Despicable Me

I am legitimately shocked and awed by how fucking awful this feels. I am living alone. I am alone and eating ramen. Depressed as hell. Be careful what you fucking wish for. It’s only Tuesday. I have only been alone since Sunday morning. Regardless, I have cried every day, starting that morning around 6:20am. I’m finally mourning. Doubly mourning. I know I have to go through this to get to the other side. Like the chicken I’ve been feeling like at work lately. The one without a head. There is so much I want to say. So much I feel I have to hide. I’m tired of hiding.  

Small details: I had planned on going to the gym after work. Instead, I made a conscious decision to allow myself to fall deeper into this sadness. I made a conscious decision to buy a bottle of Irish whiskey (it makes me feel connected to so many things). I made a conscious decision to not make real food. I say I don’t care but it’s because I do care so much that everything weighs on me so heavily. So heavily that bottle follows bottle in a futile effort to stop the pain and disappointment that I feel. Being aware of what I’m doing makes it that much more painful.

So many things are going through my head right now. Thoughts and feelings. Especially “STOP!” But not a positive stop. It’s “stop writing, stop thinking, go to the couch and turn on the tv, forget all this.” But that doesn’t stop it, only delays.

“I don’t know” and “I’m so sorry.” The two most common refrains I hear come out of my mouth or that run through my head. I wish I could say “Yes,” and “I love you” and “Help me.” “Please.” And that I could accept help. And love. It’s enough to make me turn to Jesus, I swear.

I wish I could be less stubborn. Open and gracious and forgiving instead of glancing sideways at everyone and everything offered. Yet still being taken advantage of. That I could work with instead of against. You and me.

There are so many truths about me that I find disturbing. Truths that I have trouble voicing. Truths that make me despicable. Using and abusing. I realized not long after I moved out that I am not necessarily a “good” person. I do what I need to do to survive. Yet people still call me a saint. People still want to help me. People think I am good. It’s not goodness, it’s self-preservation and idiocy. Being who I need to be to get by. Denying myself, hiding myself. Fronting.

That’s all bullshit, that last paragraph. I victimize myself and blame others for making me unhappy. Because I am unhappy and I’m too chicken-shit to do anything about it.

You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.

I don’t deserve all the chances people give me. Yet I do. Because I care so much. Because I’ve been hurt so much. By other people who were hurt before me. And it goes on and on. The legacy of hurt. 

Fuck. How did I end up here?

Fear. Fear that I’ve lost another friend. Because of my fear. Because of second-guesses and outside pressure. (Incompatibility and desperation? Insecurity?)

Why can’t I just sit with myself? Why am I so afraid of myself? Because I know how despicable I am? God, that’s depressing. Because I know how much I hurt. I know how much pain is inside of me. And how much rage and anger. And that does scare me. It makes me of absolutely no use to anyone.

So here I am. Finally alone. And scared to death of what I’ll discover. Yet I know I am searching for something in others that I can only find in myself and I’m no good to anyone until I find it.



But do not ask the price I paid,
I must live with my quiet rage,
Tame the ghosts in my head,
That run wild and wish me dead.
Should you shake my ash to the wind
Lord, forget all of my sins
Or let me die where I lie
Neath the curse of my lover's eyes.

And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, help me on my way.
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, I'll be on my way.

Changes: That Shit Cray

At about 3pm yesterday (Sunday) I smoked my *last* cigarette. Around 8pm today (Monday) I smoked what I guess was my *first* cigarette. The internal debate went on for hours and involved a lot of bargaining. With myself. I will not regret my decision. Allen has control of them now. This will end in tears. As it began. I cried, no, I sobbed, for almost a solid two hours, mourning my cigarettes as though my best friend in the world had just died. I also realized I was feeling homesick for the old apartment. "I want to go home!" I wailed. This has been a common exclamation throughout my life. I'm always looking to go "home", wherever that is. But I'm sure it exists somewhere and I will know it when I get there.

I wish I had the same interest in keeping up with this blog as I used to have. I just. Do. Not.

It's 8:40pm. I already want to smoke again.

I am too hard on myself. People actually say this to me. If I was so hard on myself I wouldn't be slowly destroying myself. I'd be cutting this shit out. If I actually believed in self-preservation as much as I think I do I wouldn't be drinking and smoking and sedentary-ing myself straight to dementia and death. I am a curious mix of my mother and father. Or listening to fucking Pitchfork's Top 100 Adult Contemporary Hits of 2011.

But do you want to know the main reason I'm trying to quit smoking -- right now, that is -- ??? Because I'm going to New York this weekend and I'm afraid I won't be able to smoke in Mayor Micro-manager's town. Swear to Jesus that's what's been going on in my head about this. A friend of mine is presenting at HOPE Number Nine. And I'm going because I want to stick out like a sore thumb or something.

Fuck. What have I done? I'm still exhausted from Sob-Fest 2012. I have no concentration, not enough time in the day for the things I want to do.

I have 4 projects I need to work on but have only ever so slightly started working on two of them. And so it goes.

There is just something in my head that blocks me. I already felt better (physically) after 26 hours of not smoking. I feel better, good, even, during the day when I haven't drank the night before. But something in me tells me that I don't deserve that feeling. I'd rather be fuzzy and cloudy and sluggish, just unclear, rather than feel "good". There's a lot of "I don't deserve _________" that goes on in my head.

Fucking therapy. It's wrecking me. I'm waiting until tomorrow to call my therapist to tell her I can't make my Thursday appointment in hopes that she won't be able to fit me in on Wednesday. Last week was brutal. I just... I don't even remember what exactly she asked me that made me start crying but it happened. And I was like, "I don't even have a reason to be crying right now." And she goes, "Obviously you do." Which of course made it worse. And she keeps asking about my parents like I don't tell her the same thing every god damn week. Does she not remember or is she fucking with me? Cos she remembers other things.

No, it wasn't my father. It was my mother. It was always my mother. And my sisters. They gave me these labels. The men in my family always loved me. This is complicated. It explains everything. It really does.

Yet she's strangely been affecting my self-esteem. By telling me that my drinking (her main focus) is greatly reducing my self-esteem she's somehow increasing it. I don't know. She's crafty.

This one's dedicated to Schulze. Damn her.

Reek. It Rhymes with Seek.

I keep telling myself I'm going to come up with something. Something as great as the three-part brilliance that was the story of my father's funeral. Something as absurd as the history of "Tainted Love" trilogy. I've been mildly perturbed at (or with, you choose) myself for not having more to say about my mother's funeral but it was a very different situation. And I was drunk the entire fucking time. Like literally. There was a lot of drinking that week. I was sitting in the front row during the eulogy drinking straight vodka out of a water bottle. When it was time for the after-party I was wasted and didn't even notice that my 18 year old nephew was also drunk and just randomly yelling nigger and faggot from the corner of the kitchen.

We can't have nice things.

I guess I'm kinda telling a story about it now so let me add that after B. scared everyone away and K. came back with his room mate and co., I got blazed and remember D.'s brother telling us a story about how his baby had died recently. I also remember asking said brother where he was from because he was very New Jersey. He's from Elkton. He took me saying he seemed Jersey as a compliment. Kids.

Something happened to my original image so here's a photo of the outside of "BG Books"
(My sisters have a used bookstore here. In Elkton. BG stands for Big Girls.)

But I don't know. I'm here. Here. My stomach has been trying to kill me the last few days. In retaliation, I assume, for my hedonistic behavior that started with PMS and ended(?) with my birthday weekend. Turns out you can gain 5 pounds in two weeks. You just have to work at it.

Yeah, that's whatever. She said, as she ate another piece of chocolate.

I'm going on a solo adventure this weekend. The crazy part is that I'll be driving. All the way to Philly. By myself. In the White Knight of Texas. If something deeply upsetting doesn't happen during my travels I'll be fucking surprised.

I need more anger. I think that's what's been missing. Or a decent celebrity crush. (Mind your business.) I've been stagnant and bored with just everything. I hate admitting that I'm bored. The whole "if you're bored then you're boring" thing. I don't want to be boring.

I want to be adored. I want everyone to love me. Which is total bullshit because the actual stress from that isn't any fun, either. Even a little bit of attention does my head in.

I never know what I want. Except the total eradication of all insects.

Indomitable spirit. That's what I have. Am I right?


I'm reposting this, from August 2010. Because I can and because I listened to it tonight and it's not half bad. And I didn't cry while listening to track 7. I think that's a first.

I've been thinking a lot of uncomfortable "thinks" lately. To commemorate this I've made another mixtape for you. It's called "Sad Sack" (that's the link) and I am not providing artists or titles in an attempt to avoid prejudice.  Although, I did provide some sample lyrics so you could figure out the songs from that. JFGI.

1. How it feels to hate yourself because of your appearance.
     "I wish you'd see yourself as beautiful as I see you."

2. How it feels to have to fake being ok every day.
    "Do you want me to smile? Well, I'll try."

3. How it feels to not have any control.
    "C'mon, mood, shift, shift back to good again. C'mon, be a friend."

4. How it feels to interact with other people.
    "I wish you the best, you snake."

5. How it feels to know your dreams, and the dreams of those you love the most, will never come true.  See song 6.
    "May all of your dreams come true."

6. How it feels to grow up poor.
    "Tell 'em all they can kiss our asses goodbye."

7. How it feels to know too much about your parents' relationship and how it has affected every aspect of your life. I am being dead serious when I tell you that I can't listen to this song without crying like a baby.

    "Because of you I find it hard to trust not only me but everyone around me."

8. How it feels to be constantly fucked over. See songs 5 and 6.
    "Must I weep and mourn?"

9. How it feels to fuck up when you're young.
    "She's feeling more alone than she ever has before."

10. How it feels to love someone who's just as fucked up as you are.
       "You're not free now; you're not innocent; you're transparent; and you're right."

11. How it feels when a friend dies and you know he was a better person than you'll ever be.
      "Goodbye my friend."

12. How it feels to feel ok sometimes. Even if it's artificial.
       "For all the shit, for all the dear departed, for all the war, we've still got beer."

13. How it feels to get older.
       "I'd rather stay here in my room; nothin' out there but sad and gloom."  

14. How it feels to keep on livin.'
       "Don't let them bring you down and don't let them fuck you around cuz those are your arms, that is your heart and no, no, they can't tear you apart."

It's After 2am on Monday, er, Tuesday

Thank god it's a holiday week, huh? Praise him with great praise. I tried to sleep but I was too cold and couldn't concentrate enough to fall asleep.

Ed (aka "El Jefe") has a one way ticket to Dallas tomorrow and Beth said she "might" be in late afternoon so I's gots nothin' to worry about workwise. Other than waking up in the morning.

I'm f'in tired but I just can't sleep. There's a lot going wrong right now. Things were going ok, even heading in the "right" direction a little while ago but now I'm slippin' slippin' into the same old patterns. Drinking too much. Smoking way too much. Getting fat again. I'm really starting to hate the holidays.

I feel like the happy pills aren't working as well as they were when I first started taking them. That's bumming me out. Really, I can't be expected to talk about things! Dear god.

Ok, that's twice that I've mentioned the big man and I don't mean Clarence Clemons. RIP.

I'm losing it.

OK. I admit it. I've been thinking about my dead father a lot recently and wondering about how I'm going to deal with my mother dying. It's a holiday thing. I always get like this at this time of year. Death. Yeah, I feel guilty about not seeing my mother but I don't know what the point is. I saw her, what?, 2 or was it 3 years ago? and she was so childlike and strange. She was like a "patient" and not like "my mother"... She's not there any more.

And I'm scared to death that I'll end up like her. Though I expect I'll be more like my father. Even though I know I'm a curious blend of the two. A creature made up of the weakest parts of both of them: a senile drunk.

It's that kind of cold, that wet cold, that gets deep into your bones. Because it's 44° (aka 7°) which isn't that cold, but it's that kind of cold.

And it's all about the holidays that I'm feeling blue. It's every year. Thanksgiving used to be my favourite holiday, now I can barely stand the thought of that 5-6 hour drive across the state, into Maryland and Delaware, where the "family" is. The family that isn't what it used to be. I look forward to seeing people in Philly, my real family, whether they know it or not, not the blood relatives or in-laws.

She was... and it's always her, never him, though he was always the "elephant in the room" so to speak... she was so... she persevered. She did what she thought was best. But what she thought was best was always way off the mark. Sadly, I think I respect my father more. I think I understood him more. And I talk about her as if she were already gone. But she is. She's this tiny creature with strangely beady eyes, like an animal. I think she always was. Always living like an animal... How can I say that? Because I observed it.

And my brother, saying "she stayed with him"?!?! Does he even have any idea? Yes, she did stay. But what she went through...

What she put us through...

She didn't know any better.

That's what hurts. SHE DIDN'T KNOW BETTER.

Yet she deserved better.

Old Me: Just Stay Home

OH MY GOD.

I'm depressed again and I even wore my depression shirt. [I remember this shitty shirt, it's depressing to think about even now.] I wrote to Sarah last night but gosh darnit [sic] I didn't have a stamp. I just never could call her. I'm mad at Dave and I wish I would've stayed home today because I didn't do my homework for this most highly exhalted [sic] class. I couldn't -- didn't know how.  I'm mad at Dave because he didn't call me back. And because he's so moody. He may have called but I'm not sure. [OverReacTron 2000.] I hate the fact that he has this special knack at making me mad. He's so obnoxious. But I'm still here -- mad, depressed, hungry, tired, confused and downright pissed. [This all sounds suspiciously like PMS, which is the hunch I had about the last entry.] Okay - I'm going to start over now.

[...]

No offense but this class is getting terribly boring. Oh, great, now the sun's coming out. Just what'll make me feel better. Where's the wind and rain and darkness? I'm really in a bad mood and I hate being in a bad mood.

Later -- Should I call Dave or wait and see if he calls me? I'm opting for the former. But what if his mom won't let him call? [It seems I actually meant latter.] Does that mean I'm allowed to call him? I'll wait a while.

I wish I could think of something... Oh! Guess what? Janet's preggers again [my sister]. 10 weeks. How she waited that long to tell I don't know. I was so happy when I found out. I wasn't suprised - I wasn't last time either. I knew it had to be soon. I've been really wanting a baby, too. (Wanting Janet to have one, of course.) They're so cute, just to hold them and rock them and give them their bottle. They're cute until they start walking and talking [I still agree]. (Kenny) He's not a baby anymore.

I was just thinking of what I would write to Dave assuming I did love him. And not something about the psycho child from hell.

[Here I wrote out the alphabet with "Dave's" full name interspersed.]

I'd write that but much more elaborate I'd imagine. [I can't imagine.] If it were to come to that of course.

Which right now I don't care. I'm in a bad mood. A real bad mood and I don't want to be in a bad mood but I am in a bad mood and I hate it. You know what would make me in a happy mood would be if I would've stayed home today. Then I would be in the best mood cause I'd be asleep. I miss sleep. I really do. Sometimes. I can't stay home tomorrow, it would have to be either a Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. I'm hoping Sarah calls me tonight. Or I call her. I was going to call her last night (as I am every night but don't). I really want to talk to her. It must be because I'm terribly sad.

Did you know that Jim Morrison was killed by Pam, his girlfriend? How tragic can you get. She was giving him heroin. [Mmm, free will. I was kind of obsessed with Jim Morrison, reading books about him and poetry books by him. I was never that into the music, though. Huh.] It can't be all her fault though. He let her [Oh. I should've read ahead.] But then a few years later she herself overdosed and is daid [sic] as she should be.

[...]

There's so much I want to write about. I bet  you can't guess what/who it's about? Yep, you're "write."  There's so much about him I don't know. But that's mutual. I guess you can never know everything about a person, it would be boring if you did. As far as I can tell I love him [whoa!]. He's so fucked up right now [double whoa for the first f-bomb I drop!]. I don't know if he can love back but that's that [sic] important. [Freudian slip? A. How could that NOT be important? B. I think it is THAT THAT important, dummy.] You should never waste a chance to tell someone you love them [jeez, embroider a pillow, why don'tcha]. I lost my train of thought again. (Chug-chug.) There's so much I want to say I can't think of anything. My newest discovery? NIИ - Nine Inch Nails. The coolest stuff yet. I've got to get more.

I have this huge secret I'm just dying to mention. It's the coolest thing. And to think all this time and I'm just now finding out. [I think I'm about to die from embarrassment.] I feel like a weed for thinking it's so cool [you should feel that way]. I mean it's got to be terribly difficult to actually live it. To think I actually know someone who's attracted to people of the same sex. Isn't that wild?! [And... I just died.] I wonder what he'd say if he knew I felt this way? [Also embarrassed?]

[... I mention my cat, transcribe some Nine Inch Nails lyrics for 3 & 1/2 pages ...]

I'm not a happy (humpy) camper. I don't think Dave is here. My day's shot. I really almost stayed home today. Now I wish I really did. School is getting boring. I'm hoping to go over Dave's house Friday night. Saturday we're going to 3 Little Bakers [yeah, it's a dinner theater]. My mom's a weiner. She won't let me go over on a week night. Is that the most bogus thing you've ever hear? [I'm still amazed she let me go to his place at all.] But weekends aren't out. I'm going to make a list of all the stuff I want to take with me when I go. [WTF?] I'm going to have a suitcase full of stuff to take with me. [KNOW ME! LOVE ME!] What if he is here but I just didn't see him. I hope so. We didn't get to talk much last night.

This day is going to last forever.

[Page(s) missing. When it starts up again I'm talking about my father. I think this might be around the time my mother let him move back into the house with us:]

...he even home, too drunk to notice, I guess. Fifteen years I had to deal with the stupid bastard. Until, um, last May I think it was when I finally decided I wasn't going to live like that anymore. Not that he ever said or did anything to me. [Hmm. He definitely said some weird shit to me but I think it was after this time period.] We barely acknowledge each other's existence. But nobody deserves to listen to him constantly putting other people down, especially your mother who has somehow accepted that living like that's okay. It's okay to be called a bitch and/or worse every single day of your life. I blame her a lot for everything. How she can sit there and watch 9 kids be put through every kind of abuse possible is beyond me. He used to beat David, punched Diane right in front of everyone while they were eating dinner, nobody even tried to stop him! The worse stuff happened before me.

I don't want to talk about that anymore.

April's not here, the wench. She said she wouldn't be here Friday, it's only Thursday. She's here, the wench. I couldn't stay home today, my mom did. It's truly hell trying to stay home when she does. Acting like you're sick all day. It makes me really sick.

I wish Dave and me [grammar, people!] could hmm. I don't know how to say what I'm thinking. I want more. I'll just leave it at that. What is more? More everything. That's sickening. [???] It's not a great feeling, wanting to be with a person all the time. [Oh.] It just makes you sad because you can't be and really you don't want to be because I get annoyed after 2 days of the same person being constantly around. I'm flustered, I love/hate that word. Frustrated is a better word. It's crazy because I don't know why I am. I got my pepperoni "logs." They're real cute all wrapped up avec bow [WHAT are you talking about?]. I'd rather have a bologna (baloney) (I like that word better) log, though. Oops. I shouldn't go there. Sometimes I think I do want it but then sometimes the thought of it makes me nauseous. [I hear ya, sister.] Not because it's Dave. It could be anybody. It's a scary thought.

Tales of a 15 year old virgin. Next: more relationship confusion, mostly revolving around cryptic conversations and news of the relationship getting out, thoughts on Madonna's movie Truth or Dare, and remembrances of childhood friends.  

Office Space: An IRL Update

I just want to lay on the floor. Here, in my office. Just lay on the floor. It happens every afternoon. It's starting to be funny.

Everyone tells me they want Ed to make "afternoon" coffee. He made "afternoon" coffee for me once, in the morning. That means coffee that has alcohol in it. When he made me "afternoon" coffee he put Hennessey in it. Maybe they're telling me because I am Ed's new keeper so I have pull. I just want a pop. Soda, I mean.

This is the beginning (middle, now) of week 4 at my new assignment. It's one of the better ones. Ed doesn't want me to ever leave. That's very sweet of him. I'm just looking forward to being able to order office supplies.

I'm going to go see if they fixed the soda machines downstairs. They weren't taking dollar dollar bills last week. BRB.

They're fixed. Pepsi Throwback. If it was really a throwback it would be in a glass bottle with a metal cap and a Styrofoam label that you can peel off in strips. It's really hard to find a picture of...all I could find is this dirty Diet Pepsi bottle. That would be my personal version of a Pepsi throwback.

Once again I'm not going to have a Hallowe'en costume ready by Hallowe'en. The pieces I need are harder to come by than I expected. Plus I tend to put things off. That's the real problem. I did buy a mustache, tho.

In other news: I remain infinitely depressed by life and its circumstances. I seem to have given up on running (again), dieting, intuitively eating, and predict that I shall never again have health insurance. I presume I will be found one day, dead of unnatural causes and covered in stink bugs, still in Pittsburgh and still in the same shitty apartment in Squirrel Hill. But by then all of my neighbors will be Chinese. Just thought I'd throw that China bit in there. China is here.

In other (positive TMI) news: My household has gone from drinking 2-6 beers per night per person to 2-4 beers per week per person. Plus 1 to Constitution, Wisdom, Intelligence, etc. Congrats to us!  

This was your life.

This weekend: Jeremy's bd party at MoFo, hiking at McConnells Mill (which I cannot find a standard spelling for) followed by dinner at North Country Brewing.  Sunday, as usual, was a bummer.  I HATE Sunday's, they make me feel all icky inside and grumpy outside.  Went to Target and Giant Eagle for groceries.  Found a cute skirt at Target, though.

I find that I am simultaneously getting used to the heat and getting fed up with it.   

Yesterday was Day 1 of not drinking.  Again.  My record, recently, has been 7 days.  This has got to stop.  Looks like, at age 33, I'm about to become straight edge for the first time in my life.  I think I'm going to start telling people that that's what I am just to be a smart ass.  I just really don't want to be "belligerent" any more.  I don't really want to quit drinking either, I'm just not good at it.  Or maybe it's that I'm too good.  I'm turning in to such a quitter.  First smoking, then meat, now drinking, I try not to eat things with high fructose corn syrup.  Things get weird as you get older. And I'd like to see if not drinking will make me less... zaftig.  If I may consider myself as such.


I'm reading about Tumblr right now and trying to... oh, there, I've signed up.  Hmm.  I don't know if I can be so specific that it would warrant a Tumblr, maybe I could fit in under the category "Personalities?"  Hmm.  I just found someone's blog that's right up my alley: http://fuckthisdepression.tumblr.com/.  It's where I just stole this from (but she took it from someone else first): 

So I guess I'm already thinking about abandoning blogger.  I'd like to see if Tumblr's more user-friendly, I think it might be.  At least for photos.  And I wonder if the font and size will stay uniform throughout an entire post...  And if it will add extra spacing between paragraphs that i don't request or want... I'm also wondering if Tumblr's just a bunch of teenagers.  I think it might be that as well.  Maybe not.  Holy crap, there's a bunch of cool stuff over here!  And lots of cursing!  Heart heart heart!!!

I'll let you know what I decide about this.  Still have a playlist/mixtape for you, mixtape is easier for you to download, playlist allows you to take/keep what you want.

Thinking about sea creatures.  Real ones. 

   

"I feel celestial."

I'm already bored with Lady Gaga. Am I alone in this Lady Gaga business? No? I didn't think so. I mean, I like what she's pretending to do but I just can't get behind it any longer. Sigh. I like Marina now.

Sooo. I've been having these panic attacks lately that are f-ing bru-tal-i-tar. Just out of nowhere I'll feel this tightness in my chest and then there's this pain and then my heart's beating much too fast and I'm hot and I need to lay down except I'll be at work or outside in public somewhere so there's really nothing I can do about it but hold on and wait for it to pass. The only answer is to get me back on meds and into therapy but I don't have insurance cos I live in the god damned USA (USA, USA, USA). And I tell you again, I'm not on SSI because we make too much money!!! And from what I've read it's hard to claim a psych disability anyway. So, as usual, I hold on and wait for it to pass.

Should I be ashamed to tell you this? Do you think I give a fuck? Straight Whiskey Tango up in here! Yet not whiskey tango enough to NOT realize these things. And not whiskey tango enough to truly NOT be ashamed that I tell you things. Or to refer to myself as AK-47. (A story for another time.)

Yesterday I was writing in my "gurnal" ("Yeah, whatever. Guess I'm not all smart like you.") and today what I wrote yesterday made me feel like a total ass. For example, I wrote: "I can't tell  how perceptive I am vs. how paranoid." Turns out I'm definitely more paranoid than perceptive. But I don't want to talk about that.

But speaking of paranoid: At Sharp Edge this evening I was followed into the ladies by a little person of the male persuasion who seemed drunk but may have been a little m/r. Not sure, but I gave him death stare that made him close the door behind him on his way out while I was locking the stall door behind me. It was surreal but then I had one of those "it would've been awesome if I had said..." moments. I could've been Chelsea Handler or Tina Fey. But alas, I remain myself.   

And it's hard to deal with anything when it's so f-ing hot and you don't have central air. I can barely function let alone do laundry or take out the trash. And there's nothing like the smell of hot trash. Mmm mmm! I just got a wiff of it in my kitchen. But you know what? Fuck it. Who cares? I'll go spend $70 online at Sephora instead of dealing with this shit. (I may also be drinking wine right now.) (But I'm also listening to the Misfits.) Eyeliner. Still your friend in this heat.

Still need a job in Philly. Hit me up. Yeah.

Working on the playlist for you guys. Allen may start a blog soon so look out for that. I'm totally behind it. You should be to. Encourage him in all things, I need him to support me.

Snap Snap Bubble Wrap.

I mentioned in a previous post that June is the worst month of the year for me.  This past week has been the worst week of an already shit month.  Sometimes everything just seems so hard and quitting is so easy.  What makes things harder is that I can't stand it when people act like victims when they're usually just being victims of circumstances they perpetuated.  I guess what I'm saying is that I'm often guilty of this and I guess I'm feeling guilty right now.  But it's so hard to see your own life objectively.  


Speaking of seeing things objectively: I recently realized that I have a friend(s) who is(are) perpetually "playing the victim" and it's one of the most irritating things I've ever witnessed.  This person seems to purposely put their self in situations that clearly have no outcome other than a bad (or at least unprofitable) one.  It's mind-boggling. But it's also almost a certainty that this person would not listen to reason or any advice that would result in changing this pattern because I think they enjoy it.  I hope this isn't the case and it's more a matter of being conditioned to it.  Who knows.  I just know that I've learned to stay fairly detached from the drama because it's too ridiculous and as much as I hate it when people say this to me, I just wish they could "get over it."  Terrible things happen to people every day.  What matters is how you deal with it.

I can give advice like nobody's bidness but I can't take it.              


Allen said I was "fixated" last night.  Because of years of therapy, a handful of hospital stays and 3 years working in mental health, alarm bells started going off in my head.  I do get ideas in my head that just go round and round and round until everything else is blocked out and I can barely function and find it impossible to take in anything else.  And then I'm very slow-witted when my dream in life is to be charming and quick-witted.  {Insert Sarcastic Smiley Face} This week my fixations have been drinking and moving.  


So we decided to move and I got myself a drink.  


Allen and I went for a walk.  I had been on the verge of a tearful outburst all day.  We were at the soccer field/track in Schenley Park (which I didn't even know existed until a couple weeks ago) when he officially agreed to move back to Philly and I just unleashed.  I said "I feel like I've just been given permission to go home."  And then we started fighting about drinking and I turned around and we walked home in silence.  And so it goes.