Archive for work from home

Bad Medicine- Minimized

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 23, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

So the video of me spazzing after my nightmare nurse practitioner tag team assault yesterday can be found here on my youtube channel for those who like to watch as they drive by car wrecks and can’t look away.

I went in, feeling ok. Not up, not down, just a bit ashamed I hadn’t worked up the energy to properly bathe and my hair was still greasy cos I am too damn broke to afford shampoo that actually lathers and cleans…Then I was hit with a student accompanying my already iffy practitioner and she was my age, and my nurse…sort of deferred the entire appointment to the student. The two of them talked more to each other than to me, like I was not even in the room. I felt off balance, cornered, and when they decided next month they’re taking me off my anti depressant, I went BALLISTIC. I said I’d be doing much better if they’d STOP SCREWING WITH MY MEDS WHEN I FINALLY GET SOMETHING THAT WORKS. They’re talking taking away xanax, wellbutrin, buspar and just leaving me with Lamicatal (cos it helps with depression and anxiety, according to them, and newsflash IT ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT FOR ME), Abilify and some antihistamine for anxiety.

I felt like a terrified cornered animal snarling and baring my fangs. I walked out of that office feeling so minimized, so infuriated and frightened and ignored. It was awful. I went right to the desk girl and demanded to know how long til the tele psych thing will be functional. It’s gonna be months and my NP is my only option. I raised more hell and she said it wasn’t my NP’s fault she couldn’t prescribe higher xanax and it’s like ARE ANY OF YOU EVEN LISTENING TO MY WORDS? sHE’S TALKING ABOUT TAKING SOMEONE WITH BIPOLAR TWO AND SEASONAL DEPRESSION OFF THE ONLY ANTI DEPRESSANT KEEPING ME AFLOAt!!!!!! This has to be stopped, this cannot happen, because I will go down the rabbit hole again. My God, one measly month of feeling better on the Abilify and all these nurses can focus on now is getting me on fewer meds. Not giving me time to adjust and max out and come to the decision myself. Just handing down blind edicts without regard to me as a person or individual.

So the desk girl says I have to see my NP next month but two weeks after that in July I get a one and done audience with the benzo nazi. Oh, me and her are gonna have a talk. Hopefully by then I won’t be menstrual and she won’t make me feel like a cornered feral animal. I still can’t believe how they talked to each other like I wasn’t even there. And my NP kept her back to me, AGAIN, to clack on the computer. She looked at the student nurse to address her, though. This is NOT acceptable but I know how it plays out. I am the psych patient, I am hooked on pills, I won’t do therapy, I am to blame for the Lindburg kidnapping. I;ve told them to waive their counselors fees and I will gladly see one of them. Nope. I asked for Lunesta or Ambien for sleep. Nope. That student even had the audacity to suggest Remeron- the stuff that made me sleep 15 hours a day to the point my first husband and his father moved our entire house while I was in my pill induced coma. HELL NO. And I said exactly that.

It is unfathomable how low this NP makes me feel about myself and my progress. One month is not an accurate gauge, especially when increasing to the max dose, to go yanking out all the other meds, even if the high dose Wellbutrin is causing me more anxiety. That should be my choice, IF I feel secure enough to go without a net. And I don’t. She wants to try a different antidepressant that doesn;t heighten anxiety, I can roll with that. But to completely remove bipolar two patients from singular anti depressant therapy is borderline malpractice. I feel doomed having to see this woman. I am ready to just throw in the towel, do without meds, and let my manic flag fly even if it lands me in jail.

It’s not worth it to go in every month and walk out feeling minimized and mute.

So I couldn’t write when I got home, I was too pissed off, terrified, motified, just…she really did a number on my head and with the student there, it felt like a tag team full on assault.

I took 2mg Xanax and slowly my mind calmed. I did dishes, I did some laundry. I change cat boxes. I checked the fluids in my car. I mowed another third of the lawn. I cooked a decent meal for our supper. Anything to keep from having to think about how awful that nurse and student had made me feel. They make me want to go back to drinking because I may as well be a slobbering drunk for all the input I am allowed in my care. For all the lack of encouragement I receive. Her bedside manner sets off every panic and self protective sense I have. You can;t progress properly when you have to face this adversarial non supportive situation each month.

But as I don’t have a choice right now…at least I have 4 weeks before I have to endure her again.

It’s not nearly enough time to recover from what they made me feel like yesterday.

I wish I could sue them just for the emotional suffering. It takes a LOT to turn me into the cornered animal that way, especially when I am in a decent mind frame. But talking all those changes when I haven’t even fully stabilized for a month or two…They are in the wrong here and maybe I handled it less than perfectly but I will not lie down for this. I will advocate for myself. And if talking to the benzo nazi doesn’t help and they still don’t have the tele psych going…I foresee myself going off my meds, taking up CBD oil or weed and booze, and just slamming the door on the whole thing. Because shabby mental healthcare is more depressing and stressful than depression and anxiety disorder.


The Bramble Shamble

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on May 22, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I won’t be making much sense today so it’s definitely gonna be a brambling post that just shambles along from whatever random thought is currently stalking my brain…

I see the psych nurse in less than 2 hours. I am not enthusiastic. I HATE the way she spends the whole appointment with her back turned to me. If her memory is so bad that she can’t save the computer notes til the final ten minutes, maybe she needs psych help. It’s unprofessional and rude and…

I am a broken record, no wonder I get so few views. And here’s a kicker- I get more views than I get likes and I almost never get comments so one has to wonder why I bother blogging…Except it’s my therapy and a labor of love. Prior to that idiotic like button I wrote for the joy of it, the purity of putting emotions into words. I wanted others with mental issues to stumble upon a post that resonates and know they aren’t alone…Now it’s become a popularity contest I can’t win because I don’t know how to manipulate and work social media and tags and all of that garbage. It’s insulting to have some well written posts barely read yet I ramble on about little of substance and title it pink cacti and it’s gets two dozen likes…

I got a good night’s sleep, but after a week of barely getting 3 hours a day, it was a crash and burn situation. I got up at 6:15 in a decent enough mood. Then I got the message reminding me of my appt and my kid was her usual jackass morning self and it all started going to shit. Not to mention the house is biohazard ten but I still don’t have the mmmph to make it look better. The shame feeds the guilt and vice versa. This is the ONE thing I need help with, and it is the one thing I cannot get help with. I hate people touching my stuff, so if I am willing to say I need help…it’s got to tell you something. If I had a better family, my sister would remove her nose from her husband’s ass a few hours and come over to help me. But if it isn’t him, it’s her friend the horseface interloper who insinunates herself into every aspect of our family yet has no ties to any of us… She cleans for a living so if they’d come help me even once a year…But no, I don’t have family and friends like that.

Not to mention their gossipy judginess, they’d have it all over ten towns about what a disgusting pigsty I keep.

I can’t believe how quickly my mental state went to shit.Dealing with your psych professional and your child should not leave you this distressed.

Yet here I am, it does, and this is my reality.
I put on deodorant and washed my nasty hair. That is my contribution to hygiene. I will throw on a t-shirt and leggings toward time to leave. I just don’t have the energy I thought I’d have after getting ten hours of sleep. Maybe it has something to do with my anxiety level shooting so high my heart is pounding and I feel paranoid and panicked. I have got to locate my spine and voice and speak up today and ask if they are getting their telepsychiatry set up. It’s no longer just about a low xanax dose, this is about how much this provider stresses me out every single appointment. And I turned her in and it didn’t do any good. I have to get away from her for my own sanity but damn my parents for programming me not to rock the boat and ‘be a good girl’. Because God knows standing up for yourself makes a bad girl, can’t have that.

I hope I don’t screw my kid up to that extent.
That new pediatrician is on top of everything, she’s already got my kid in with a counselor June 4th. Guess when the state went with managed care for the medical card it brought half competent care and coverage with it. Though it has me spinning out a little because it costs gas to get to town and god knows what Spook will tell them cos she’s got a drama llama issue, if not an outright pathological lying problem. She has flat out said that by moving her to this ‘awful’ place I am abusing her. That will go over well with a kiddie counselor, I am sure.
You’d think you could count on them being bright enough to not get snowed by children but our prior experience with a kid psychologist proves otherwise.
I washed my hair but I didn;t get the soap out, or more likely, the shampoo I used didn’t lather so the roots are still gross. The faucet was making a funny sound and since it erupted like a volcano thanks to hurrican Spook breaking it, I don’t want to tempt the fates by using it too much. I do not think it will matter much longer.The landlord’s son in law is gonna be taking over the rental properties and that’s gonna get us thrown out simply because we have more than one cat. I try to keep them out but they tear the screens to get in.ld f
Oh, well. It’s like my brain is bent on pointing out all the reasons I should feel fragile and panicked right this minute. Not that the psych nurse gives a flying fuck. She is really awful at her job. But I guess I am the only one who thinks so I must just be awful as a patient. I wonder how she’d feel if I stood in the corner with my back to her mumbling where she couldn’t hear me. Cos it’s what she does to me.

Cremated Uncured Bacon, A Bath, And A Literal Cat Nap

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , , on May 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I despise burned bacon. I do not even like it crisp. So starting my Thursday with a wasted package of bacon turned blackened dog chew toy tough sucked. Plus side, uncured bacon does not taste that much different than other bacon. I managed to feed myself before night time, that’s a rarity. I was disappointed, though, because I watched it closely and checked it every 5 minutes but still, my ass trash ‘too old to even have numerical thermostat’ oven ruined it. Even the cats rejected it.

I bathed, that time of the week, ha ha ha. I am actually bathing 2, 3 times a week now since Abilify/season changes. It’s still not ideal but it’s improvement. Though the sense of accomplishment was accompanied by the thought, “Ugh, fuck, I’m just gonna have to do this again Saturday before the wedding debacle.”

I suffered through restless mind syndrome some more, too tired to even get properly sleepy. Then I did get properly sleepy so I curled up in bed and before I knew it, I’d nodded off with two kittens on either side of me and one asleep on my leg. The literal and proverbial cat nap. Waking up and trying not to roll onto them and get up without crushing them was like a geriatric game of Twister.

I even got a bit of a giggle out of the day when putting the spawn into the bath. She wanted to shave her legs since she is wearing a dress as flower girl for the wedding Saturday without tights. As I supervised her, she asked me, “Do you have to comb your leg hair if you don’t shave and it grows long?” Ermagod, that made me laugh, hard. She is so bloody funny without meaning to be. Those are the mom moments that balance out all the hellish battles, the tantrums, the mood swings, the fussing, the hypochondria…She then asked me why men don’t shave under their arms and shave their legs and I told her because society is misogynostic on such matters though some men, like cyclists and swimmers, do shave their body hair. Personally, I think all men should shave to an extent but there are some women who dig the Yetti thing. Eww.
2:11 a.m. Friday 5/17

I’ve been up since 11 p.m. I’m just doing catnaps now, it seems, so my days feel like they are neverending. But until I am good and sleepy and relaxed, trying to force it stresses me out worse and makes it more impossible. I would love 7 solid hours of sleep. I should have gotten it as I took 10 mg melatonin, 0.5 xanax, 50 mg Atarax and 100 Benadryl. If that doesn’t put you down and keep you down, well, it certainly attests to it being a sleep disorder as opposed to some personality issue. And when I get soooo tired and sooo sleepy that I nod off without meaning to…

That is a beautiful headspace. Beautiful also is waking up and feeling slightly recharged rather than like I’m only a third way through the marathon.

Today is grocery day. Aside from Jonesing for a fountain Dr. Pepper and take and bake pizza, I have no major enthusiasm for a trip to town. My kid will be spending the night in town with my sister so they can gussy her up for the murder, er, wedding, Sat morning.

I’ve been wondering if everyone’s been yapping about, “Oh, I hope Niki doesn’t wear anything to weird.” Because yes, a t-shirt and leggings is totally weird. I do love being underestimated, though. If they assume I am not bright enough to discern appropriate clothing then they’ve earned the disdain with which I view them. I even printed out a mantra for my wall reminding me they have the self awareness of an empty chair and I need to stop giving them permission to make me feel inferior. I’ll let you know if it cures me, kinda like when god gives you lemons but…

I saw that on a t-shirt before my mom’s bad mammogram came back but it still applies. Optimism does not cure illness.

I am gonna try to pawn some DVDs today so I can buy a bag of cat food. There’s only one shop though and he pays like a quarter a disc so even my 16 disc Forenisc Files set won’t get me too far IF he’d even buy it. My dad asked me why I don’t sell my electronics. Hmm, well, because they’re so old and outdated, they are literally worth more to keep than try and get a dollar value out of.

I’d like to ask why I can’t manage a successful fundraiser to get my kid her vacation and get my own ebay storefront going, using all the loot I find secondhand. I think I could rock that casbah but they don’t give small business loans for it and they wouldn’t give me a loan anyway as my credit score more resembles a euphamism for the daily time to get high. The more I think about it, though, the more the ebay thing appeals to me. I’m running into walls and bleeding out trying to fit into society’s cookie cutter system and that one mistake keeps fucking me over…Being my own boss would be about perfect. I have the retail skills. I know I could make a go of it if I could keep the monthly bills paid and focus solely on the business. That is my dream, people. To sell shit on ebay.

You say pathetic, I say desperate not to be a cog in a wheel that does not even want me…

It’s 2:30 a.m., I took another slow cocktail of antihistamine and melatonin but my mind is not slowing down an iota and sleep seems like a far away mirage. However, the cats napping on my bed are very real. Someone may as well lay in it and sleep.

I sure as hell ain’t able to do it.

Restless Mind Syndrome And Pink Cacti

Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar disorder, depression with tags , , , , , , on May 15, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I haven’t accomplished fuck all today aside from making some youtube video clips and refilling ice cube trays. My motivation is on the side of a milk carton back in the ’80’s. I went into the kitchen to do one thing, got distracted by two other things, then the beeping microwave reminded me why I had come in there in the first place. Damn lucky Jen gave us the microwave with a working timer, had I gone blank distracted like that with the old one, the house could have caught on fire.

My mind keeps spinning and churning so fast and so much, I’ve decided to call it Restless Mind Syndrome. I had the Restless Leg thing when I was preggo and it was disconcerting as hell, like your legs moving without input from your brain. It was quite terrifying at first and thank pegacorn it went away once she was formally evicted from my uterus….But now it’s my mind that is restless and it’s not connected to my limbs which is why I can’t seem to accomplish anything. Start, stop, forget. Oh, the forgetting, I am so sick of them blaming the depression. I have brain damage from that interaction years ago which is why I forget things literally 3 seconds later, that is organic, not some branch of my disorders or meds. I am DAMAGED IN THE BRAIN. I’m the only one who seems to accept this as a fact. What I want and what is are two different things, though. And while those Shriner kids are adorable and I am so happy for them for banishing the word ‘disability’ and doing amazing things in spite of it…That isn’t me. My brain is my CPU and OS and it ain’t running right and it is no longer supported for updates. I am compromised. I hate it, I wish I could deny it, but…it is what it is.

I got some bad news. My mom had a mammogram yesterday and they told her that the results were bad. She had a benign fatty lump removed 2 years ago and now it’s back, bigger and more suspicious looking than before so the doctor is worried. Not worried enough to get her in before June 6th, though, ffs. That gives it 3 weeks to spread if it’s malignant, wtf, the healthcare here is a fucking joke and they are fucking malpractice mavens. My mom is 70 and while I know the reality of losing your parents is coming my way…I hope not too soon, my daughter isn’t ready to lose her grandparents even if I wish I could take them to Six Flags and lose them in the crowds. Ha ha ha ha. That happened to me and my cousin when I was 8, we went there so mom could see Eddie Rabbitt and we got split up and it was dark and closing time before they finally used the PA system to tell us where to find our adults.

I think today is just gonna be a wash. My night fucked up my day again since I woke up and then couldn’t get back to sleep. And scumbag brain is busy dabbing and not giving me a properly ordered list of what I should be doing right now in which order.

Curious about the pink cacti? Make your way to the bottom of the page.

Pink cacti, my ‘put on fast shoes to run outside’ shoes. Hideous but functional and only a buck.

Wish me luck, I am going to call that place about the job interview possibility later on today to follow up my email. I will either seem overly aggressive or sincerely interested. I’ll roll the dice, I really want this gig.

Family Matters-I could use some advice

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 14, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

If you follow this blog even sporadically then you know I am caught between a rock and a hard place. I am still very much disabled by my mental disorders but thanks to a deadbeat parent being $5000 behind in support, I can’t get caught up on the bills. I have to supplement income. That means a job. In rural midwest when you’re close to 50 and haven’t worked in 17 years and have horrid references due to your mental instability…Let’s just say, it’s not going well for me. The only nibbles I had were in home care and thanks to some draconian state law, I am prohibited from working in that field due to a mistake I made nearly 20 years ago. Misdemeanor, non violent, I did everything to get straightened out, and never made the same mistake again. No matter, it keeps negatively impacting me daily. To the point I almost kick myself and think, man, I should have gone for a felony and at least had a good time and beaten the hell out of someone.

Right now, aside from my kid having a fundraiser cos loser mommy can’t get her a vacation for summer, my biggest issue is that my redneck father the workaholic is up in my business, pressuring me to work at the place where my brother works on the same shift. And that is purely their own self interest, cos if I had to go, then he could ride with me and they wouldn’t have to take him. (He’s almost 24 and can’t be trusted to drive to town, wtf?) I want my dad to butt out. I have told him, politely, and angrily, to fucking butt out. (I was aiming for no swear words, but fuck it, that ship has fucking sailed.) I applied cos yeah, I gotta support my kid, but I purposely aimed for a different shift, more suited to my abilities and childcare arrangements and he chewed me out and told me I need to work whenever I am told to. You’d think he’s the hiring manager, the way he carries on. And while he has always been a buttinski (read:giant fucking jackass) it’s gotten more extreme the older I’ve gotten. He just butts in without regard to my privacy, my independence, my mental health disabilities.


I’d say avoidance cos it served me since I moved out at 17 but we had to move to his armpitt-y farm town last year so there is no escaping him, he lives right down the street and shows up unannounced, calls constantly to talk about himself or bitch that my yard is not mowed properly or it looks trashy or I did this wrong or that wrong…I have tried to remind myself, hey, he’s 72, he isn’t gonna be around forever, just bite your tongue. Thing is, I’ve bitten holes through my tongue. I am seething right now, ten hours after this latest scene where he was up in my business about the job. He doesn’t pay for my rent or power or water or gas or, well, anything. NOTHING. Yet he feels he has the right to butt in, then constantly berate me as ‘wanting a handout’ when I offer to work any time I ask for so much as help mowing my huge lawn.

It is not a nice place to live mentally, waiting for your dad to keel over because he truly makes your life this miserable.

And yeah, sure, I’m weak for letting him get under my skin, but if snapping, “you’re not a diaper, get off my ass about it, I’ll deal with it myself!”…and still there he is butting in…GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

So wordpress people…anyone got some ideas for me on how to handle this nightmare? I’m hanging by a fucking thread between the winter depression and current spring hypomania. I am ripe to go off in a very bad way and burn bridges that just barely got rebuilt. I’m a livewire and that man, that that that…idget…is worsening my mental health and dampening what would otherwise be an ok life with my kid. We’ve always been poor but we have the necessities (sometimes) so…I want my fucking life back and I shouldn’t be driven from my own home, that I am paying to live in and he does not own nor contribute a dime to, so…

Not that it will do any good because no one ever interacts with me on my blog, I guess I must frighten them or something, but I AM UP FOR SOME UNBIASED INPUT, I could use some perspective. Please?

And just to be a decent person could you heart my daughter’s fundraiser page or give her a share on social media? She didn’t ask to be part of this shit show and she’s got rednecks at school making fun of her for being too poor to afford new clothes and properly fitting clothes and she’s miserable which makes me unhappy and round and round we go…just shoot me. No, just click the bloody like or heart button or whatever and brighten her day. Please with pegacorns on top?

Manic Monday Thoughts

Posted in Monday Thoughts, pop culture with tags , , , , , , , , on May 13, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

It’s a felony…
to lie to the FBI.
So…politics…current regime… HOW NOT IN PRISON?
Yes, I am…
sounding like If Google was a Guy in this post…Might even show you pictures of spaghetti.
Don’t get it? Watch the collegehumor videos on youtube, all 5 are hysterical.

I wish…
youtube studio beta would die in a fire. Hate that fucking shit. Works like shit on my Firefox and reduces me to using Chrome. ick.
I only use Chrome..
on my phone. Because the default browser kept locking up. Chrome does sometimes, too, but since my phone has no space, I can’t get my beloved FF as an app.
It took more money…
to make the movie ‘Titanic’ than it cost to build the original ship.
only in America is such insanity deemed normal and ‘cost of doing business’.
I’m watching…
Under Siege for the hundredth time.
What can I say, Tommy Lee Jones is awesome.
Seagal is tolerable in this movie but he can’t act his way out of a paper bag. IMHO, anyway.
For me…
the sign of a good movie is one I can fall asleep to. Under Siege, Bone Collector, Red Dragon, Outbreak, Contagion, those are my standards.
Though I prefer falling asleep to TV shows like Forensic Files, Dateline, 48 Hours, and Deadly Women.
Yeah, what 30 years since Under Siege came out…
I still want that studded leather jacket worn by Tommy Lee Jones’ character. Kick ass.
One of the worst…
things about manic depression is that you spend 85% of your time either in a crippling depression or functional one. The rare occasions hypomania sets in, you just wanna cling to the clarity of it since you don’t know if it will happen again for another six months.
Yep, hypomania…
I went to sleep around 11, back up at 1 a.m. Now it is after 3 and I am still awake. I can’t slow my mind, I am out of melatonin, and frankly, night time (even if I am freezing my ass off right now) is the only true calm time I have since we moved to Armpit. Least between 9 p.m. and 6 a.m. I know I am safe from unwanted family calls and visits and no chance of landlords or neighhbors lurking unannounced to set off my panic attacks.
Yeah, we need to get out of here. No, we do not have the money. We’re trapped.
Is it narcissistic
to tattoo your own name on your body? I think it is. But my mom fucked me up by teaching me that all forms of self esteem are conceit so I am never quite sure if my perception is distorted.
One thing I DO
consider narcissistic=naming your kid after yourself. Middle name is bad enough, first name, ick,first, middle, last and some sort of suffix like Jr. or The Second- pure egomania.
I stand by that one, no doubts.
Oh, it’s just traditional for some people, you say?
I blow up tradition’s floats and rain on its parades. Tradition easily becomes a synonym for egomania and stagnation. Not to mention, if a kid is named after someone else, how do they ever forge their own identity properly? I should think living in the shadows of a namesake would suck.
The donor…
lists his address as Apartment 2.
He lives in a trailer park.
He’s as ashamed now as he was when we were together and he told me not to call our address a trailer, but a lot number.
The little things that amuse me at 3:41 a.m.
It only occurred to me because I really miss living in a trailer. Houses just have too many working parts like sump pumps and drain lines and pipes that freeze up. Yeah, I know, had the same at the trailer but it never made me feel this paranoid and well, jittery. It’s too much for me to manage.
Plus the family factor. I REALLY miss our trailer. No shame for me.
I am not stalking him, I just noticed it on the court papers as his listed address. But my sister and mom lived at that address, it’s a trailer park. I don’t know why he is ashamed of that. I shoild think not holding a job, letting a woman support you, and not seeing your kid would be shame inducers.
He ain’t wired right.
I dunno why…
but it irks me when the “J” sound is pronounced as an H. Jesus. Jaime. Jorge. I don’t get it.
That’s not…
some politically incorrect statement, either, it’s just one of my quirks. Like how I get one toe of my sock wet and it drives me bonkers so I have to get another pair of dry socks. I’ve been throuh 5 pairs today over just a drop of water on the sock.
Bitch be crazy. Bitch also needs to not step outside without shoes after it has been raining.
My kid
told me next time i was awake at 3 a.m. I should look in a mirror and repeat Bloody Mary 3 times. So I did. I am still waiting to be murdered. BORING.
How awesome is it…
when people actually LISTEN and HEAR what you say?
It may seem odd but my sister got me a couple of Mother’s Day gifts, both items I had previously asked for.
Gel insoles for my shoes and a sleep mask with a wide strap so it stays on during sleep. She got me both and it was under five bucks but it could have been a hundred…it makes me happy to be heard, not just on big stuff, but the little stuff, because so much of life iS the small stuff.
A headline just flashed…
boy dies after drowning in septic tank.
I said, what a shitty way to die.
I am going to a second level of hell. I’m already living on the first.
Bad joke
Slob: I think my mom’s getting serious about straightening up my room once and for all.

Bob: How do you know?

Slob: She’s learning to drive a bulldozer.
Some guy…
told his gf’s mother by text that she should go shower and wash off the evil.
Man, that would be a huge compliment to me, having my evil noticed.
I hate…
yo mamma jokes.
But this one was cute.
Yo mamma so stupid she had airbags installed on her computer in case it crashed.
I was disgusted…
when I saw a repost of a Trump Tweet in which he compared a picture of a woman with severe clinical depression looking tapped out versus his beloved Melania and said the pictures says it all.
Making fun of a depressed person is asshole behavior for anyone.
And I’d be curious to know how many women would be into him if he were a penniless truck driver or ditch digger. They ain’t with him cos he’s a sight for sore eyes.
interview George Stephanopolos did with Howard Stern.
I oddly did not cirnge, Howard seems to have changed. And much as he was a big buddy to Trump, even he says he didn’t vote for him and did not sign up for what is going on now. Guess Trump became a GOP puppet whereas before he could have run Sodom and Ghomorra. I probably would have half ass liked him prior to that.
Except he was still a vapid narcissistic douchebag having sex thoughts about his own daughter even before the presidency. just..eww. I am all for few filters but there are some that need to be kept in place if only to spare yourself looking like,well, a cheeto hued dumpster fire.
I know, I know,
not supposed to be political.
I have no filters when hypomanic.

Spoons, Sporks, And Monsoons

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, health, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on May 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve already had my dose of fresh hell this morning that took pretty much ALL my spoons for the day. We needed a bag of cheap litter, a bottle of melatonin, and a jar of pizza sauce so I can make cheese pizza later. I asked my dad if they had any work I could to do to earn $3-$5. This resulted in being told all about their own troubles (they’re getting haircuts today, just paid property taxes in cash, and are eating out for the third day in a row, oh boo fucking hoo for them, and she doesn’t even have to work,ffs.) He guilted me. Told me to go to Mickey D’s open interviews ( cos I didn’t do that six months ago only to not hear a fucking word!) and since they hired my brother, they’ll hire me too then I can carpool and take him to work with me and they will take care of my kid and have her pushing gas mowers all summer…

There. went. all. my spoons.

The man just cannot get it through his head that IF THEY WON’T HIRE YOU, IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU KEEP TRYING. And I have a sneaking suspicion of why I was deemed unhireable by that place but it makes me sound like a paranoid assclown. Only thing is, I worked management and this sort of thing happens constantly. Someone applies for a job, they come in to talk to management, and then another employee says oh, I know them, they’re weird, don’t hire them…and often it really IS that simple and I only believe it because being inside the management circle, I saw it happen. He’s had the same job 43 years, he has no fucking clue. And I would rather starve and move to live on my mom’s sofa than let them ‘babysit’ and put my kid to slave labor. She’s not even ten yet and barely has the strength to push an old reel mower, let alone a gas one.

This will make me very hated by you, I am sure, but the truth is what it is and lately, I’ve been counting down til my dad is dead and I am finally fucking FREE of him, of his woman, of their man child.

But let’s play devil’s advocate here so I don’t look so overreative and mental. My kid and I have an eye doctor appointment Tuesday at 11 a.m. Open interviews are that day at 1:30. So do I take her along  cos I sure as hell don’t have enough gas to bring her back to Armpitopia school district then go back to town then come back home, that’s like 80 miles and I will be lucky if the gas in the car now gets me through all of our appointments this month. He made no offer to help me with the gas thing, and had no answer as to me taking her along with me except it probably wouldn’t look good to not have adequate child care…The week after this, my kid has a well kid check up in the morning. I am already calling her off for the day because even if the appointment is over by ten thirty, I’d still have to make that 80 plus mile trip to take her to district school then  back to town for open interviews. (Oh, and for the record, the McDonald’s job listings have been listed as filled on all my on line site notifications, indeed, snag, ziprecruiter,etc).

I’m just so fed up with that man in my fucking space. And it was my own doing cos we need litter and melatonin, and yes, for $3 even on a cold rainy ass day I am willing to work for it  cos I buy from the dollar store, LITERALLY, so three items, three bucks. I can’t do it til Tuesday since I am low on gas in the car but I am trying to do right by offering to do work and earn what I need. It’s not like I said give it to me cos I am your kid and I am fucking marvelous! Such a cold hearted dickbag, my dad. And my mom is back in nasty mode, too, telling me how awful I am for punishing my kid for breaking her THIRD tablet. “We’ll just buy her another one, get off your high horse!” That is a problem, that is why she breaks everything, cos gramma and auntie will just buy more stuff.

Never a good sign when I need a Xanax before 11 am.

But we’re on dog duty for the day and it’s bloody miserable and then I gotta towel dry the dogs after each time and then they need cuddle comforted cos the rain upsets them…God, dogs are a lot of fucking work and neediness. Spook can do the comfort thing. I’m too pissed off and defeated.

At this point I’d wipe up a nasty ass peep show booth if it meant not having my dad in my business and telling me what to do, because I have done it his way and it still isn’t working cos THEY DO NOT WANT TO HIRE ME, GODDAMN IT MOTHERFUCKER SON OF A BITCH ASSHOLE SHITFACE DICKBAG.

No, it was not necessary for me to swear that much, but it was cathartic for me.

swear a lot

Mostly, I just needed to vent. And another thing, working the same job as family members never goes well, I tried that with where my mom and my sis worked and there’s just this expectation that if they are great at something, you must be as well, and if not, then you’re a lazy loser and they are told about it…NOPE.

Ya know what I’d LOVE to do just for the sheer sleaziness that would embarrass my parents if they had to repeat my job? PORN SITE OPERATOR. It would make me giddy if they had to explain,”Oh, our daughter’s in internet porn…”

Muha ha ha ha. Whatever it takes to motivate me, and honestly, with overly critical heartless parents, sometimes your only victory is in embarrassing them. So if anyone knows of any ways to get into like foot fetish porn on line, I have a can of creamed corn, a camera, and big feet to slosh around in it. Yeah, I don’t know how anyone finds that a turn on.

As long as their credit card info is accurate, does it matter? A ghoul can dream…