no trigger, just from out of nowhere…SPLAT. The bottom falls out and I’m looking up to see a snake’s belly. Splat sucks. The up times are cruel because they don’t do more than pop in, say hi, give you pseudo hope that you could feel good like this all the time, and then it abandons you. Or more like, sneaks out during the middle of a conversation leaving you going what. the. actual. fuck.

 I want to vent a little further just to display the posterchild for narcissism. (Yes, there was a time I didn’t complain, it was in utero, also the only time I was lacking in sarcasm.) R sent me a text ordering me to come to the shop and bring every power adapter for laptops. Like, um, I need them to run my shit…He comes back with how he’s got a laptop and he will give it to me but he needs a power cord to see if it will work because the battery is dead. I fired back with “give me model number, let me check the specs and see what I’ve got.” It pissed him off that I didn’t drop everything and obey him, under that all too familiar guise of, “I’m trying to do you a favor here.” Whiskey foxtrot tango. I had a laptop. I gave it back to him because he promised to buy me a screen for my Toshiba. He spilled beer on it thus fucking it up. He’s not doing me any favors, he’s replacing what was essentially taken back. Idget. Still not feeling all warm and fuzzy toward him after all his disparaging remarks about those on disability. Rude rude rude. Idget. Mega uber idget.

All in  all…Mood’s numb but not psychotic. Anxiety is manageable as long as I avoid the dish and too much noise.I’ll call today a moderate success at normal functioning. Night is young but I’m going to embrace my spork revival, for now.

To celebrate…Some tee hee.



9 Responses to “The Great Spork Revival”

    RE: Christmas Support Group ~ they forgot to show the snow/Christmas angel that announces she’s an athiest LOL! (I’m not, just thought it up & sounded funny as Shit) 🙂

  2. I got fucking med bottles as marrrrrrracas! Awww damn, the Saphris blister packs don’t make noise. Boooo

  3. I love your posts enough (though damn if the whole dealing with life thing doesn’t suck AND I nod in agreement enough to be confused with head banging) but then you and Sass in the comments. Killed. It.

  4. swtswtsue Says:

    Hahaaa! Camouflage Crocs for the win!! Love everything about this.

  5. Love the comics and that you can end on a positive note. 🙂

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