Does This Anxiety Attack Make My Ass Look Fat?

Trick question. My ass looks fat in everything. I’m good with that. Fluffy is my “porcushield” to discourage attention from dish dwellers. Approach with caution or the quills pop out. People freak me the fuck out. Thank you, anxiety disorder.

peopley outside

(Thanks  to Diane for the above graphic, you know me so well, chick.)

BTW…No pep talks about “being so down on myself.” Self deprecating humor as a means of preemptive strike against detractors is what got me through six grueling years of school bullying. If I can’t make fun of my flaws, I may as well drink bleach and snort Comet (with crystals!)

The last couple of days have had me thinking long and hard about how shrinks can so completely ignore the connection between mood and weather in bipolar disorder. They want to call it “seasonal depression”, get lots of light, lick the belly of a baby seal, etc…Wednesday it was gray, spitting rain and snow, and I was just freezing and couldn’t get comfortable outside a blankie fort. It was like a hobgoblin sneaked in and stole all sensation of warmth. And fetching my kid in it, standing outside five mins while they took their sweet time dismissing, didn’t help. I came home, ate hot ham and beans and cornbread, then curled back up under a blanket. And spent the whole evening  anxiety ridden and praying R didn’t pop in to socialize cos I wasn’t feeling it. By that point, the maintenance work one trailer down had been banging on for ten hours. I found two shots’ worth of whiskey left at the back of a cabinet and dumped it into my Coke.

Bad coping mechanism, but ya know, when you hit your max Xanax for the day and the noise is still making your bones crawl out of your skin…You will lick hallucinogenic frogs for relief. McMuggles view this as weakness but when the worst anxiety you comprehend is  public speaking…It’s easy to judge. Try spending your entire life with that feeling.

Yesterday wasn’t so bad as it warmed up, sun came out, and I had the goal of paying bills and ugh…Xmas shopping. Which meant a trip to Wal-mart. And I bought like two things cos what I went there to get her…was sold out. So all that time, gas, stress…for nada. And I got further irked because a kind elderly man in a wheelchair asked me to help him because he couldn’t get a single fucking employee to the department no matter how many times he rang the bell. I saw some management types, marched up to them, and told them he’d been waiting twenty minutes, could they find someone to help him.

Stupid Wal-mart.

On the plus side, since I was all the way out there, I stopped at Dollar General…and got most of her Christmas presents in one place. (Frozen this, that, everything fucking Elsa.)

I went to pay rent. New girl was taking payments. I asked, “Can you make sure you write that down in the book? Last time someone forgot and I got a late notice when I’d already paid, it freaked me out.”

And the landlord himself comes out of his office scoffing, “That happened one DAMN time…”

Well, panic attacks don’t care if it’s happened once or ten thousand times. I’ve busted my ass trying to do better and get things paid on time, it just freaked me out to be in a position of…well, ya know. Being the “old” me. She was a lot of fun but man, what a fuck up.

I just found his scoffing an annoyance. “one damn time”. Fuck you.

It was more errands after that, more noise next door. One more panic attack when there was a knock on the door. Neighbor kid who doesn’t even wave at me but he wanted to bum a smoke. Whatever. Been there myself. He’s the one who has the bumper sticker that says “horn broken, look for finger.” I can abide.

I am, after all, driving around with what looks like a Subway logo that says “zombies eat flesh” (eat fresh.) I respect that kind of humor.

I splurged five bucks for a discount dvd for my kid cos she’s been driving me nuts all week with her “i’m bored”…three movies for five bucks. (Beethoven one,two, three, she loves dogs.)  Kept her laughing all night. It was a nice breather, and it felt good to have finally gotten something right with her. R popped over and he wanted to watch some movie called Lucy. It wasn’t bad. What sucked was his hypocrisy. He spends half his day on the damned phone looking at youtube and texting, yet I pulled out my droid to check out Dominos cos I was hungry and he had the nerve to snap at me for being on it and not focusing on the movie. WTF is that. I just wanted food.

I never did get food. And I took my meds this morning, not having eating anything since 5 last night when I had beef jerky so I feel all nauseous now. Yay. This never gets old. Med after med, always with nausea if you don’t eat first. I’m not a breakfast person unless someone else is cooking. In which case…two eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, white gravy…

More noise from maintenance. That trailer’s been empty three years and bam, over the last five days they’ve pretty much overhauled it and been speedy about it. Can only mean one thing…Either the landlord got a section 8 tenant or the trailer’s so trashed they’re just breaking it down before hauling it away. I just want the daily noise to go away. It’s making me a damned basketcase. Because I don’t care if it’s music I like, I can only handle it a moderate level for brief intervals. Brain simply can’t take rapid fire noise with any grace.

I think R wants me to come in today. I’m not feeling it. Cos it’s a project he’s had me come in to do six times in the last month and he always gets on a different track and nothing gets done but me being out of my bubble and irked. I guess I could spew sunshine and say at least it’s quieter there but…Ha, no, the road department is doing work right by the shop. No escape, least here I feel safe. Ish.


On an end note…My kid was chattering in the backseat en route to school this morning and I replied…She said, “I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Melissa.” So I played along with the imaginary friend thing and asked why Melissa won’t talk to me when I’m nice enough to let her live with us.

Spook replied, “Melissa doesn’t like you cos she’s a ghost and eats ghost food and you don’t.”


I love by Boo-berry cereal I can only get at Halloween. I don’t think I like Melissa very much.





32 Responses to “Does This Anxiety Attack Make My Ass Look Fat?”

  1. Jesus I pop on my browser for some tribal procrastination and burst out laughing just at your title. You might be the funniest person alive. We need to get you an HBO stand up special. Like, yesterday. (I think Melissa is pretty hilarious, Spook’s a clever one.)

    • The sad thing is, if I TRIED to be funny, it’d be an epic bucket of fail. If I don’t make the effort, I am apparently successful at being funny.
      There is nothing about me that is not FUBAR. I’m gonna call it part of my charm.
      BTW- Spook has now informed me Melissa won’t speak to me because she is mute.
      I suspect by Monday Melissa will have sprouted wings and a unicorn horn. Gotta love my kid’s imagination.
      Breaks my heart reality might one day rob her of that.

      • It’s like anything, really. Too much willful effort and we begin to suck at it. I play tennis best when I’m not thinking because I’m naturally good, just like you’re naturally funny. Jesus that was deep. Deep morning thoughts.

      • Okay, between the LOTR babble and now tennis…You are one step from ending up on Scream Queens as one of the Dickie Dollar Scholars.

      • I’m taking that’s a bad thing? Whatevs. First, I didn’t start the LOTR babble but I did read the trilogy in 7th grade and mightily identified with Frodo. Second, I’m baller at tennis. Baller, baby. Hardcore fucking rock at tennis. Grew up in the suburbs, sue me. Dickie Dollar Scholar does sound like an apt satirical swipe at my ass, alas. But I rose above, rise above, can’t keep me down no no.

      • BALLER. OMG. R and I were trying to determine exactly what this urban vernacular meant so he went to urban dictionary and it said, “Creeping like a baller means to be stuck in slow moving traffic.”
        So you’re playing tennis in a traffic jam?
        Go home, internet, you’re drunk.

      • Baller means badass. And just starting my day, lady, sober as a baby seal. You think I’m not on Supermax lockdown, shiiiiiiiiiiiitttt?

      • Um….I said nothing about that particular libation. I meant if you’re back to your writing, make sure you stay hydrated cos if we get in our groove…we could keep going even as the place burns down around us. Geeesh, dude. I know I am a bad example but I am trying to be sensitive to your lock down status by not talking about spirits. I’m not that cruel.

        On Sat, Dec 5, 2015 at 9:08 AM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:


      • I know yo! Just goofin.

  2. “…sometimes I get ridiculous
    I’ll eat up all your crackers and your licorice
    Hey yo fat girl, come here–are ya ticklish?” ~Humpty Dance, Humpty Hump (aka Shock G), The (Digital) Underground

    There, something to hopefully make you laugh. THat’s the funniest song I could think of to match your story’s beginning. However, all the evidence I’ve seen says you look fine. BTW, today’s national cookie day, and I plan to bake tonight! the little daughter-of-mine made sugar cookies yesterday, I guess she was planning ahead. But I want peanut butter or chocolate chip, or maybe both. WTH, Christmas is coming. If I overbake (too many) I can give them away as “thoughtful gifts.” Or something.

    Maybe Melissa is an angel who needs angel food cake? I have these random (or maybe regular) unsatisfied cravings for cotton candy, it’s kind of wispy like something an angel or a ghost would like. I never liked any of the halloween cereals, but I do like microwave smores. Microwaved marshmallows look like ghosts to me.

    I think you’re justified getting a receipt, insuring things are in writing. Because I don’t trust anyone any more. Too many fucking liars. And for me it’s happened more than just “one damned time.” When someone makes me a promise (especially if they’ve broken one before, yes one damn time) I want to tell them (Fuck you, ass hole, )Yes, I want that in writing please. (from now on).” The first time I leave off the stuff in parentheses. But after one lie, the claws come out. SSSNNIKKKTTTT!!!!

    I also think R should BRING the food if he’s going to crash your place, or STFU about whatever you want to do. I ignore most dumb movies. I get up and wash dishes, clean, cook, sorry, I just get bored quick. NTM, I figured out the plot before the writers wanted me to so I know how this is going to go. I loved the ending of the movie Frozen, because I didn’t expect it. But I hated the annoying stuff from the beginning and the middle and the merchandising. And the “Let it Go” song they kept playing on the radio, UGHHHH. SHUUUTUUUUUPPP!!!!!!!! and of course my little 15 y.o princess wants to hear that again. WTF, are you 6 today princess? Not to mention, minus the irritating song, I am the male equivalent of Elsa, trying desperately to shut everyone out of my life so I can have some peace. Katie, bar the door!” (

    And continuing my semi-random rant, got any licorice, Morgueticia? I like red or black. I really really want a cotton candy maker.

    You look lovely to me today.


    • I has cherry Twizzlers pull and peel licorice. Black licorice reeks and is narsty.

      Thank you for the kind compliments.

      I don’t bake. Not even boxed mixes. Baking isn’t my thing.

      I’m fine letting my sister be Betty Crocker. I’d rather mow the lawn.

      On Fri, Dec 4, 2015 at 10:51 AM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:


  3. Hey, pass that baby seal over this way when you’re done licking it?! (I wanna see if it helps. Oooh BTW the anxiety attack doesn’t make yer ass look fat. After all FAT BOTTOMED GIRLS YOU MAKE THE ROCKIN’ WORLD GO ROUND!

  4. Oh Morgue, you are so funny. (And Diane’s graphic is awesome!)

    I’m beyond impressed that you are able to even enter Walmart. I cannot deal with that place unless accompanied by my husband and even then it’s pretty fucking dicey.

    When you mentioned the possibility of the landlord getting a section 8 tenant it made me wonder if you have taken advantage of that program. Because if you have and your place is in such bad shape I would be calling my local HUD office to get that shit fixed up. Fuck the landlord…go over his head.

    At least there is only one more school ordeal and you get a couple days off from that shit.

    • I thought of going section 8 but they’d never approve this place without mega repairs. Plus going that route entitles them inspect your place and I just can’t do that whole invasion of my bubble thing again. It nearly pushed me over the edge years ago when the landlord forced me to get some independent living person to come in and check on my housekeeping. Never again. Just pay the whole thing myself, less stress, if you can believe that.

      I only go to Wal-mart once every couple of months. It’s less “desire” and more “small town without other cheap options.” Frankly it was worse going there with the donor. He never did understand the anxiety and panic, he’d just tell me to breathe, calm down, and not get so bent.

      Least I don’t invalidate myself like that going it alone.

      On Fri, Dec 4, 2015 at 1:53 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:


      • Sometimes it is absolutely worth paying full price to avoid what you know what will drive you nuts. I completely get that.

        I’m really lucky that my hubby helps make me brave. No one else in my life can do that. I think it’s because he doesn’t piss me off on a near constant basis. He’s usually pretty good about the “I don’t get why this is a problem for her but it is, so I’ll just deal with it” thing. Probably so he doesn’t have to listen to me bitch! lol

      • Man, I musta slept through both my wedding ceremonies. I could have sworn the vow was “Love, honor, and listen to you bitch, so long as we shall live….”

        On Fri, Dec 4, 2015 at 2:04 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:


      • I really tried to get my marriage vows done sort of traditionally, Groom: “I promise to love, honor and serve…,” Bride: “I promise to love, honor, and obey…,” and my strong-willed woman would have none of it. Except I think she expects me to love honor and serve. Yeah, I’ll try. I forget what I said, it’s all a blur; think she said love and cherish, whatever that means. So I’ll ask her to show me. Sometimes I like it, the rest of the time I put up with it, easier than shopping (is that literal, metaphoric, or meta-phobic?).

        I never heard of “love, honor and listen to you bitch,” but that sounds like a fun time… Did HE swear to that or did SHE? Or both? Mrs M would answer that SHE must have. Must be the mood swings. Shit. At least there’s humor.

        OK so I’ve moved on to Peanut “Twas the night before Christmas, THAT’S FUNNY SHIT! “…And daddy wants a hohoho!”

      • Ya know between my parents hating each other and my dad always saying “condolences” to newly married people…I never stood a chance at having nominally normal relationship skills.

  5. Fuck those who can’t see how fabulous your ass is. I have to go to Walmart again. Fuuuuuuck.

  6. Screaming Jean Says:

    Lick the belly of a baby seal. Omg. Hahahaha. Can I try that?

    • I would encourage trying it. BUT they have to be “clubbing” baby seals. You will find them at dance clubs under a spinning Disco ball, flapping to the beat of “Staying Alive” while drinking Appletinis. Lick one of those bellies, the pegacorn posse tells me they are magical.

      • Screaming Jean Says:

        Clubbing … seals! Hahaha. Them images in my head. Any deal dancing to staying alive must be magical, I thank thee for the recommendation.

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