I, Me, I, Me

The donor first coined the snarkastic “I,Me,I,Me” to describe our former roommate, who, indeed was a self centered narcissist. At the same time, he cornered me into feeling any time I used the word “I” or discussed myself or my issues, I was somehow this self absorbed monster. Honestly, what else can I discuss that I know fuck all about BUT myself? Does this truly make me self centered?

Zero fucks are now given. MY blog. I,me, I, me. This is my life, this is what has been going on in it that has kept me from posting for this long.

Last Monday I was due at the shop. I used sick kid excuse even tho my kid was fine and at school. Bad me. If the world would just accept “Depression is kicking my ass and paranoia has me too scared to go out”, I wouldn’t need to be a liar, liar, pants on fire.

Tuesday and Wednesday, in spite of PMS and depression, I put in penance at the shop to make up for my little lie. Except on Wednesday I was dispatched to get lunch at McDonald’s drive thru…AND some lady in this big assed pick up truck who apparently can’t drive stick shift even better than I can (and I can’t) RAMMED me in the bumper. I heard her scream “son of a bitch!” so I knew it was an accident. I shut the car off and got out, knowing full well I was not at fault and I had nothing to fear. Fortunately there was no damage to either vehicle or her or me and I just said, “No harm done” got my food and drove away with a “merry christmas”. She told me I was being such a sweetie. Meh. No need getting cops and insurance companies involved when there was no damage.

Thursday I was at the shop (does penance ever end???) and the school called me to get my kid, she had bad stomach cramps. (See, karma, use sick kid excuse, you get a sick kid.) I figured it was gas, brought her home. After an hour of her screaming, I took her to Prompt Care. The doctor spent less than sixty seconds with her and said it could be constipation or her appendix, I better take her to the ER.

So there we went. And the screaming continued and still we sat in the waiting room a half hour. Then another half hour while vitals and all were checked and the kid is wailing.

I guess that is where the true “I,me,I,me” self centered thing came into play. I was resentful of having to be at that damned hospital and wait and be all anxious and pms-y. Plus I smelled bad, looked awful, and my kid didn’t want my comfort at all. So I became brooding.

The longer it took, the worse I got mood wise, to the point of fury. Pee test, X-ray, blood draw (four of us to hold her down) and more of her agonized wailing. Then the wailing stopped as she nodded off after a dose of Tylenol. It was at that point I snapped out of my own self obsessed bubble and realized…omg, this child could truly be sick, she could need surgery. My kid is never quiet and she fell asleep in the middle of all that pain?

So there I am, back to her first couple of years, where I was so scared she’d stop breathing for no reason, I am putting my ear close to her chest and my fingers near her nose to make sure she is breathing.

And that was when realization struck. I hadn’t had a xanax in almost 15 hours, no wonder I was agitated. Throw in the hospital loathing and PMS…I was not being a terrible self absorbed monster of a mom. I just needed my medicine. Fortunately, I carry some in my purse. Pill on board, I began to calm down.

Except then the family practitioner (she never did see an actual doctor) came back and said the X Ray was blocked by her constipated bowel and they need to do a contrast. They brought in this 32 ounce cup of Jonestown looking Kool Aid stuff and insisted she drink it all within an hour.

My heart sank. I had to cajole and promise sweets and cheer her on and finally, she finished it. Then we waited another ninety minutes for her Cat scan of the belly.

Then another hour for someone to read it.

Then a half hour to be told…she is constipated and the only thing that will help is to change her diet and “untrain” her from keeping herself from going to the bathroom. WTF? I didn’t know you could train yourself not to “go”. Fuck if I could train myself to never pee again, I would, it is a waste of my time.

One thing I know..It’s sure as fuck cos I don’t grant her access to use a bathroom when needed. If she is doing this to herself, it’s by her own design or because of the school’s draconian bathroom break policies where kids lose points if they ask to go more than the two allotted times. That is cruel and unusual.

So seven and a half hours in the ER and we come home and she is still hurting. But I was relieved because I was terrified she was going to need surgery.

Friday I called her off school as the contrast stuff , as warned, was causing her to have runny messes in her pants. In the course of moving some stuff to the laundry room…one of the cats pawed up the heat grate (no screws so they are not fastened down) and my leg went right down to the bottom of the vent work.

1220160858-00Inner leg.

1220160858-01outer leg.

Saturday we woke up to 2 degrees and everything coated in thick ice. Ha ha, not going anywhere in that shit. My dad stopped by and asked if we needed anything from the store. I said, sure, a bit of milk, a jar of pasta sauce, and a pound of hamburger so we could have spaghetti. He griped, “That’s expensive stuff, hamburger.” Yet they had my sister with them, taking her to Aldi, to buy enough food for 8 people for a week!!!! Nice to know where I stand in the pecking order.

Seeing him made my mood crash, then everything seemed to start going awry. Little shit that amounts to nothing but still feels like “dish dweller appears, bad shit happens” whammy.

Sunday was negative 3 and still the ice rink on my windshield. They canceled school for Monday at 1 pm on Sunday, if that tells you how bad it was.

Monday I battled my way to defrost the car glass and chisel and scrape…All the while worried about running all the gas out of it. And it did, I am gonna have to go grovel at the chihuahua’s feet just to have enough gas to get her to school til Thursday. AWESOME.

But I was relieved it was done cos I don’t do mornings so saving it til the next day would have been worse. We made a quick trip to Aldi.

Which brings  me to my next dilemma. Due to the remodel, Aldi will be closing Dec 31 and not reopening til late February. WTF? That leaves me only TWO places to get actual meat and stuff and if anyone tells me how cheap Walmart is, I will smack them with a rotting mackerel. Compared to Aldi, Walmart is three times more costly and don’t even mention the preppy people grocery store.

ARGHHHH

I still have no tree up. I have bought Spook only  a few gifts I ordered on line from Five Below. I have arranged for mom to keep her Thursday night so I can do a little shopping and wrapping. I have zero enthusiasm for it. I want it over with.

To add to my humiliation…Due to not being able to get out for almost three days…I got my curse and had to ask my stepmonster to bring me pads. Not the first time but always so humiliating.

Life just keeps on giving. Not in a good way.

I try to focus on the good things. Heat, shelter, purring kitties, kid that’s on the mend…

Yet every day just brings another punch to the gut.

I finally did get the shrink to call me. He raised my Pristiq by 50 mg even tho it is not recommended. He was all like, why are you so depressed…UM, every fucking winter and Christmas, duh!!!SEASONAL. And always with the damn sun lamps, as if that does fuck all.

Today my kid is at school and may she stay there because I am so tapped out…I need a day of me time. I, me, I, me. Selfish Morgue.

Still, zero fucks given.

I am trying. I see a lot of parents with less to deal with do way worse than I am doing so…there is that.

Still…the desire to curl up in fort blankie and tell the worst to fuck off and die…is pretty appealing.

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2 Responses to “I, Me, I, Me”

  1. Glad to hear it was just constipation. My nephew has anxiety and had to go to emerge for constipation. They gave him a special oil to drink at home.

  2. I’m glad that nothing was seriously wrong with Spook, but that was a hella long time to be at the hospital to find out she had to poop. No wonder you were stressed out. You can probably get some kind of note from the doctor saying that it’s bad for her to not be able to go to the bathroom when it’s needed.

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