Meet The Newest Teletubby: Cranky Wanky

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Yep, I’ve been asked to join the after hours crew. I am Cranky Wanky and I have a perpetual scowl and a spork shaped antenna on my head.

I have, in the space of two days, taken off a few heads by being too quick to take offense. It’s like it doesn’t even occur people are trolling me, I just go on the defensive and get bent. It hasn’t really been my norm for awhile so I am left only to assume that it’s some combo of excessive heat and the stress of trying to organize while losing yet another kitty. It makes for a very broken funny bone.

For those I got snarky with…I am sorry. I make no excuses, just a profound apology.

I felt even shittier last night when I had to run to the gas station for some ice since mine doesn’t freeze on hot days (shitty freezer seal) and the girl there, who is so happy all the time…And funny and nice…told me I’d have to pay for the ice even though I brought my own cup…And I just snapped, “They told me the other day if i brought my own cup it was free!” And she took a step back and said, “Well, you really are cranky.”

I know. With two days minus my kid, one would think I’d be chill. Instead I’ve been  more of an asshole. WTF? It makes me worry that I am starting to crack under it all. That’s been my MO for years. The counselors and doctors will always point out, “It’s a struggle but YOU ARE DOING IT!.” Yep. Right up til I hit that wall and break. It always comes. That’s the price of functionality for me. Too long on autopilot and the system crashes. Their sage advice is to, “Keep fighting as hard as you can.” Pretty sure the point of depression and nervous breaks are the very definition of “I’ve got no fight left in me.”

Lately, it has been pointed out to me, “You haven’t had a date since the donor left four years ago, what’s wrong with you?” Well, it isn’t because I’m hung up on him nor have I become asexual. I occasionally have stress relief with an old friend with benefits, (as I did yesterday, not that the meds let you actually enjoy it.) but I don’t publicize it and I make sure my kid is never around. I’ve always been pretty private with that aspect of my life anyway. With Spook having one adult walk out on her, it has become of the utmost importance to me that she not know that sense of abandonment again. She gets easily attached to people.

Kind of like when I did try the dating thing awhile back. It was someone I’d been friends with for fifteen years, he was always really cool to me. So I introduced him to Spook but then it turned out he was one more drunken pill popping burn out and he got what he wanted and vanished. I’m fine with it, but she still asks about him all these months later. And that’s what pisses me off the most. I have no problem with fwb. But don’t tell me you wanna hang out like buddies then blow me off after my kid gets attached. I am still kicking myself for that one. Every time she asks about him, I want to get a shovel and bash in his skull. Fuck with me, fine. Fuck with my kid, Killy Lilly is gonna come out.

So I keep things shallow and shield my kid from it. Were I to meet someone who was an actual grown up with a soul and stuck around for awhile…It might be different. It’s just not right now and she comes first. Not that the morons around me can grasp that ‘cos ya know, if you’re single, you’re gonna die a lonely old person. Never have understood the world’s obsession with coupling. Being single isn’t the kiss of death.

I’ve accomplished some stuff in her room. Not as much as I should have but it was 92 degrees inside here yesterday and that was with a window AC and three fans running. There comes a point of discomfort where you’re drained and achy and sweat is stinging your eyeballs and it’s like, “Meh, good enough.” I’ve done a couple of things today but mostly I’m sitting in front of the fan and watching CSI.

Speaking of CSI..It took me seven years to rewatch the episode where Warrick died ‘cos last time, I bawled for two hours and the donor thought I was ridiculous. Well, I liked that character, damnit. And last night, I cried. Maybe for a half hour but I bawled and it was fucking cathartic. Tears building up can be like a volcano, only so much pressure can build before lava spews over the top. I needed it. As for getting too involved with fictional shows…Whatever. If I had such relationships in my life I’d get too involved in them cos ya know, I have a soul.

And an argument could be made that I am being judgmental by saying others don’t have souls and why don’t I have such connections in my life, the problem is obviously me. To a small extent, perhaps it is true. But even my former counselors recognized that with my “quirky” personality, I’m bound not to connect to the locals who are all rednecks or hardcore stoner/partiers. I don’t connect to the church crowd. The popular music crowd here is country or rap. Not my thing. I’m not a barfly. I don’t smoke pot. I’m not a gamer. There literally is no crowd to connect with for me. People think I am weird ‘cos I wear black and collect skulls and listen to heavy metal. Are there others in town that like this sort of thing?Yeah, sure, they’re called minors. Can’t very well hang out with kids without some unsavory accusations rising.

So if you are constantly judged and dismissed for not being what others want you to be and not conforming…It makes sense you wouldn’t connect and have deep meaningful relationships. That and outside manic episodes, I’m quite content to sit at home watching TV shows, surfing the net, talking to on line friends, reading, writing. None of which requires someone to come watch and bitch how boring I am. Maybe I am rationalizing, I dunno. I just thought when several counselors acknowledged that I have more of a city personality and this town does not so it makes sense I don’t blend or connect…It was validation for what I’ve always thought. Not because I am special or better than others. I just don’t want to waste my time in situations that make me uncomfortable because there’s no common ground. I tried a couple years back ‘cos there was a band I really wanted to see, so I went with a friend of my sister’s. I had fun, right up til M decided it was a good idea to get in the car with a couple of guys she knew and I didn’t. Cruising around with strange dudes at 1 a.m. is not my idea of fun. I’m not sixteen anymore. So that never happened again.

And ya know, it’s not like the months long bipolar depressions and anxiety help forge friendships. I can go my whole life without ever having to hear, “I like you, but I can’t handle you being all depressed, it brings me down. Call me when you’re feeling better.” With friends like that who needs enemies.

Cranky Wanky is on a hypomanic tear, can you tell I just took my Cymbalta?

While I’ve been so focused on her room and sweating my ass off, the normal housework has piled up. Baskets of clothes to fold and put away, dishes piling up in the sink, floors to be cleaned, cat boxes to scoop. The carousel never stops turning. I’m buried alive here. One step at a time, one task at a time, that’s all I can do.

And ya know, something amazing happened yesterday. My horrorscope was actually spot on. That never happens.

This may be a difficult day in which you feel pressured to get things done, Aquarius, yet there’s indecisiveness and hesitation lingering in your mind. Between a rock and hard place is no easy spot, but you’ll find your way out. Perhaps the thing you should do is make a move – any move. Once you get the energy flowing, the direction you need to take will be clear.

It didn’t turn all shiny happy done, but I did just pick a point and start in and slowly made some progress. Now I’m not really a believer of horoscopes and all that shit, it’s more a mainstay from my childhood where my mom would buy those supermarket scandal sheets and I’d read them out of boredom and check out my horoscope. Still..Not often the damned thing actually turns out accurate.

I called my dad the other night and he was telling me about taking my kid to the petting zoo and they had pictures but they weren’t printed out yet. So I was like, “Oh, come on, have her upload the card to her computer and email them to me, I wanna see.” And he got all bitchy, “And I guess you want us to drop everything and do it right fucking now?” Um, noooo…But really, transferring pictures to a hard drive could be done by a poo flinging monkey in ten minutes. Is it that much of a hardship? Damn technomorons irk me. I am far from a genius at computers but email is like the dummy version.

Maybe cranky is just in my genetics. My parents are the fucking experts at snapping and cutting you down.

And I worry I may unknowingly transfer that onto my kid. It’s something I need to talk to the doctor about. I have been so lacking in patience and so quick to get irritated for months now, it’s hellish.

Now…pick a point and just start in. So when she gets home she can throw a screaming mimi about hating how it’s arranged and I did this wrong and messed this up and she’s still not sleeping in her own bed…Being a parent has a way of reminding you what a brat you were at that age because you can remember doing the same things and that at the time, it made perfect sense.

Time to just do something. Meet the newest Teletubby…Sweaty Betty.

 

 

 

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3 Responses to “Meet The Newest Teletubby: Cranky Wanky”

  1. Here in North Carolina it’s the same hellish musical taste that I hear as I’m going about daily life. I want to kill music producers that think this shit is cute. But then again I ride around alternating between Indie music and Ozzy Osborne and Nightwish. Maybe I’m the crazy one.

    The fact that you put your kid first says a hell of a lot about you. Because I know a lot of shitty parents who think they are just side cart items. When I was growing up, I was staying at home by myself and cooking at five years old. When I had my kid, I vowed I wasn’t going to be that kind of parent. Now she’s 11 and I haven’t managed to completely screw her up.

    I guess we aim to give our kids the life we couldn’t have.

  2. Hey Stabby Abby, you really, really, really need to stop being so hard on yourself. Your quirky, so fucking what? We like quirky round here. You’re a fierce mother, your sense of humour is wonderful. You also live with a fuckload of stress; nobody can tough it out forever.

  3. I’m with Lucid-ity and Ms. Blah here, you’re awesome.

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