Things That Make You Go @#$&!

I was gonna go with the old C and C Music Factory song, “Things that make you go hmm…” only change it to “things that you make you FUCK!…” Then I thought, why not throw some random angry characters out to make it more zippy? Sentence still ends in fuck, though, decoded. (And yes, I *like* that song C and C song, but only for drunken dancing.)

Ventured into the dish for the first time but skipped the madhouse of Aldi. My kid was uber hyper and defiant and I just couldn’t do battle. We went to the convenience store then to a Family Dollar and that was enough for me. Came home. Waited for hours because mom wanted to see Spook and I came up with the idea of her staying the night ‘cos I REALLY need a break. Five hours later, the call finally came telling me they were home. On the way out, I noticed that my 32 gallon trash can had filled, and was overflowing with, rain, and I only set it out yesterday. It’s like a freaking monsoon. My yard needs mowed and I know the landlord is gonna be on my ass but it’s been raining six straight days, ffs.

Took my kid to my mom’s. It occurred to me after the fact that me simply saying “I need a break” to my mom is gonna result in me being bitten on the ass for weeks to come. My mom can say I need a break, but if I say it, I am a shit mother thinking only of herself. While I was out, one idiot lady almost backed over me in her fancy SUV as I walked across the lot. I was watching, well out of the way, and still, she came within three inches of hitting me! PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION, BITCH! I wish Smartphones would just fucking die. THEN on the way home I almost got hit again by someone who wasn’t even looking around them, they just deemed it their turn. I yelled “fuck” and “bitch” and “douchebag” more times than I can count.

Driving is hell. Hell is other people. I can’t handle the dish. I could live my life out in perpetuity alone and I’d be ok. But throw me in the dish…I’m falling apart and justly so. People are stupid. You can’t just drive for yourself and be wary. NOO, you absolutely cannot relax a second because you’re driving for yourself and every jackass checking their smartphone and yapping to their passenger about something on the smartphone. (no ONE is that important, get over it.)

PLUS I had a tire going flat so I had to stop for air, and it couldn’t even make it to the one station with free gas, NO, I had to go to the place that charges an dollar. FUCK! And as it was the used tired put on there, it may keep deflating and I have no money for a new one so once again, welcome to Fuckedsville, population me. And people are all around and there’s noise and I think they are all staring at me and I feel like a piece of China in a china shop with a bull on the loose…I kept it together but not without a thousand thoughts of just using my car as a battering ram and clawing all their eyeballs out with my nails.

No, it’s not rational. Fight or flight response doesn’t care.

I’ve teared up some more from Grey’s Anatomy. Hormones, no doubt. It’s sooo nice to feel something. But I am fairly certain once the curse has come and gone, I will be right back to dead inside numb. I think I am about done with this show, anyway. I’m on season 3 and they’ve had six cancer cases involving lady parts and suddenly I feel like my ovaries and uterus are out to get me and gonna kill me no matter how vigilant I am and the panic kicks in and it’s the fucking truth…I watched my aunt (by marriage, only five years my senior) battle ovarian cancer for almost 5 years. Cured, remission, cured, remission, dead. She never smoked a cigarette, exercised, played sports, went to church, had a positive attitude…

THAT is precisely why I stopped trying to control my health. I can go to a dozen doctors every single day. If I have the cancer gene, it’s happening. Period. If it doesn’t, excellent. If it does…I’m not caught unawares.

Thing with me and medical paranoia is…at some point logic loses out to the panic so I have to walk away for my own good. I LOOOVED Mystery Diagnosis. Unfortunately, I began to think I had every obscure illness they featured based on one or two symptoms. Because I am so scared that no matter how perfect I do things…Cancer, and catastrophe, are in my genes. (Honestly, my mom is kid number ten and she’s lost eight siblings to cancer, so HELLOO?) Fuck it, I am just gonna live the way I want while I can because NONE of us know whether we’ll be hit by a bus tomorrow or some crackhead will hold up the store we’re in and shoot us.

Perhaps it’s that uncertainty that keeps me in a constant state of anxiety. You. Just. Don’t. Know. NO ONE knows. And while “God’s will” may comfort most, I find it absolute bullshit. (I am not trying to insult anyone’s faith, but this is MY blog and this is how I feel.) I think this was why I had to shun E.R. I just got too paranoid and too panicky to handle it. I went back, after the series ended, of course, but during its run…Nope. I couldn’t.

I’ve gotten my beckoning call from his highness. Since mom has the spookster til noon tomorrow, and he called shortly after 7 pm, I am okay with it. I just get so sick of being expected to be gracious and polite when my bare minimum limits keep getting stomped on like I don’t even exist…GRRR. Things that make you go, HELP ME HIDE THIS CORPSE!

I have sooo much I need to do, should do, but…I get so little me time all I want to do is vegetate. I’ve sorted most of the laundry, folded and put away towels…I did a *bit*. Now…Knowing I have to face R-sole at 8 a.m. I think I need sleep. A reboot.When really I wanted to stay up late and write or try to write and enjoy my mommy time. Instead, dish dwellers had to intrude with demands and I am not good at juggling, especially during shark week hormoney time.

I thought earlier I was doing “better”. I am not so sure now. The anxiety when dealing with the dish and noise just never goes away. I feel like such a lost cause. I know it’s frustration talking but zero fucks are given.

The best thing that could ever happen to me would be to find some way to earn money at home from the computer so I can pick and choose when I am *able* to deal with the petri dish. It sounds selfish but it’s not. People in wheelchairs get wheelchair ramps. Why can’t I just get a petri dish free way to earn a living?

Oh, right. Because mental illness isn’t real. Maybe I should throw myself off a balcony. Broken bones are real. I doubt it’d count for shit. I’m *mental.”

 

 

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4 Responses to “Things That Make You Go @#$&!”

  1. If anyone holds up a store with you in it… there the ones going out in straight jackets!

    Or just offer them a Med Off, see how freaked out with underwear on their heads they get as you’re staring at them saying ‘Really’

    And if I win the lottery I’m flying out there to meet you, even if it’s just to shake your hand and say Thankyou for the great posts, if I win the lottery as to be honest I ain’t affording it anyway else!

    • Aww, that’s so sweet I’m getting cavities in my bloody marshmallow center 😉 Glad you appreciate the macabre, it is an art form, in my humble opinion. It’s also just funny the way it gets everyone’s panties in a bunch.

      On Fri, Jun 19, 2015 at 3:00 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

      >

      • I eat dark humour for breakfast, crazy for lunch and suicidal for diner, with my half empty glass of depression never far from my hand
        Might be a reason I’m screwed up!
        So write it out Queen B and serve it straight

      • Odd, I always saw suicide as a breakfast meal…To each their own, my dark friend 😉

        On Fri, Jun 19, 2015 at 3:07 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

        >

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