I was busy oiling my chainsaw at the time of the crime, officer…

***Revised version, if you got the run on sentence version, sorry, my net keeps crashing and things got all wonky, Mediacom’s bad.***

WTF is with that title? I know, right?

Actually, it’s a line I ripped off from the show Elementary, where Sherlocke Holmes was indeed oiling a chainsaw as an alibi when a fire was set…I thought it was hysterical. I mean, I watched it three days ago and still remember the line when I can’t even remember what clothes I sent my kid to school in on any given day…Rare when my memory works these days.

So…It’s been a week. Monday afternoon I got a panicked call from my mom, telling me I had to come take her and her roommate to the hospital, as roomie was having some sort of chest pain and no one knew where my sister was. It was a 20 minute errand and we didn’t even have to stay but nerve racking enough. I’m 43 and still get nervous driving with either parent in the car. Probably because they are overly critical assholes and all…That and the car and insurance are in mom’s name, which in a way gives her the right to be critical…Meh. I called later to check on the roommate even though by then I didn’t even care about my own well being. Life is draining me, ffs. But social niceties and all. And I know I’m not truly apathetic, I am just battling this bitch of a depression and it taints everything and makes me this heartless apathetic creature from the bleak lagoon…

Tuesday I was beckoned to help his highness (R) with some laptop issue a friend of his daughter’s was having. Like I cared. But I do have the password breaking disc and he is far too lazy to burn his own copy for the shop so I went. And didn’t even get a pack of smokes for my trouble, just a reminder, “Who’s paying fifty bucks to have your car towed and doing all the work on it?”  Classy as fuck, dude. Starting to feel like a marionette and he and my dad hold the strings and they are bastard puppet masters. I mean, I ask for your help, fine, hold it over my head. But I didn’t ask for any of this car shit and still…Albatross city. I still haven’t set eyes on the damned thing (he had it towed to daughter Ursula’s house and I don’t know where she lives and don’t even want to drive by, it might offender her sensibility to have someone as poor as me drive through her hood.)

I have, however, decided on the car’s name. Bright red cars just scream LOOK AT ME, I AM SO BRIGHT AND ATTENTION SEEKING. Thus the car is named…Jezebel. (I wanted to go with Whore, but I don’t think my kid repeating it would be cool…Parenting is tough, man, decisions, decisions…)

Wednesday I saw the shrink. It wasn’t bad. He agreed to take me off the Cymblotto. Which, ha, surprise, I started weaning myself off of days ago. 30 mg every other day, a Prozac in between, because even though he says five days of weaning will be fine, no withdrawal…This is my second time coming off this shit, I know it can go either way and last time was…living hell. So for now I’m gonna take 600mg lithium twice a day, 20mg prozac, 200 mg lamictal, and my xanax. He asked about my sleep. I laughed at him. Not that Restoril did much, but since insurance won’t pay for it anymore…the melatonin has become “tolerated” so I need more and more and get less and less good results. I still wake up multiple times a night.

I even treated him to a mini tirade about how my brain and attention span have turned to tapioca since the insurance stopped covering Focalin. He expressed disgust with this aspect, as well, saying he spends a good portion of time on the phone trying to get meds for CHILDREN and insurance denies it.

I vented some of my personal disgust as well. ya know, family, R, this car, all the court shit with the donor. He asked me if I felt the child support money was going to help with our quality of life. I said it depends on how much of a pain in the ass the donor decides to be. Then he asked me what kind of person the donor is. I was kind in saying “pathological liar but so charming you don’t notice til it’s too late.”

What I SHOULD have said is, “I dunno, Doc. He snuck his shit out, had his new girlfriend haul it off, told me we were gonna work on things, had sex with me, then called two days later to break up with me and destroyed his phone so I couldn’t reach him. Then he doesn’t so much as send his kid a birthday card once in four and a half years. What kind of person do you think he is?” Seriously. Just stating it, as it happened, how does the donor NOT see what an absolute cretin he is?

Alas, my fifteen minutes of medical care was up and I had to go do the beck and call thing for R again. I am wondering how many hoops I will have to jump through before we are finally even for the fifty dollar tow fee.  Because I asked him last night how long I was gonna owe him my soul and he said we were square…then threw the fucking car thing at me a couple of more times. Is it any wonder these people make me nuttier? But if I am to be honest…Yesterday, while starting out rather iffy, ended up not being so bad. I was actually calm enough to, wait for it…WATCH COMEDY. Yes, I binge watched the entire season, thus far, of Superstore and my abs hurt from laughing. It’s not that the depression suddenly lifted. It was suddenly, I didn’t feel like the world would end if I deviated from my usual crime shows and had a laugh.

To be honest, I am starting to think tapering off this Cymblotto is the right thing to do. Not that the professionals will ever see it that way. The doctor didn’t believe that was causing the anxiety. Of course not, in their world, everything is situational and big pharma can do no wrong. Whatevs.

While I won’t say it was a “good” day…I laughed and any day where I laugh more than I rage against the machine called asshole nation…is a decent day. Today…Shark week arrived, bringing with it agonizing cramps. I mean, it was so bad, I came back home and climbed under the covers after dropping my kid off. This is unheard of on check day. I am normally putting gas in the car and buying myself that one special treat pack of smokes at 7:30 a.m. Not today. I couldn’t get warm, and I was violently shivering. And it has to be me, cos when I paid rent, the girl there was wearing a tank top and a crochet sweater so it can’t have been that cold…

But I lolled in bed for two hours before I forced myself up and about. (More servitude for the tow bill, ya know.) I paid rent and internet, did his bidding, and then grabbed cat food. Normally, I get household supplies or visit Salvation Army store for a new cheap book or some little “treat”. So not feeling it today.

I’m not feeling vile or anything. Well, except over this Sports Illustrated cover model thing. OMG, they put a beautiful woman who isn’t a size zero on the cover, let’s all panic about how it’s promoting unhealthy lifestyles. (Go fuck yourself, Cheryl Tiegs, and fire your plastic surgeon cos you look like hell.) Yes, I had to have a mini rant. Sue me. I could go on about the Donald but I hear so much about it from R and how Trump is the answer, I wanna drink bleach. Politics bore me. They’re all corrupt. They don’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves. End of subject. m BORED. Never registered to vote, never will, shut the fuck up about Trump, R-sole.

On a happy note…My kid brought home a letter today and she was selected for her classroom as “good citizen”. They took her picture, gave her a donut, announced her name over the P.A. Yay. She’s not satan. Yet.

I was pretty proud the other day when the doctor noted (because I’ve had to bring Spook to several appointments) , “Your daughter seems very healthy and happy and well behaved, you take very good care of her.” YESSS.  I got something right!

Now, let’s see if we can get me back to taking good care of myself because frankly, I really miss putting on make up and wearing a bra and ya know…LIVING. I miss caring about living. Now I am gonna curl up in a ball for a half hour then go fix salisbury steak for supper, something my kid will actually eat that isn’t made of sugar. The ovary oompa loompas have decided to radiate the pain into my spine    and for once, I wish I was a spineless wimp.


15 Responses to “I was busy oiling my chainsaw at the time of the crime, officer…”

  1. Is this car that your father and R picked out for you in your name yet? Cause if it is, and you don’t want it…sell it. You don’t have to have it. Get the money for it, pay them back and let them fuck off.

    On a better note…way to go Spook!!!

    And I’m praying for early menopause for you…besides the hot flashes is really has been a major relief!

    • I have the title that’s been signed off on, but nothing’s been transferred as it doesn’t actually run. Until we are sure it can be made to run, I’m not signing shit or spending shit on it.
      I predict in a month or two as the weather changes, the seasonal lifts, and I start seeing things in a more positive light, I may come to think this was all worthwhile in the end, if only to get me out from under driving my mom’s car.
      I will, of course, still have it held over my head by my “generous” and “caring” family and friends thus I will complain…But if I end up with a working car that gets Atila the mom off my back…
      Lesser evils and all that stuff.

      I am both dreading menopause for I get blood clots and can’t do HRT…but also, just…make this shark week agony end already. Doubled swords and sporks of doom and cockweasel rabies, etc.

      • I don’t do HRT at all. It actually fucked with my psych meds (what doesn’t?). The hot flashes suck but not as bad as the debilitating cramps. I was super happy to have THAT over with!
        Yeah, getting your mom off your back is probably worth it!

  2. “it might offend her sensibility to have someone as poor as me drive through her hood.”

    I literally spat my tea laughing.
    Also sorry if this notification wakes you up… I’m never sure on the time difference.

    • No worries, I have a brit friend so I’ve lived in two different time zones for 12 years. When Spook heard your version of “Let It Go” and I commented, she demanded I tell you NOW so I had to explain the time difference to her and how you weren’t likely to get up in the middle of the night to reply 😉

      • Lol yesterday was a special case – I went to a concert (still deaf this am – never managed that before) last night in the next big city so we got back very late. Is it earlier there than here? It’s 16:40pm my time right now (about to do school run again).

  3. I name my cars too! Oh and this made me laugh more than anything I’ve read all week; and yes, I have been watching the news 😉

    • The last car I had was called Zippy Draculara. It lasted me 18 months. Every. Single. Time. I try to “upgrade” to something made after ’89 I live to regret it and should call them all pieces of excrement.

      BTW, I didn’t comment at the time cos my net kept going up and down but your post on disability haters…spot on. I too am thankful for disability while I focus on “getting better”. If the powers that be and haters are frustrated that it hasn’t happened yet…They should try living in our shoes, feeling how frustrating it is to try so hard and still not succeed. ❤

    • I need to name my latest car. I had one that was black and flaking down to the gray primer, named Zombie because look at it, and, because external parts literally fell off in the road and internal things kept breaking. Leaky roof, no radio, no exhaust system to speak of, bad shocks, somebody rear-ended me and munged the trunk and bumper, dropped a quart of oil every other day… I miss Zombie I guess, but I got a slightly better car with the other guy’s insurance money. Should have wrangled chiropractic out of it, but my neck wasn’t injured. I got a used car, big land yacht, a broken shock, literally cracked in half, I’ve pumped too much money into keeping it running. Maybe the car’s name is Bumper…or Money Pit… I’ll have to think about it.

  4. OMGOSH….I love that…I was oiling my chainsaw at the time of the crime…hahahahaha!!! Awesome. Way to go mom of “Good Citizen Spook!” Be proud!

    • I am proud, considering all my friends who had kids young now forgot how kids are and consider mine somehow more annoying and feral than their children were way back when.
      Maybe I can’t remember to wear a bra or brush my teeth or even get my lithium level done…But damn it, my kid is a good citizen who gets free pizzas for all her reading accomplishments so…I can’t be doing the parent thing too wrong, ya know?

  5. I’m glad you were able to laugh. And yea Spook!

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