Archive for the bipolar depression Category


Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

3:10 a.m. and I am awake, been awake an hour now. I didn’t go to sleep until midnight. Woke up needing to pee and was in so much pain, it took 3 tries to get myself up out of bed and on my feet. For all the jokes about PMS, it’s no joke for those of us who have premenstrual dysphoric disorder. (P.M.D.D) Ten to fourteen days every month of bloating, cramps, backache, headache, irritability, unexpecting tears and knee jerk emotional reactions that make no sense…So in addition to being bipolar, I am also a hormonal wreck. This leaves me 15 days a month free of pain, with what could be considered lucid thought, but if my disorders aren’t nailed down with proper meds, rest, and a low home stress level…

I cannot regain equilibrium.

I get put through the ringer by my own mind, then my body, then the people around me with all the emotional intelligence of bellybutton lint and the tact and empathy of an empty chair chime in and tell me what a grouch I am or what a big whiny baby I am.

There is nothing about P.M.D.D that is affectation. This is not some excuse to be bitchy or erratic. It, for me, is a lot like when I was pregnant and the hormones soared and I had no idea why I was crying or why I was pissed off or why everything seem so hopeless and hurt so bad. It’s a very real disorder that isn’t mainstream enough for people to have a basic understanding. And what people do when they can’t make sense of something and it makes them uneasy…they lash out against what they don’t understand. That ends up being me.

I don’t relish discussing the topic or harping on it every month but it is a huge part of my life, like it or not, and it has an immense impact on my physical and mental functionality. I discuss it because it is relevant and because maybe by being open about the topic, others who suffer the monthly dysphoria will realize…they are not alone.It is not all in your head, you are not lazy or whiny or weak. This is the real deal, debillitating and cruel. Every monthly cycle survived feels like scaling a mountain and you plant your flag at the top…only to wake up 15 days later at the bottom of that mountain holding a new flag and you gotta climb back up again. And there is no ‘let’s get this over with’ where you can just buckle down, rip off the bandage, and move on. You’re pretty much at the mercy of the hormones until they cycle back to some semblance of normal.

I also discuss this because I am told if I am to get a job, it is likely to trigger an automatic disability review. I want documented records of my mental states through each month, especially during the P.M.D.D because I may HAVE to work for money but I am still VERY much struggling with a disability. I am not cured, I am not stable. I am just up against it all and I have to risk another bad reference IF I ever can get hired even, because that’s what you do for your kids. I won’t be quoted or have it mistakenly assume that my love for my child and desire to keep a roof over her head meaning I am some malingerer or that I am all cured.

I am far from cured, far from stable. Even if the meds are working better, two weeks a month they cease to have any real impact on the hormones.

It is, truly, a horror show, that I must live month after month. I am going to keep mentioning it and discussing it until my damn psych providers start listening and work with a Primary doc on a way that would help me balance this monthly horror show. I am sick of both factions individually shrugging me off. One says to talk to the psych, psych says talk to the primary, and I am just in the middle of it all, getting NO real help from either of them.

Now I am going to lay back down even though I’m hurting too bad for sleep to come too easily. My back is sore from sitting up, though. I just wanted to jot this down while it’s happening and fresh in my mind and I have a modicum of lucidity to put it into words. It is high time ‘women’s problems’ stop being some ‘icky’ or ‘shameful’ topic we simply don’t discuss in polite society. When a condition-for a man or woman-impairs your monthly functionality this much-on top of already being disabled- it’s time to start having open honest discussions. It;s time for all our docs to get on board and work together to help us, not make us feel pawned off and ignored.

It is time women’s health issues got at least a quarter of the attention and discussion that men’s little blue pills get. Because we are not the lesser gender and we are tired of our problems being little more than a punchline while men get all this sympathy due to their sexual gratification being impaired.

Health issues need to be treated as equally serious regardless of gender. Hormones are nothing to mess with. They literally dictate the operating systems of our bodies so when they are imbalanced hormonally…we are imbalanced, period. Male or female. Let’s start an honest discussion about that. Because hormones do play a big role in mental health, as well. Time for psych docs and GPs and GYNs to get on board with how much of an impact it has for many of us.


Interrupted Consciousness, Bridezillas, and SPLAT!

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression, depression with tags , , , , , , on May 16, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I am just burning up the DSM today coming up with new disorders. Restless mind syndrome, now as opposed to interrupted sleep, I have decided sleep is my normal default so technically, it’s the waking up over and over that is the disorder.

Splat started earlier after I learned of my mom’s bad mammogram and the waiting period they stuck her with. I thought my own father might be able to work up an iota of empathy as he was married to her 28 years and no one deserves cancer even if they were a bankrupting spouse. Nope. Then his gf got involved and said oh, three weeks isn’t time for it to spread to the lymph nodes, she has plenty of time, she will be okay…Now lets talk about my low iron and how I have to get an upper GI series and a colonoscopy…SERIOUSLY? You want to put that up against potential breast cancer in a 70 year old woman whose entire family died from cancer?????? How narcissistic can one woman be?

So splat imploded then exploded and now I am back to feeling truly demoralized, defeated, depleted, and wait, because it’s only 10 p.m.

I got Bridezilla texting me and saying I gotta get my kid white or purple dress shoes by Saturday for HER wedding. I told her I have NO money. None. Zero. I just got hit with another power bill that was 45% of my income and my rent was the other 50% so now my water is gonna get turned off. So yeah, shoe money, sure, let me pull that out of my ass. I will be so glad when this fucking wedding is over. I knew it would end up being my financial problem, that was only ever the reason I didn’t want Spook involved in the fiasco. “But they’re just twenty dollars at Wal-Mart” says the 20 something with no kids of her own whose rent is only $80 a month. Twenty bucks is a LOT for me. I need cat food, I will need even more gas now since I have to make 3 trips to town over this stupid wedding, then next week Spook has a doc appointment, then I have to go back for a job interview.

I feel like my brain is trying to claw its way out of my head.

Anyone want to buy a 16 disc collection of the best of Forensic Files? Right now, it’s about the only thing I have worth around $40 on ebay. Discs are in great shape, bought new, barely used, cos I switched to digital files.

But I am too tired and my stomach is rioting from stress and my back is hurting from sitting up to write for so long. Scumbag brain is on hyperdrive, and not in a good way. This is a perfect storm brewing and I am terrified someone is going to say the wrong thing come wedding day and I am gonna burn a dozen bridges when I snap.

This is SPLAT. This is what follows a brief hypomanic bout. Irritation, anger, defeat, zero motivation, hopelessness, and right back down the rabbit hole. We’re all mad here, said the cat.

It’s a ‘I wanna drink bleach’ kind of night and I don’t even have any bleach.

Ass Trash.


Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , on March 27, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My slowpoke child fights me every morning when I remind her of the time, saying I am ‘pressuring her’ and it makes her scream at me. I say bullshit. She knows this is going to happen and still she piddle pokes and alternates between “I can read the clock” and “I don’t know how to tell time!” She is exasperating to the nth. Every. Single. Morning. You’d think if even cats and dogs can be trained through repetition a 9 year old could learn, too. Nope. She is stubborn as hell. Her parting gift to me today was to not tell me she loved me and scream at the top of her lungs because the bus was two minutes out and I dared remind her to hustle. It’s almost like living with the donor again, where he told me to remind him cos he forgets, then screamed that I was picking on him by reminding him. WTF, Canada? Is this inbreeding, tying the hands together so every situation is a no win? And I don’t even expect a win, just coopration and civility…

I did not post yesterday because I started the day out in a bad mental space. I took a melatonin, thinking I could sleep through it. It took 4 hours to kick in. Thankfully I set my alarm for 3:15 because I never know if my kid’s Tuesday after school church thing is going on or not so I make sure I am here. (The lady that runs it will text or call my dad’s house and tell them, but not me, wtf rednecktopia?) Good thing, cos she decided not to go as she had a headache.

We actually had a good evening. She offered to help with some housework and mopped the kitchen then did dishes. The downside was it didn’t free me up any or lower my stress level as she kept overfilling the sink and sloshing water everywhere on the floor which highlighted the areas that the mop didn’t really clean. So in a way, her helping makes three times the work for me, but I can’t bitch that she won’t help if I don’t give her the opportunity. She got a bath while I cooked supper, we ate together at the table (a rare thing since she almost never eats what I do) then we watched some Mash and Frasier together. I was amused by the look on her face when I explained the draft to her to explain why the doctors on Mash were in Korea. She was like, did they make girls do it? That may be the only plus of being considered the lesser gender, they underestimate us so they discount us out of good and the bad. Which enables women to be ninjas and the patriarchs never see it coming. I LOVE being the lesser gender.

I put her to bed at 8:30 then tucked myself in. For the third night in a row since getting the melatonin with B6, I slept the entire night, waking only once or twice. And I couldn’t be bothered to get up, even for a drink or to use the bathroom. Come alarm time, I only hit snooze twice and was up reading email at 6:50. I guess that’s a sign that the seasonal depression is starting to (oh so sloooowly) lift. The ensuing screaming match, which I didn’t scream, I just used my low channeling satan voice, so it was her screaming, really didn’t set my day off in a good space. I guess I am going to have to start getting her up earlier, which punishes me. I can get dressed, brush my hair, feed the cats, and out the door in 20 minutes, tops. That is how much of a morning person I am not. Anything to get that extra push of snooze.

In my email was the usual Wednesday Psych Central newsletter. I open this every time with trepidation, wondering if something I read will result in my demoralization. Occasionally useful information is there, but today was not one of those days. Instead I get “Little Things That Can Get You Through Depression.” Oh what a simplistic world this writer must live in. And while she may be telling her story, it is not everyone’s story. If anything, I found her article belittling to those of us who endure months long clinical depression.

Do any of us want to go out in public looking like something the cat horked up? No. There are just days when putting on clean clothes and running a brush through the hair takes up all your spoons/sporks. The ability to hold a job with any stability is something I admire and wish I could pull off but no matter how many times I try, it takes more spoons and sporks than I have to spare. If my mental state were static, this might not be the case. But I rapid cycle so no sooner than the mania comes on, the depression sets in and I am no longer myself but a husk, unable to enjoy the simplest things. I haven’t watched my favorite shows in weeks because I cannot focus or get interested and rather than taint them with my distorted depressive views, I just say, another time. Depression without wonderful people surrounding you? What a fucking joke. Bottom line is, some of us don’t have a support system and sitting in a coffee shop or going to smile at the cashier simply isn’t in our current skillset. Self isolation isn’t always a symptom of the depression, but a choice to not spread the misery. Key word, being ‘choice’ and studies are now saying choosing isolation (in teens, anyway) is very different than the depression/angst devouring you.

I did agree with the having a pet to care aspect. In my case, I have a child and pets and I function for them alone some days.

I am, however, infuriated by the thought this will be read by people in a truly crippling depression and lead them to feelings of self loathing and despair because their experience is not her experience. (Just tied some hands there, didn’t I, you have the right to speak but if I disagree, it’s dangerous..How…Trump of me…ewww.) But for those in a similar state it could be a beacon of hope. Wtf, sunshine spewing counselor, how do I not see everything in shades of gray? I’m so busy trying not to invalidate others than I never validate myself.

Well, the hose in the basement snapped and I have no idea what it goes to. I don’t dare call the landlord or my family lest they see just how cluttered the place truly is. I need to figure out a self fix and figure out where the water is coming from. We haven’t had snow or rain. There are no things upstairs leaking water so it has to be some sort of drain and aside from bathtub and washer, I can think of nothing that would still be draining the next day…Ugh, I hate this fucking place. It’s too much for me to manage on my own. I have a football field of a yard that I have to first detwig before I can even think of mowing this summer. It’s all overwhelming and I miss our little trailer that was overwhelming, too, but on a different level. This is my dad giving me a reference and me fucking it up. Which should be all the motivation I need for getting the landlord in to fix this leak but the sump thingie is helping it from flooding and it just looks like a repair to a plastic hose. Though why anyone would have a flimsy hose to drain things that hold gallons of water is beyond me…

I hit on an idea last night. A place to go where the seasons wouldn’t be so grueling, the job market is more open, and it’s just big and small enough to suit our needs. I have a friend of 20 years who lives there, he might be willing to provide reference or what not, though not likely. He was more interested in talking music and sex than anything of substance. Nothing bad about him, he’s a great guy, just a little single minded and I’ve evolved into what I am- a 46 year old woman with fluctuating hormones and a ton of libido killing meds. Still, it’s not a bad thought. It’s far far from my family. I’ve never spent more than a couple of months somewhere else and always due to money, not me giving up and wanting to come back to this hell hole. If I were to do things right and go there with a job and place to live already lined up, with plenty of money on hand (ha ha ha as if that will ever happen) but…just the notion, for the first time ever, of where we could go, seems like a light at the end of the tunnel. My kid wants California but that is just too expensive no matter where you go. And that Earthquake thing. Ha, says the woman living in tornado country.

But yeah, I am back to wanting to just primal SCREAM in a therapeutic way and I’ve given myself permission to sleep through this lingering winter depression if that is what it takes to get me through. No guilt, no shame. I have tried toughing it out conscious, but some of my worst depressions were worked through with excess sleep. That I still get up and care for the kid and cats and do minimal housework and bill paying and such, that’s what matters. Not how I deal with the depression, just that I find a way to deal. Right or wrong, survival is the name of the game. Everyone has a method, this is mine right now. Next cycle, it could be my old standby of refusing myself the privilege of much sleep.

I see the NP tomorrow. Not looking forward to it. You have to have someone willing to meet you halfway for compromise to work and this woman ain’t giving an inch. I am going to push them on the anxiety issue. Surely they don’t deem Buspar an evil as it takes weeks to truly kick in. But it would be better than antihistamines that do fuck all to quell anxiety. I am trying to compromise my own standards and quality of life to be compliant. I hate every minute of it, of course, but I am fucking trying.

Okay, busted hoses. Ugh, can’t I just go back to sleep? Oh, wait, I gave myself permission so I guess it’s an option. Though after several nights of decent sleep, the melatonin is due to stall out. All meds do, even supplements. I find it so curious that 10 mg pills without B6 do nothing to put me to sleep yet 3 mg, with B6, helps me sleep quite well for awhile. My system is ten kinds of fucked up in how it processes stuff. If I am that sensitive to an herbal, this professional impatience when I don’t respond typically to their pharmacopia is easily explained.

I just know I need this winter/spring combo weather to stop. I am sick of being cold all the damn time when my kid is running around in a tank top and shorts. I am sick of sixty during the day, 29 at night, so I can’t even turn off the heat and anticipate lower costs. Though in a week or two it isn’t gonna matter but I am not gonna prattle about that shit. Today, anyway.

Okay, xanax time. Never a good sign when you need it right out of the gate but that’s what it’s there. Because it is needed, not because it gets me high. It calms me to mellow so it’s the opposite of a high. Too bad I have such ignorant psych care.

Help For The Holidays

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , on November 26, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve posted a list of items my kid wants and items we need for the home in the event someone would like to help us directly rather than through the fundraiser.

This has become necessity as every cent I have will be required to cover December’s bills. I really could use a little help providing my kid with a semi decent Christmas. If you don’t do fundraisers, you can mail things to our home. Gas cards are a very good and necessary thing since we live 25 miles out of town and need to make at least a dozen trips during the month for appointments and groceries and such.

Even if you can send one five dollar item or donate ten bucks…we would be very grateful. This is only until the state does its damn job and finds the donor and forces him to pay the court ordered support we are due. (He is hundreds in arrears because he keeps getting fired from jobs, leaving us high and dry.)

I’m happy with a social media share. If I could even manage to get a hundred or so, I could buy her some cheap gifts and I could probably also try to sell some of the crafts I’ve made and sold in the past. But it takes money for supplies and postage so…

Consider helping us out. A 9 year old fatherless kid and a disabled single mom are just as worthy as any political fundraiser. Thanks.

7th Day Is A Charm

Posted in bipolar depression, depression with tags , , , , on October 27, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

*Disclaimer-not for the faint of heart or easily offended*

I went 7 straight days without washing my hair or bathing. (You’d be amazed what some dry shampoo and Irish Spring on wet wipes can do to not attract attention to your basic lack of hygiene.) I tried self pep talks, bullying, rewarding myself for doing ‘the task’…I felt disgusting and disgusted. I felt ashamed and lazy and possibly like a non human.

Almost made it to day 8 but tonight I just caved. I mean, it seemed stupid that I washed all our bedding and I’d be putting my skankiness on clean sheets that smell better than I do. Since we only have a bath and the windows let cold air in like an AC, bathing has become a true task of discomfort when it’s not warm out. I feel a lot better now but I am still giving myself the pats on the back because…depression’s not some silly game people play when they’re ill or uncomfortable. This is a condition that kills people even if by law they call it suicide. Any victory over depression deserves a pat on the back and a high high five, as well. I’m done with all the guilt trips and shame and feeling worthless. I am fightng for my life here and seems to me people are in denial or want to shrug it off. I wish it were that simple.

I am having a tough week with my child’s mood swings. At the trailer park, she never wanted alone time, there had to be a kid or six there every single day. Now she only has the one friend who lives close and suddenly she needs alone time and I am forcing her to play with him and it’s just become this whole dramatic whiplash thing. The kid doesn’t much bother me when he visits or I babysit him. He hugged my leg today, kissed my cheek, and told me he loved me and would see me tomorrow. So it isn’t him that’s stressing me out. I play T-Rex puppet with the kid and he giggles and has a blast. It’s MY OWN CHILD I can’t seem to relate to or get along with. She’s showing not just a flair for drama, but blatant lying. Everything I speak, even when it is whispered, is ‘yelling at her’. If I don’t let her gorge herself on food, I am a starver. If I let her gorge then I am the reason she has a tummy ache and is in pain. Put her to bed too early, I am mean. Don’t make her go to bed so she gets enough sleep, then she is tired because of me. She throws blame all around except her own direction.

Guess this is what it’s like to live with me. I don’t know since I can’t ever be on the other side. I’m stuck here, with myself, awful as I apparently am. I don’t have the luxury of standing on the outside, looking in, and saying ‘hey, dick move, don’t be that way!” when I am making dick moves. The biggest differences between me and my child are that I can, and do, point out when I am wrong (assuming I can see it or am told) and I own it. Man, I’ve done some shitty things in the past that probably earned the shabby treatment I received but it wasn’t til the last few years that actually began to sink into my brain. Not everything is everyone else. Sometimes it’s me.

But the other difference between my child and I is that I have huge conscience issues. She can lie to your face or hit you and she never feels bad unless called on it, then it’s crocodile tears. Only for herself, though. She has no empathy, a trait I fear may be embedded in the genetic code she got from the donor. Or maybe again, it’s me, and 9 year olds are supposed to make you think “what a psychopath!” ten times a day. I remember how much crap the donor gave me about my heavy conscience and “Jewish guilt”, as he called it, all the while I was constantly wondering why nothing ever really made him seem to truly feel bad and if it did, it wasn’t for long and somehow it was never his own fault. On this count, I am praying I just don’t have proper gasp of what a 9 year old’s emotions should be and not that my child will be a footnote in some book about childhood psychopathy due to bad genetics. I really really want to be wrong.

Hm,…other things. I did night 1 with Seroqel. Was supposed to take 25mg but I had no clue where the splitter was and these things don’t easily break in two so I downed it. I was still awake almost 3 hours later and then…it was like a ninja came in and knocked me out. I woke once during the night, and was so loopy I dumped my water on the floor trying to stumble out of bed to the bathroom..But aside from that, I slept pretty well til my kid woke me at 8 a.m. Technically, I didn’t get out of bed til 9:30 cos I was so grogged out, but I was awake and fighting my best to shake off the seroquel. I’ve been on drunken benders and still managed to get to a bathroom without dumping water and bumping tables so I’m not sold on their pills being a better way to get to sleep over alcohol. I just can’t afford booze anymore.

I didn’t do much of anything today aside from the bedding and referee between my child and her little friend. Then my sister sent me numerous texts how all their cats have to be tested and vaccinated against feline lukemia and they have ten cats and even though there’s a combined monthly income of around $8000 in that one fucking house…poor them, they can’t afford it, they’re such bad pet owners. So what does that make me? I’m fostering 5 cats not because I can afford it but because I was given a 30 pound bag of food to house them so they didn’t go straight to the pound’s death chamber….Idk, talking to my sister used to make me feel happy. Now it’s just, how the fuck can one house bring in so much money every month and have even more to complain about that the pittance Spook and I survive on…

I made the mistake a couple weeks ago of saying I’d go to this Halloween thing with my dad and them, some sort of haunted house in a farm building and they have a bonfire and games for the kids…and at that time, my mental state was, “I’m tired of just being the candy chauffeur, I want to do something for Halloween!” And now that it’s tomorrow and the curse fucked up all my hormones and chemicals….I don’t want to go, at all. And I tried to tell my dad on the phone that I just need a break from my kid, and frankly, from people and noise. He just talked over me, said, “No, you can come, she’ll be playing with some of her classmates, you’ll get your break.” Dear God, I did almost 3 hours yesterday of social interaction with his woman, then I have the kids daily, and cats everywhere and I…want to be alone. Like, really, really alone, for an hour or two. I am allowed to change my mind and he’s being a fucking bully. Normally I might think, hey, I need the kick in the ass, but this just isn’t one of those times. My skin is crawling with anxiety, just thinking about it. I did my major act of depression defiance by taking a proper bath.

I’m drained. And it’s not sad or pathetic or lazy or wimpy or any of that societal bullshit to admit when depression’s gotten you worn down to little or nothing.

It’s truth.

Probably the only thing that can’t be considered fake news-speaking your own truth.

I’m gonna count this day a win and worry about tomorrow when it comes. But if I am turning down free food, a free ride to the place, and a free haunted house…

It means the ends of my rope are pretty frayed and I should stop pulling at them. Non depressive people will never grasp that concept.

Under Siege by Consciousness

Posted in bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , , on October 8, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

2:46 a.m. I am awake for the third time since I first zonked out between the last episode of Munsters, so it was before 9 p.m. but I was up again at 10:30, then midnight, and again at 1:30. Since I did not do my entire cocktail I am not finding it easy to get back to, and stay, asleep, but my kid is off school today so I can’t really risk over sedation and being unable to wake up. But as this is annoying, I just took another 6mg melatonin, 50 mg Atrax, and 1mg Xanax. Because I spent all of Sunday, spent and watching the clock til bedtime, and I am pissed off that I can’t just stay asleep and wake up rested.

I have another Matchbox 20 song stuck in my head, which is pretty common when I am awake at this hour, nearing 3 a.m. “It’s 3 a.m., I must be lonely.”

Except I’m not lonely. I have cats galore grooming me with face licking and Freddy Krueger facial claw massages. Those are the calm ones not knocking shit over as they pillage and plunder. They are all feeling the change in season and weather and acting like psychos to a degree. I bet the vet would take a line out of my shrinks’ book and advise I spend a hundred bucks on a sun light to aid the cats with their seasonal issues. Pfft.

I endured a little NCIS: New Orleans but I couldn’t determine what were simply bad accents, bad acting, or my ignorance of New Orleans culture so I didn’t enjoy it, it just annoyed me. Then came the realization that there is nothing on free TV channels this late so I put an old Favorite in the VCR. Under Siege. It’s really the only Seagal movie I like but I credit a lot of that to Tommy Lee Jones, one my fave ever actors, he’s awesome in everything even as bad guys. Hopefully I can drift back to sleep with the movie as my soundtrack, I find comfort in bombarding myself at bedtime with stuff I’ve watched ad nauseum, so it becomes soothing as opposed to stimulating.

In trying not to end up over sedated and skipping that Atrax earlier, I am paying for it as my histamines are in an uproar and my skin itches in a thousand spots, which is maddening.

This goes back to the happy medium dream that I can never seem to acchieve and it is not lack of desire or lack of trying.

We’re alternating between warm and cold, dry, rainy, sunny, and gloomy weather now and it’s messing with my head, big time. I want gloom and get sunlight scorching my retinas. I need sunlight to boost my mood and get blackened day skies with torrential downpours and cold.

And now I have become preoccupied with my future plans but am finding my desire hampered by frustration that I cannot, alone, bring that dream to fruition. But it is what I want to do. And I’d be damn good at it. My stepmonster took me to our Armpit ‘antique/indoor sale’ the other day and bought me a few things in an effort to cheer my up since everyone buys so much for Spook but I do without even though I love yard sales cos I put my kid first. And it was a walk down memory lane, as my grandmother owned a similar consignment shop up til I was 11 or so. Some of my happiest memories were wandering that old shop and piling on old costume jewelry and bright scarves and letting my imagination run wild with fantasies of being a famous actress or whatever. (My dad called me Gypsy Rose Lee, which I later came to realize isn’t all that appropriate a nickname for a 9,10 year old.) But I commented aloud, “I wish I could own a place like this and do this for the rest of my life.” One of the owners pointed out that the building was for sale and my stepmonster said, “If I had that kind of money, I’d buy it in a heartbeat and put Niki in charge.”

My family believes in me, sort of, they just aren’t well off enough to help. Still, them recognizing that I’d be good at acquiring goods and could run a successful business…it counts for something.

Short of being a roadie for Motionless In White (with my kid and cats in tow), I think the resell gig would be my dream job. Though I;d be content with working from home via computer doing whatever pays the bills and keeps my kid in what she needs. Unfortunately, no one is knocking down doors offering opportunities to do such work.

3:04 a.m. Sorry, Rob Thomas, and Matchbox 20. I’m still not lonely. Hungry, yes, but far too lazy to bother to feed myself. I will just watch Seagal kick some terrorist ass and wait for the combo to kick in and let me sleep a little longer. Oh, and is it arrested development or just staunch fashion taste that makes me still totally want that studded leather jacket bad guy Tommy Lee Jones wore in this movie?

Fashion taste. Leather and studs are timeless. WANT. That. Jacket.

Hopefully when I do go back to sleep I won’t be plagued with more vivid dreams. Such bizarre dreams that feel so real. Like driving a big rig (I can’t even drive a stick shift car) but my eyes won’t open, as if glued shut, and I can’t see the road and…BREATHE. Man, nightmares are bad, but sometimes it’s the dreams that are realistic that get you worst. I doubt I will sink to the bottom in a Titanic-esque boat but not being able to see while driving…that could totally happen.

Think I like the drowning scenario better. Least Titanic went down with lots of interesting scenery in tact.

Yeah, I know. My brain ain’t right. But you gotta love its quirkiness. It’s like one of those water rides underground where you don’t know what’s coming up in the darkness. Could be killer clowns, could be an adorable animatronic tiger cub…

Welcome to my nightmare. (Yep, had to throw in Alice Cooper lest I get saddled with a light rock label just cos I like some Matchbox 20.)

That’d be awful, like being labeled Republican or Democrat or, egad, a Juggalo.