404 Eror: Zest For Life Not Found

404

And that is how I feel today. It’s a cool gray day, which is a much needed break from the sweltering twin of Hell it’s been lately. Nothing traumatic has happened.Β  (Well, shark week arrived, so I guess that’s traumatic.) I slept on and off. Same shit, different day.

What I do have is an abundance of is panxiety and I have no idea why. I just get this overwhelming sense of dread that something bad is coming my way and logic does not work. Anxiety takes on a life of its own, bringing with paranoid visions of a doom you can’t see but feel in your bones. Trying to talk myself out of it makes it worse. Yesterday was total panxiety moron day. I read my horroscope (silly, yes, but I get bored) and it said someone close to me was going to be giving me a chilly reception and while it has nothing to do with me…Off to the races my brain went, trying to figure out why I may have offended, driven away. I am not a person open to suggestion easily and yet for whatever reason, my brain takes a nibble out of stupid stuff and turns it into this metastasizing fear and paranoia. That parasitic twin that is mental illness in there needs to GO.

Aside from panxiety…I feel nothing. No motivation. No joy. The housework keeps snowballing and I can’t be arsed. I want to do something, feel accomplished. But the dish time those two days really left me hollow and drained. And it ain’t over because R asked if I’d run his glasses out to have a screw put in them and at the time, courtesy of Mangorita, I was totally amenable. Odd that. If psych meds could just relax and boost one the way a simple drink can, no one would drink. I refuse to feel guilty for it. I got at least a couple of hours of pseudo joy where I could listen to music. I even introduced my kid to some vintage 80’s pop and the ONE song she latched onto…”Karma Chameleon” by Culture Club. Ha. That was my version of the Frozen theme, I guess, drove my parents to insanity playing it all the time. Though I think they wished I’d stuck with such drivel because once the heavy metal began to play…Ha, much more obnoxious than Boy George. (Who I still maintain has a beautiful voice and fuck you if you don’t like it.)

After Boy George and Culture club…I introduced her to more Rob Zombie. She likes. She has good taste. Kid loves “Sway” by Coal Chamber. To my credit, I do make her substitute terms like “bleepy bleepy” instead of saying motherfucker. It was nice while it lasted, sharing something with my kid without freaking out after five minutes of music. Joy is missing, zest for life is missing, but occasionally, Mistress Mangorita can lift me out of it for a couple of hours. I’ll take what I can get. Seriously, how long must you drown in spite of being fully medicated without a break in your darkness filled mind before you’re allowed to seek comfort elsewhere.

Spook has decided today is an awesome day to batter me with questions. I give answers, she asks more questions, even to stuff she knows. She is like a cat batting a mouse around but won’t go in for the kill and put it out of its misery. WHY WHY WHY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY. WHY. And my brain is another hemisphere so I don’t have answers to even simple shit. I mean, the information simply isn’t there nor is the ability to articulate it. She asked me what a riddle is. I don’t know how to explain that. Not a fucking clue. My body is alive but I am fairly sure my brain is dead.If only my nerve endings would follow suit so I couldn’t feel all the anxiety.

I have to do the dish again tomorrow. Damn friendship and doing favors just to get a pack of smokes. I should be grateful but it’s like telling prisoners of war, “Hey, at least they only stabbed you sixty times, they could have water boarded you, be thankful.” Um..Fuck you. Though I am pondering for my reward if I meet me dish goal tomorrow, finding a yard sale or two. I can probably scrape up a buck or two.

One of my cats is missing. He got sick quite abruptly and now…I think I am going to have search for a dead cat. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. I am tired of burying cats. Tired of getting attached and losing them. Whatever I did in a past life to deserve all this shit, it must have been akin to the holocaust. Not self pity, just saying, how about a break from all the misery on occasion. And the saddest part of it all is…I may have a dead cat and I’m sad but I can’t work up a single tear. One would think with shark week I’d be a tear drenched mess. I am so fucking broken and sick of being broken. I don’t want fixed, I just want to be well. For more than a couple of months before going down the rabbit hole again.

I haven’t showered since Tuesday. But then I did take four showers so maybe I am due some slovenliness. I don’t even have pants on, just the shirt and undies I slept in. It’s almost 11 a.m. I should move my ass. I think I am waiting for R to call and nag at me as my motivator. Seriously, a trip to Wal-Mart? You think I am ever gonna get excited about that? I’d rather face a firing squad. I just don’t like the big store. It’s the one place that sets off my panic attacks like nothing else. Maybe my brain just senses corporate evil.

On the plus side…Um…Um..Gimme a minute…I actually dusted a shelf last night. First time in over a year. Yes, I am that gross. When getting dressed taxes you out…Dust bunnies are not a priority. But I dusted it and moved a few things around, put some colored glass by the window where the curtain came down so light streams in…It’s kinda pretty. (Yes, even the pink one.)Β  The newbie kittens are all healthy and walking around, curious and cute as hell. Two have names already, the Siamese looking ones. Arsenic and Oleander. I’ve got other names picked out, but they’re gender specific and it’s so hard to identity gender on such itty bitty kitties…

Damn, now my ear is itching, my nose is itching. Calls, company, someone talking about me…Damn my mother for her stupid superstitions. Like I need help being paranoid and anxious.

I’m gonna contemplate putting on pants. I don’t need a Magic 8 ball to know it’s probably not gonna happen any time soon. 404 Error: Pants Not found.

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8 Responses to “404 Eror: Zest For Life Not Found”

  1. When I get some money I’m coming out there and we are gonna hang and let the kids have at it and play until they fall over on the grass. Can I have a go at R?? Pretty please?! I didn’t even bother changing into Jammie’s last night. I’m still wearing the same thing-mowed the lawn in them too. Take what you can get. Glad you like the sun hitting your glass πŸ™‚ ❀

    • Oh, yes please, do come visit. And let me know how you happen upon that money so I can do the same and afford brand name Xanax, I’m starting to think this generic shit is useless. And FYI, I can’t sit here looking at that pink glass thing on the shelf and not think of you πŸ˜‰ You and Spook will bond nicely, she’s obsessed with all things pink.

      On Thu, Jul 16, 2015 at 12:10 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

      >

    • P.S. I would sell tickets to a cage match with you and R!

      On Thu, Jul 16, 2015 at 12:17 PM, Niki Noir wrote:

      > Oh, yes please, do come visit. And let me know how you happen upon that > money so I can do the same and afford brand name Xanax, I’m starting to > think this generic shit is useless. > And FYI, I can’t sit here looking at that pink glass thing on the shelf > and not think of you πŸ˜‰ You and Spook will bond nicely, she’s obsessed with > all things pink. > > > On Thu, Jul 16, 2015 at 12:10 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing comment-reply@wordpress.com> wrote: > >>

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