It All Just Sucks

Honestly this is not some boo hoo woe-is-me post, I just couldn’t come up with a better title at the moment. I was too lazy to eat when I woke up so I thought, I’ll do the mood stabilizers later after I do eat but what can it hurt to take the Cymbalta now while I am thinking about it…Well, the hurt is in my gut which is now burning like a mofo, something that was never a side effect when I took the same in the past but now suddenly it is a random thing. As if my burning stress stomach aches and lowering myself to take Pepcid isn’t enough, then playing the “will the pills make me puke or not today’ lottery…Just what I bloody needed. GRRR.

You can spew all your sunshine and wave your pompoms in my face and tell me what works well for you and it’s all about a positive attitude but you know what? It doesn’t change the fact that MEDICATION SIDE EFFECTS EVERY DAY OF YOUR LIFE JUST PLAIN SUCKS.

In a surprise twist the other day after being assaulted by some well meaning but ’caused traumatic flashbacks’ pompom waving…I felt like a loser for a couple of hours and then I realized no one has my permission to make me feel inferior no matter my failings and hey, that includes ME. I was busy beating up on myself because I’ve not found my magic cocktail of unicorn farts, medication, and meditating on clouds made of cotton candy I forgot the most important things of all: we are all different. And I really need to get the stick out of my ass because I suck at being given advice, I take it way too personally and in doing so, I close my mind to some positives I could take away from it. I totes want my uicorn fart magical cocktail but until that happens…I’m gonna keep doing me.

And I surprised me because after the loserpalooza mental state kicked my ass long enough, I started moving around the house. Not because I wanted to but because I was pissed off, because I was sick of beating myself up, because damn it, I am fighting as hard as I can and the pegacorns aren’t barfing rainbows on me so I may as well do something. I folded 7 baskets of laundry and attempted to find a place for it all thus making the middle room look less biohazard-y. (It is very challenging to store things when YOUR IDIOTIC HOUSE HAS NO CLOSETS,FFS, whoever designed this place was a fucking moron.) I cleaned cat boxes, tried to clean floors (epic fail without a working vacuum and fans blowing dust everywhere you just swept or dusted, grrrrr.) The humidity that day was so high I had sweat running down my back, indoors, with the AC. 93 outside, 89 inside, what a joyous life. But I got shit done and it felt good. Hypomania always does, though I sure do miss my full blown mania and oh those delicious but lethal diet pills that kept me looking pretty and so energized I could run 56 hours straight but that’s a story for another (never) time.

I zonked around midnight, only to be wakened three times by the rioting cats who don’t do diurnal…I had a nightmare I jolted from at 4a.m. and could not get back to sleep. So I tried boring myself to it by watching, oh dear god, Martha Stewart glazing a ham. (The horror!) Fail. By 6 a.m. I was doing dishes, counting time til I had to take my kid to my mom’s for her sleepover and outing. Which meant by the time I got my ‘me day’ I spent most of it sleeping because I hit the hypomania wall and when I did wake up, I was up til after 2 a.m. and too tired to do anything I had planned because when planning it, I had assumed I’d be well rested instead of my cycles all fucked up.

Today I am edgy and grumpy. My kid is off to St. Louis with her cousin and his girlfriend for her first ever trip to the zoo. And selfishly, I feel pissed off about it. I want her to be happy, but I feel pissed off that my nephew doesn’t work, doesn’t pay a single bill, his girlfriend just had to resign from her job before they fired her, and still they have all this money to drive so far away and go to the zoo and feed my kid (after they took her out of town shopping last night!) and it’s just not fucking fair that I do all the sacrifice and hard work and I can’t even be included in the fun stuff she gets to do. Me, me, me, I know, but is it so wrong for a parent to want to be with their kid doing the fun stuff? It should be a memory for mom and daughter but no, I’ve got every cent tied up keeping a roof overhead so…

So I am feeling left out and petty and at this point…I’d just be happy if I could afford a damn pizza from Marco’s. Everyone takes Spook out to eat, to swim, to shop, and I am always stuck home, can’t even spring for a damn McDouble. Boo hoo, right? Well, newsflash:parents are people,too, and while we are willing to sacrifice whatever is necessary for our kids to be happy…

Some of us selfish bastards would still like $13 to get a damn delicious pizza.

But knowing my mental state and how the meds are wrecking my body daily..I am glad she has others who financially able to give her what I can’t. Honestly, some of my fondest memories of childhood aren’t of amusement parks or zoos, they’re just the mundane daily things, like playing with a dog, or running through a sprinkler and having ice cream after. Of course, I’m not vapid and my kid kind of is, so her memories will involve everyone but me cos they all have money to do the fun stuff. I won’t begrudge her that. I’d probably have a mental breakdown if I was even sitting in a car in St. Louis traffic (sure would love to see the snakes though, such beautiful creatures.) I still think it’s bullshit that my cousin and his girlfriend don’t have to pay for food or a single expense by living off my mom and my sister. But then isn’t that how everyone views me, living off disability…Difference being, my money isn’t going toward happy fun ball stuff. I prioritize and my kid comes first so if her having food means no trip to the zoo and I’m a downer…so be it.

Really makes me think of everything my parents sacrificed for me and my sister when we were kids. How little they got out of life other than working to pay bills and keep us clothed and fed. Not to mention they hated each other and stayed together for our sake (not a favor) so that had to suck a lot, too. At least I am not stuck with an albatross in my home thus ours is a happier home than what I grew up in.

I still want my Marco’s pizza, though. If I can’t have pegacorn barf and unicorn farts…I just want a damned pizza. I’m shallow and demanding like that.

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7 Responses to “It All Just Sucks”

  1. Boy, that all really does suck but you sure have a hilarious way of putting things. Love reading your posts! 💕

  2. Holy SHIT!!! Martha Stewart AND you were washing DISHES!?! What the hell, Miss N? Are you self-domesticating?? Sorry it’s not “pegacorn barf and unicorn farts,” but I phoned a friend and we did some conspiring. You can’t have a monopoly on suckage. Leave a little something for the rest of us to bitch about, OK, pal? REALLY! Sucks when your friend has a life that sucks and you (I mean I) realize you need to do something to lance that blister of suckage before it explodes and makes everything suck worse.

    It wasn’t much, but hopefully it’ll make life suck just a little more tenderly and lovingly, instead of being mixed with all the biting, with sharp teeth, that makes sucking …suck.

    But seriously… WTF? (although I find what you did AND what you confessed, adorable) I’m gonna have to start calling you Marth-ticia!!

    Oh. Shit. MY dishes are calling, over the dulcet strains of Pink Floyd. I’m going to go answer them now.

    I heard that. I heard you laugh just a little bit, from all the way across the state line. I’ll let you have THAT one. Yes, if anyone in this relationship is more like Ms. Stewart, it’s me. Except without all of that securities fraud and going to jail shit. Because the women’s prison would either not have me, or they’d break several of my resolves and a few of my promises, if I survived.

    ❤ Deon

    • and YES, I DO look cute in the little black & white apron, if I do say so myself. Just keep your hands off, since I couldn’t find the rest of the outfit today. And no, I will NOT put on the black stiletto heels. I’d probably die from vertigo, not enough oxygen, and whacking my head on the counter when I passed out or when I fell over- my balance is not that great, and my ankles are not that strong.

      • Weak ankles are why I swapped sexy heels for ass kicking metal chick combat boots.

        You can keep the costume, I am sure you work it better than me. Though I could stand to borrow your feather duster. I think about dusting a lot but…meh. Saves me money on fake cobwebs come Halloween.

        On Sat, Jul 14, 2018 at 7:44 PM, Take a Ride on My Mood Swing wrote:

        >

  3. hahahahaha I think I need to kick ass more and dress up less. So many asses, so little time. But I don’t want to borrow your boots. I need a pair of my own.

  4. Not to add insult to injury, but I just happened to run across this picture while surfing in my odd semi-directed whimsical path through internet drivel. I swear I am not making that up. It was one of a series of old celebrity photos that bored Mr M was flipping through. It reminded me of our conversation, Marth-ticia. So did you milk the cows and egg the chickens and hang the new drapery in the windows and hem up a dust ruffle for the cats bed this morning before breakfast?

    Miss N? She’s no ordinary modern mom. She’s a domestic diva!

    :: Miss N adjusts her sunglasses to gaze with piercing rage over the top of the frames, eye rolls so loud you can hear it, sighs, closes her eyes and puts the shades back. The paparazzo shrieks in delight. ::

    I love that in the name of the photo/caption it says Martha’s the “one on the right.” I mean… really? Talk about insult to injury. But sure, that’s kind of funny. Just a little.

  5. […] I’ve wanted to get back to writing.  I like it.  It has been very therapeutic in the past, being able to vent or occasionally bitch, or sometimes to “spew rainbows and wave pompoms” as one of my lovely fellow-bloggers has eloquently expr…. […]

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