The Saga Of Splat

One need not be psychic to have seen this one coming. Yesterday I perked up…Pushed myself outside my boundaries. Icarus, flying too close to the sun. I am cremains today. Just…Nothing but venom and the pathological desire to isolate. I’m not entirely convinced this is due to the bipolar. I am fairly certain it is also not, as the diagnosis of the decade, it is borderline. I think this is just the aftermath of me pushing myself too hard. And I have to push hard to keep up with polite society. I’m not well equipped and it costs me, big time.

Stayed up til 11-ish last night, even found some metal remakes of cheesy 80’s songs I liked. (Yes, shame on me, but “Sunglasses At Night” done metal is fricking awesome.) Slept until almost ten today. Or more appropriately, lolled in bed half awake while the spawn sat there and watched on the computer. I probably shouldn’t let her watch shit like Forensic Files but hey. My mom  let me watch Cell Bloc H at that age. Might be one of the biggest reasons I’ve tried to stay out of legal trouble. I have zero desire to be assaulted daily with a hairbrush handle by someone named Bertha with six teardrop tattoos by her eye. Besides…I can’t shield my kid from facts. It’s an ugly world. With her optimism, I doubt it touches her.

R sent a text at ten thirty last night declaring he “needs” me to stop by the shop today. I already told him, with mom’s worsening Alzheimer’s, I can’t leave Spook there unless my sis is at home. Well, she works until almost one. At the time last night, I thought I could do it, no problem. Of course, that’s the illusion of the “stable highs”. You think you can keep up with the Joneses but fact is, you cannot. And today I am feeling it. I pushed myself so far outside my boundaries yesterday, two trips into the dish, ten stops at busy stores, letting the devil girls in my home. I cooked, I bathed Spook, I even let her stay up until after ten playing on the computer. (She had to watch Bananas in Pajamas and now that bloody theme is stuck in my head.) Music, even.

And today I am feeling a little fragile and desperately in need of isolation. I am sweating bullets from the anxiety, my stomach twisting in pretzel knots. My kids yammering is like a spray of Uzi fire to my brain. Last thing I am up for is to deal with R and his demands which lately aren’t even earning me a pack of smokes because he’s sooo broke. I am not feeling grateful or friendly today. I am feeling like someone put me through an old fashioned clothes wringer. This is the danger zone, where I am a livewire and could open mouth, insert both feet, socks, shoes and all, and burn some bridges. If I were contagious with a cold, I’d be advised to stay away from others. But for mental issues, there is no sick day. No, you are expected to function and guess who has to live with the outcome if you do snap in a moment of circuit overload. For now, I am being a coward and avoiding dealing with it yay or nay. I’ll likely come up with an excuse. And no, I won’t feel that bad about it, because it’s bullshit to wait until nearly 11 at night, expect me to get a sitter, drop all, and come in for what he won’t tell me for no benefit to me. WTF.

Slave to the grind again, my jaw is hurting. Side effects suck. I thought my issues with heartburn were because the spawn reorganized some stuff when she was squatting in my uterus. Now I keep seeing it’s some gastric reflux thing from Lamictal. How do you even know what is side effect, what is age related, what could be an actual problem…Lost. I am fucking lost.

Spook has a loose tooth, so soon I will get my first chance to be the tooth fairy. Considering she never stays in her own bed, I am unsure if the tooth should be put under her pillow or in my room since that’s where she ends up. I complain and yet during the night, I kept waking (as usual) and was befuddled when even at 4 a.m. she still wasn’t there. Deviation! Red alert, panic, panic! She came in at 4:30. I am confused by own fifty shades of fuckupness.

Speaking of Fifty Shades, Marlon Wayans just sold a spoof script. If it’s anything like Vampires Suck, it is going to be HI-larious. I’m not big on comedy (cos honestly, Hollywood has churned out nothing but shit for twenty years) but making fun of super pop culture trends…That I am on board with.

I am sweating buckets from anxiety. Everything seems to bright, too loud, too fast. If I leave my bubble, I may just implode. I know it’s a “cop out” blah blah fuck you, but much like those hairs at the back of your neck keeping you aware when you’re alone in the dark, this gut feeling of being “livewire” is a warning of its own yet society frowns upon heeding it. Clown shoes.

I think I am done. Splat saga continues. I will feel bad for making up excuses and being even an unreliable flaky friend but…Sporks. I’ve got three left and it’s not even 1p.m. I don’t see a spork revival coming in my future because I’m running on E and I really just need to recharge. It’d be better to do tomorrow night since my kid is having a sleepover at Grandma’s, but that’s the thing with mental illness…It doesn’t give a damn when you have the “chance” to feel wonky. You feel as it damn well dictates. And if you push yourself, as I did yesterday, you’re gonna get your ass kicked by splat.

Fifty Shades Of Tee-Hee

50 shades wife

50 shades cat


banneds and m penguins(And if S and M penguins don’t make you tee hee, boy, are you on the wrong blog.)


2 Responses to “The Saga Of Splat”

  1. I am currently climbing the to the summit of Mount Splatterous…and Ima use all my damn sporks on the way cuz I can and my give a damn ain’t doing shit anyway. Thank gawd the weekend is at hand and I can sleep in.

  2. Considering the book reads like a parody already, the spoof should definitely be entertaining. SMH @ bestsellers.

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