Hour 17

In keeping with the “fuck conformity” theme..I have been awake since 3:3o a.m. and am heading into hour 17 of consciousness. Hellish consciousness. It’s weird because I’ve pulled 50 plus hours awake without feeling so…tired. It’s that frigging morning thing. If I had slept till noon, I’d still be energized for 30 more hours. But sleeping a couple of hours then waking at the crack of ass while the roosters are still snoring…My nocturnal ass is dragging.

For the first time all day, I can finally breathe. I finally calmed down enough to eat food and kill the “meds on empty stomach” nausea…I have Feet laying at my feet, tickling me with his fur. Breaaatheee. I was trying to watch Blindspot but Hulu is being a dick, as usual, so I said fuck it and am watching one of my all time ever favorite movies…”Brainscan”. Loved frigging Edward Furlong (kid Johm Connor from Terminator 2,another of my fave movies), plus the sound track kicks serious ass. Sadly, I use the desktop’s cd/dvd drive so rarely, I had to do battle with it with a nail file for five minutes just to get the tray to open. Digital media is killing me here.

Also killing me is how when good things happen…It can never simply be enjoyed or appreciated. Nope. Scumbag life has to flip me off and snark, “You really thought it was gonna be that easy? Muhahahha, I spit on your optimism.” So by the time the good thing comes to fruition…your soul is so deflated and defeated, there’s no joy, no real relief, just this crumbling to the floor in “this is a good thing but the flaming hoops I had to jump through also filled with razor wire kinda took away any true feelings of goodness…”

Such is the soundtrack of my life. It all works out in the end after having to swallow ten gallons of pride to make it so…But now I am too fucking exhausted to feel anything but…well, fucking exhausted. And my kid, well, she’s channeling Satan and pea soup after being so good because I am not stopping, dropping, and rolling on her command. Methinks I have created the worst monster ever (Stranglestein, a friend dubbed her, after I related a story about her tying one of the cats to the doorknob with a shoestring). She has come home with outstanding colors for over a week for her behavior at school so I rewarded her with a playdate at Grandma’s tonight. And once she gets back she is an absolute jerk, and still asking, “What else do I get for being good?”  I know I suck as a disciplinarian but this “gimme stuff” thing comes from me letting her have too much contact with my mom and sister. They are about to get their phone turned off due to lack of money yet last weekend, they spent over fifty bucks buying my kid toys, take out, and ice cream so she expects me to let bills and food go for the fun stuff. Gimme this, gimme that, to quote the Alice Cooper song. Brattenstein is what I should name her.

I am demanding my badge of courage. I made TWO trips to Walfuckingmart today (don’t ask) and frankly..It makes me miss the agony of root canals. Total anxiety/paranoia trigger going to that place. Superstores SUCK. If I wanted to walk that much, I’d go to the fucking mall. (Well, we don’t have one here so I’d have to say, I’d go to the mall 40 miles away if I had gas in the car and trusted the bald tires wouldn’t blow out on the interstate.) I used to love Wal-Mart when it was the smaller size store and not three miles outside town. Now…ugh, can I just  be skewered on a spit, please? Less painful.

9:29 p.m.

Think I have soothed the savage beast called my child. Maybe now I can truly breathe. I don’t think anyone can truly understand the challenge presented when an introverted parent has an extroverted child. I don’t want to quash who she is, god knows, I had enough of that forced on me all in the name of conformity. I just also don’t think every waking hour with her should have me ready to yank out tufts of someone else’s hair. It’s karma, man. My best friend Kristel and I spent most of Kindergarten at the quiet table and now…it’s biting me on the ass with my own child doing the same chatty Kathy routine. Except these days, failure to conform results in some sort of psychiatric diagnosis because the school can’t be bothered with a high spirited child.

I am still wondering why the fuck I am still conscious. Around six p.m. I was ready to drop face first into a pillow. Now that it is “time” for bed…Nope, scumbag brain screams WAKEY WAKEY EGGS AND BAke-EY, BIATCH! Shiaat. Truth be told, today did NOT work out at all the way I’d planned. All those fiery barbwire hoops to jump through while selling my soul the devil for something good to work out…At one point everything was going sooo wrong, I sat outside the shop on the WET step which gave me a wet, cold butt, and held my head in my hands. Because ya know, enough stuff goes wrong all at once and your past bites you on the ass after twenty years, you start believing that little voice telling you what a loser you are and you don’t deserve kindness or anything good…Ya get beaten down and ya gotta kind crash and burn before you can rise up again. I’d planned on being at the shop an hour max, waiting for R to get his shit together so we could do our barter thing…

I was still there til five mins before my kid got out of school. On three hours of sleep. Paranoid and freaking out BECAUSE I HEARD SIRENS SOMEWHERE IN TOWN AND WHAT IF IT’S MY HOUSE BURNING DOWN???? Almost seven solid hours in the dish, everything going wrong, anxiety screeching at me…Amazing I didn’t grab a shovel and start bashing in skulls. (Not that the desire wasn’t there, panic makes me veeeryyy eeevil.)  Of course, the sunshine spewers will say “But you survived it!” They deserve a shovel to the skull cos for every time I do survive…There are two times I fail miserably, burn more bridges, and have the past gnawing on my ass cheek for twenty years. Rxcuse me if I don’t agree that panic attacks are harmless.

On a very depressing note…We have all these stray cats that linger outside the shop cos, well, yeah, we’re mooshy dumbasses who feed them so of course they stick around…This black and white one I called “Kitticus” kept walking the road. And I shrieked, “Get out of the road, Kiticus, you’re gonna get hit!” He scurried to the curb and all…Then about 20 mins later R and I went out for a smoke and we were wandering the sidewalk as we puffed…And I saw a black and white blob in the center of the road…It was Kiticus..Splat. Someone just ran him down, splatter and all. R couldn’t even look and I was tearing up and freaking out…I told him, we have to get him out of the road and R…well, he was more squeamish than me and said he couldn’t look…So even though it brought flashbacks from burying Abby and Arsenic…I got a scrap towel from my car and moved Kiticus’ body into the grass so he wouldn’t get smashed again and again. The blood was fresh and he was still warm and I was just like, OMFG, HOW MANY DEAD CATS AM I REQUIRED TO DEAL WITH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE? Never mind he was feral. He ate our food we bought but wouldn’t let us touch him. Still…That kind of death…No one deserves, not even a rabid rat. My soul bled a little.

It’s just who I am. Last week, there was a dead possum in the road when I took my kid to school. On the way back, I actually stopped in the road, got that towel, and moved the dead possum to the grass because it was too agonizing to think of more cars smashing him. And I know all too well those things are not nice critters but still…For all my misanthropy, gore, and “fuck you” attitude…It was a living creature that met a violent death and I simply couldn’t leave it there to be further mangled. Call me mooshy or nuts or whatever but…I’m an animal person and even in death, the nastiest ones deserve a modicum of consideration. I mean, I’m the one who lived in a slumhouse and a possum got into the stairwell and I DEMANDED the landlord use a live trap to humanely capture it and free it even if it had pink demon eyes and looked like it wanted to claw out my eyeballs and eat my spleen. THIS IS WHO I AM.

And ya know, considering how mooshy I am about animals…The fact I was tough enough to get Kitticus’s body out of the road when R couldn’t even bring himself to glance that way…Kind of says a lot about what kind of person I am. Am I flawed? Yep. Am I dysfunctional? Hell to the yeah. But to me animals are such innocent creatures, I feel obligated to at least make sure they are not mangled further. If I were saintly, I’d make sure they got a proper burial, but alas…I don’t walk on water. If I could, I’d be making my own wine instead of kissing R’s ass for Mangoritas.

Is that offensive to religious people? Hmmm…I am in hour 19 now so my give a damn is fading fast.

Tomorrow I have appointments to sign my kid up for Toys For Tots and LiHeap assistance with the winter power bill. None of which jazzes me up. Then there is Spooks school monster bash. The kids get to go play games for an hour in their costumes. The parents have to rotate through four 15 minute “parenting academy courses.”  That is fucking stupid beyond words. I told R I wouldn’t ask him to go with me due to that factor…Much to my surprise he said he would LOVE to go to the parenting classes and troll them. I’m in, it sounds funny as hell. By the time it happens…I will probably be shuffling for any receptacle to throw up into. Crowds just set me off. Because most of these parents are assholes or stoner assholes and I don’t blend so it’s always so awkward. FYI, I am NOT gonna become a space waste case of booze and drugs so I blend. If the therapy powers that be find this wrong…Fuck ’em with barb wire dildos.

My brain is starting to beep like a cell phone on low power so maybe it is bedtime.

I really had no intention for this to be such a long banal rant. Road to hell is paved with good intenti0ns.

It was brought to my attention that R has been less of a dick lately and I knew why cos he gossips about every detail of his life like a chick…His wife had cut him off from sexy fun time for over a year then last week she donned something silky and got frisky…So yea, duh, he’s not as stressed and asshole-ish. It will last a few days and he will revert to form. I will relish the volume being turned down on doucheyness but I won’t be getting whiplash when she closes lady town for him another year thus he takes it out on me.

End note: To my credit, I showered TWICE today. Given the second shower involved curling up on the shower floor basking in the scalding hot water but…I smell all Irish Springy and accomplished. Tis a seemingly meaningless thing.,,til you’ve spent 11 months in a depression.

I climbed Mount fucking Olympus, bitches.

And now I am gonna climb Mr. Sandman and try to get some sleep. AFTER I watch Arrow. Priorities, man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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15 Responses to “Hour 17”

  1. I am jealous you managed ONE shower, let alone TWO! Honestly I’m on day 8 of non-showered Sass. Can’t be assed to exert that energy. Fuckit. Sorry about Kitticus-btw, BEST NAME EVER! Despite the assholery you deal with in your town and life, there is compassion in there-even if it is for animals. Lovely quality to have. Holy hell R finally got some?! Relish in the quiet!!! WOOHOO thanks Mrs R for sucking it up and taking one for the team! *High five, fist and chest bumps all around* Dammit, lost my train of thought…
    It sucks when you have size 3 feet in your ribs, arms and back all night and those feet STANK like her dad’s! Blargh! I’ll probably take more naps today. Can’t be assed to binge Sleepy Hollow STILL! Wtf…oh well, such is my life. I need my meds-I’m in walnut cracking mode.

    • Kitticus was a ringer for her grandma cat, Catticus, that’s how he was named. RIP, Kitticus. (People find it strange that I name all the stray cats, but damn it, no one should go through life without a name,)
      Don’t sweat the Sleepy Holl0w thing. My depression got so bad I didn’t even finish season two until um…one week before season three started. And I LOVE that show, but depression gives zero fucks.
      Did you ever finish The Following??? I wanted to discuss, dammit, but bit my tongue (or keyboard) to avoid spoilers for you.

      • Awww kitteh ❤️ I agree no one or animal should be nameless.
        I want to do stuff but this damn depression and grief…🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻
        No I never watched the last three eopisodes! That’s when I went psychotic from the Latarda. Maybe I can find those..maybe..

  2. Men. Always turn nice when they get pussy. Until they get no more. Their level of grouch when it comes to this pisses me off in all the explosive ways. I often wonder why I couldn’t just be a lesbian. At least women are very pretty.

    It’s a tricky road when your family leads a life different from you and your kids mingle with them. They always adopt the habits that are most rewarding to them.

    I’ll take food over dumb shit purchases any day. That was always true of me. Food is the only thing left that I can //sometimes// enjoy when life has become so dark and meaningless.

  3. Jeez what hectic time you’re having. I don’t think I’d manage two trips into the dish like that – and days there that turn into 7hrs just kill me stone dead.

    RIP Kitticus.

    • Some days I can so multiple dish trips, as long as they’re split up. Run here, stop there, come home. Rest up. Go back out, etc. But the seven solid hours running about, outside my safety net, getting stabbed by every trigger in my repertoire…Those days suck bison balls.
      And most people are out for ten, eleven hours every single day and it doesn’t bother them the least.
      Much as it shames me to admit envying McMuggles…I really do wish I could do such mundane things without my mental issues mucking it all up.

      • Having a kid keeps people firmly in touch with the petrified petri dish I guess. With only my dog to answer to, I’m free to turn into an unkempt and demented creature. Still, I think you did bloody well. My nearest dish is 50km away and I visit it once a week (begrudgingly), so it’s never a quick trip. It ends when no matter how many things left on the to do list, my vision blurs too much and I start worrying about my driving. Strongs to you, and ja, wouldn’t it be nice to be free of the bipolar yoke.

      • I am unkempt demented creature every chance I get. Most days, I don’t even bother with a bra, I just wear a hoodie over my shirt so I look boxy and misshapen. I used to do make up and hair and nice clothes and..
        Meh. It never mattered because I am never good enough for society’s standards of appearance. Too all, too chubby, bad skin, big feet, always “ugly” to someone.
        Honestly though…reaching the point of not giving a damn as long as I don’t reek…very liberating. Even if my gray roots have on occasion caused some to ask if Spook is my granddaughter. *shrug* I started getting gray at age 19, fuck ’em. One day I am gonna use that box of haircolor I bought two months ago…
        Maybe when I get the heat fixed they can repair my give a damn.

  4. is THAT why I’m cranky and depressed? well, fuck me! (please!) If I could get some every day, or even every other day, I’d have no excuse to be batchy. But I fight her circadians and my ragemones passive-aggressively, and she trades occasional satisfactions in exchange for me keeping the house and the kids under control, and when I can’t it doesn’t happen, which sucks ass and the ragemones and depressions stack on each other and then land on my brain which feels like dead weight, impacts and cratering on my back and my heart. I hate the stuff-mart. I dragged myself out of the house yesterday for my daughter so she wouldn’t give us extra grief and went out day before for my son. And yesterday my son gave us shit and was awake and wanted someone other than himself to take the blame and the shit for him not taking care of his responsibilities, translation homework not done until we forced him to get it done. No thank you, deal with your shit yourself and I will help, but if you’re looking for a scapegoat find a fucking mirror. Sorry you’re having to process the shitty things that life and death and other people can bring. If it were up to me I’d hide in my bunker most of the time. Oh and the question about offending “religious” people, sure I’m sure they’re offended, but then Jesus offended “religious” people, so whatever. For my part I found the comment about turning water into wine amusing but can’t muster a real laugh. I hope you can get some sleep. I was up until about 3AM and up at 6:45 to get to work on time. And my son batches about HIS lack of sleep and then takes a nap after school… grrrrr. I wish I could go home at 3 and take an hour nap and then have dinner prepared for me and watch tv/netflix while I wait. “Batch,” for Bachelor.” Had to figure out a male designation for it, but it’s really the same thing. No hugs for you today, sorry, oddly I’m not in the mood. Maybe tomorrow. But know I care in my batchy way. Morgue wth is a leprechaun burger, is that code? B/c if it is I’ll have mine rare.

    • Leprechaun meat is not code, just a joke Sass and I had running.
      I’m okay without hugs. I have days where I’d rather stab people than be touched in any way. (Unless you’re a cat, then you can wallow my face and claw my jugular long as you look cute and purr a lot.)
      My kid likes to run and tell her grandma about all the work I make her do. Because ya know, her scooping cat boxes twice a week is way more than I do with all the other rooms in the place. Gotta love kid drama.
      I would suggest moving a mountain or two and getting some sexy fun time with the Missus. If nothing else, the good brain endorphins get released and make you feel better for a bit.
      That’s why in the ancient days of mental health care doctors prescribed orgasms as a cure for “hysteria”. Primarily for women but yeah, doctor assisted orgasms was a popular treatment for mental problems back in the day.
      Tell your wife it’s for your treatment.

      • I have tried the “doctor’s orders” joke before. After 20+ years all my jokes are old and tired as she acts all the time. I would like the doctors to get her on amphetamines, or something, but I haven’t been able to persuade her to ask. If I were as tired as that, would I be awake at 3AM and again at 6:30AM? Yeah she wants me to “come to bed,” but she means “come to sleep” which doesn’t have the right connotation, and she wants that to be after the chores are done. It’s “scheduled” for once a week but I believe I need two or 3 times a week to enable pretending to be human better. Then there’s the misunderstandings about my mood. Yeah I think if I got the right costume for myself I’d be happy in black fingernails and black lipstick and black eye liner and mascara and a black suit or pajamas with a red-lined blanket-cape. And fangs, can we have them permanently installed and fully functional by an orthodontist? Oh, is it nearly halloween? Yeah, no, every day of the year. It’s that or a zombie, but I only AM a zombie and wish I wasn’t. I wish I were a vampire, or maybe a human if it were possible. TY for the thoughts though. There are days I watch Blade movie(s) and wish I had a sword AND fangs, to tell EVERYONE to fuck off. Especially at the store and the workplace.

  5. Yay for R! Let’s hope R keeps getting some!

  6. Sad times with the poor kitty. Possums sound like badgers. They’re evil too. Arrow is awesome. The Flash? Less so. I wish they’d spent the entire budget from The Flash on more episodes of Arrow.
    I hope Spook’s school Haloween bash goes okay.
    Also – two showers???? That’s gotta be bonus points of some description??

  7. Sorry for the lost of another cat. I would be crazy with grief. Speaking of cat boxes I need to do mine and shower, once a week if I am caring enough.

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