Screw a good title, I’m just gonna post

I am not feeling very coherent this morning. The weather is playing mind fuck games where we are having March in fucking May so I can’t get warm to save my life. When I am not warm, I am barely functional. Which is odd because when it is too hot, I become lethargic. Now psychiatry may be an inexact “science” but these fuckers will NEVER convince me that our circadian rhythms don’t play a part in depression and bipolar.

Tuesday was high functioning day. I paid all my monthly bills, even the ones not due for two weeks. Since my functionality has been low I wanted it all done while my brain wasn’t forgetting dates and doing its agoraphobia bit. I went to six different stores for supplies. I even took R some lunch to make up for taking a double melatonin the night before and blowing off his texts in favor of sleep. (The lithium made me throw up so bad that evening dose, I was curled up in the shower praying for death, so sleep seemed my best option.)

I even mowed my entire lawn Tuesday and put down mulch by the rose bush. It’s got its first blooms of the season and has grown to gargantuan size courtesy of all the stray cat piss fertilizing it.

0503161801-00 0503161441-00I’m no green thumb, I just mention this because the rose bush was a mother’s day gift my stepmonster planted for me a few years ago and me, the chick who killed a cactus, has managed to cultivate that monster size rose bush. I don’t even remember to water it. Thankfully the cats keep it alive πŸ˜‰

Yesterday I did fuck all. Stayed in all day aside from taking and picking up my kid. Then came my insanity of letting her have a friend over to play. It was the new girl Bella, who is younger than Spook and pretty well behaved aside from asking for food constantly…Then came her big sister, then came the boy down by them, followed by the devil girls. And I kept telling them to play outside but they kept coming in and gawking at me and getting into shit. Asking for food. One of them stood in the kitchen watching me cook supper and commenting it smelled good, which made me feel bad for not having enough to offer but at the same time, who the fuck raises these kids who come over constantly demanding food? My mom, crazy bitch beast she is, always taught us to come home for food and never ask anyone else, always wait until offered.

Of course, back in my day if I had broken a friend’s hundred dollar karoake machine, my parents would have been expected to pay for it. Now it’s just…these fuckers don’t care.

What is even worse is that for all of my kid’s bossiness…She’s a total follower. I hate submissive follower types. Literally, it makes me feel like throwing up a little. It’s that whole “if your friends jump off a bridge, are you going to do it too?” And with my kid, she says, “Well, yeah, or they won’t be my friend anymore.”

She sure as hell didn’t learn that from me. Far as I am concerned if you ditch me for having a mind of my own and not following along…you can fuck yourself with a barbwire dildo. My life may have been easier had I been a subby follower but then again…I don’t do things the easy way. I do things my way because I have to live with myself. Being one of the sheeple heard…Nah, I couldn’t live like that. Ever.

And yes, I know, she’s only six and a half, lots of time for her to figure it out. I think all my forcefed therapy and thus my research has turned me into an overly analytical alarmist. I once read the basic personality fundamentals are formed by age 6. If this is true…Ugh, I will reserve my right to eat my young once she becomes a teenager. Seriously, I can’t stand followers. I don’t expect everyone to be an outspoken rebel like me but damn, if I do something to hurt your feelings and you can’t even speak up and tell me so…Yeah, that’s too submissive. Oh, wait, the donor calls it “laid back”.

Nope. Fucking submissive. And passive aggressive when you bite your tongue for so long to keep the peace then blow up and start spewing venom like a volcano spewing lava. NOPE. Does. Not. Want. Speak up to me. I may be pissy for a bit but I will respect you.

How I want to instill this fire in my child so life doesn’t chew her up and spit her out. Alas, I worry that perhaps the 50% Canadian in her is just passive or maybe it’s genetic from the donor’s side. (See, overly analytical, fuck you “therapy will help with your disorder”, you made me more neurotic!)

I digress…So yeah, almost four hours, five kids plus my own, and by the time the church bus swept them up…I was ready to climb in the closet and hide. But I was not reduced to drinking at least. (I was at the gas station the other day and Spook was telling them all how I bought her six water guns and I commented that “on any given day I may have five kids in my yard, wanted to have enough for all of you” and the other lady at the register said, “If I had five kids in my yard, I’d be drunk.” IKR?)

When she got home, I put her to bed and she kept yapping and by then my nerve endings were about to snap so I said, “Nope. I am tapping out, love you, good night.”

Took melatonin and fell face down in my bed before 10p.m.

I so wanted to write on my story but…life took all my damned sporks again.

So I am gonna do nothing again today to recover from the anxiety of last night. Maybe later I will work my way up to dishes (my god, there’s only two of us, I did dishes Monday, how can I have to do those fuckers again???). I still haven’t touched the folding laundry thing, like seven baskets of it. I just keep washing more and piling it up. It’s like laundry jenga.

In an effort to educate…May is zombie awareness month.


If your cat looks like that…Get yourself a Z whacker and take it OUT.Β  Yes, I watched all two seasons of Z Nation and am still on my zombie kick. Actually, one episode took place in my state capitol and seeing a familiar backdrop decimated by zombies and occupied by zombies dressed as Abe Lincoln…DELIGHTED ME. I want that apocalypse so bad, damn it. I wanna get myself a Z whacker and go off my meds and just fuck some shit up.

It’s called a fantasy for a reason.

Now if you’re kitteh looks like this…pet her, hug her, and call her George!

Digital Camera


FUCK depression, I want to feel alive again already. If I can’t feel alive, bring on the fucking zombies and take this world OUT.


11 Responses to “Screw a good title, I’m just gonna post”

  1. We need some El Caminos! And watch the world be taken out by a giant cheese wheel!

  2. Aww, shit! And I was holding out for a *good* title. You are awesome and loved, whether the title is good or not! I keep trying to do fuck all and the wife says no about the 1+1 and points to the damned dishes. πŸ™‚ Yesterday was worse, today I’m having an average shit day, (yea the stupid Pink song came into my head, delightful as she can be when I’m in the mood I feel the need to drive away the demon with Led Zeppelin, always my go-to earwurm cure) but will read and things will brighten (damn now that annoying Annie song. WHERE ARE YOU, LED ZEPPELIN!!!????? “…And then they went, one, two, three, four!” Ahhh, there you are:

  3. Oh wow that’s a lot of kids in the yard.

    • Sometimes I wanna go all Z Nation and scream “Kittens and Puppies!” so I can get out my Z whacker.
      Though for the kids I guess it would be less violent and more of a…muzzle. Yeah, quiet is good, I can handle quiet kids. πŸ˜‰

      • Muzzle would be good. I hate a lot of noise. It never used to bother me, but it does now.

        I’m going to have to start watching Z Nation…you’re making it sound awesome.

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