This is my blog, and it is dangerous. Do you think I want to die like this?

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Weirder Than Usual

Last night I couldn't sleep, from night terrors. If I wasn't jolting awake from the sensation of someone (or something) reaching through the middle of my back, I was thrashing awake from dreams where every person and object I encountered was possessed. My digital camera hated me so much it was willing to die via flinging itself into the ceiling from the floor just to terrorize me. It was a very un-groovy scene.

I've spoken about my issues with depression and general mental kookiness a few times - but as much as I like the idea of talking about it casually, rather than importantly, I often wonder how much is too much. Especially on a blog devoted to acting more like a silly asshole than a person on some journey somewhere. That said, I'm talking about it again! Weeeee.

To recap - and for the benefit of anyone who wants to commiserate - it's been called major depression with psychotic features, ptsd, and borderline personality disorder (BPD). It's sort of wonderful, like Kimbra's mash-up of Grizzly Bear's Two Weeks and Tears For Fears' Head Over Heels, except not actually that much fun all the time. (please play it right now, though)

With the boring diagnostic explanations out of the way, let's talk about my moods lately. I feel pretty fucking nuts - they are just all over the damned place. Ordinarily, when I feel that way - when I feel this unpredictable - something stressful or horrible is happening in my life, which is not the case right now. At least I don't think so?

I'm in cognitive behavioral therapy, which can be summed up by saying that most of my sessions involve me talking about something stupid my brain invented and having my therapist say, "Do you have evidence for this being true, dumb-ass?" It's a good fit for me, because my therapist is really smart about what she does, and man - I might as well have a Masters degree in making my own life difficult. Sometimes I can distract her with threats to write a haiku instead of do my work, but she's on to my shenanigans.

My brain feels ... hot sometimes, and I've been getting some major jamais vu, which can be disconcerting if you're the person experiencing it, and probably a fun time to watch someone experience, if you're a sadist or maybe my friend Greg (the sadist).

For example, I've slept in the same bed for nearly a year, and recently I keep waking and opening my eyes to stare into the door of my closet and thinking, "wtf, wtf. where am I? whose shit is that?"

For about four days straight, I was convinced someone had changed my pillow. It physically felt wrong to me. It was too fluffy, and it didn't seem to crush down the way it annoyingly did before, forcing me to flip it several times a night. Then, all of a sudden, "Hey, my pillow is back! I love my dumb pillow, it's so crushy. I have flip it over now, it's being too crushy." Missed you, pillow.

Now, in general, I like me. It can be really fun to live in a mind that was prevented from remaining in bed the night before last due to the gigglings because I remembered that Husband had questioned the moistness of Tom Hanks' face in a picture I have on my computer, and postulated he might be a boil-in-bag version - that stuff is kinda okay. But 15-minute intervals between extreme mood swings (such as cackling wildly about some honestly not that hilarious thing I said about a trampoline, then needing to crawl in bed at 4:30 in the afternoon because my brain feels too warm) when I've got kids to raise and shit to act normal for can be a damned drag.

I've also been getting that weird phantom smoke smell from back when I was on Topamax (for migraines) so I'm starting to wonder if it wasn't just that medication causing it on its own, since it's been about two years since I took it.

Also, I think I must have some sort of weird version of OCD, because I scratch my scalp obsessively when my hands are idle, especially when I'm unable to sleep - to the point that a lot of the hair at my crown is only a few inches long. It's just so fucking soothing, the best thing. I love it.

You know, I feel like I had more of a point when I started this, but other than explaining why I claimed to be shitting whole, undigested Skittles the other night on my Facebook page (it amused me!) and why I was asking my son if my grapes liked me (it amused me!), I can't think of one anymore.

Anyway, I love every single one of you fools who devotes any amount of their surely better-spent time to reading this blargh. I often think about you in dirty ways, unless you're related to me, or my therapist, because I don't want it to get all weird between us.

Happy Tuesday. I need a nap already.

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Tuesday, February 18, 2014

I Play Sims (part69)

I think Rachel really likes the new house.
Poppy definitely likes the new telescope.
Oh wait, I totally misread that.
Another baby. What a mitzvah! Hey Poppy, a shaynem dank dir im pupik.
Whoa, where the hell did you come from, Kayla? Didn't I kick you out already?
Well, you know the way to my heart.
Charlie's turned out to be a virtuoso at the piano. It's grooving-out pouts all day long here.
Except for when it's interpretive choke time.
I think I've discovered the source of Charlie's ivory-tickling powers.
But things are settling back into a normal, steady rhythm. These two still can find any excuse to touch each other.
They're inseparable.
They even check for chair farts together.
Occasionally, Adrien Brody shows up to stare in the windows while making pure O-sounds.
And, the amount of pillow fights occurring on any given day remains undeniably ridiculous.
There's another birthday happening, and for Stanley they just keep getting funnier, each and every time he sees one.
Don't forget to age into another hideous outfit, Kayla.
Is your blouse made of pepper?
One thing that's a little stranger than usual is Poppy's pregnancy.
I mean, she's just as angry as ever.
A quick trot upstairs causes a pregnancy to advance just as quickly as ever.
And she's still conducting her bathroom symphonies.
But still ...
... I dunno. Even for Poppy this is odd behavior.
Where to next, Poppy?
First floor again? Alright, meet ya down there.
No. You know what, I think I need some carbs to deal with this.
Ooh, spaghetti. Uh - Charlie? What's up?
Doesn't anyone have a predictable, sane reaction to anything?
Don't look at me, Poppy. You're the handy one.
Okay, ow.
See you next time for a graduation, a birth and another. freaking. birthday.

I Play Sims (part70)
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Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Story Time (work)

Months and months ago, I told one of my favorite bloggers, Rev.BIOU13 about an office I worked at in another lifetime, and co-worker of mine who had issues understanding a lot of things, including the definition of "business casual". Even on a "casual Friday", a dress code still remained - one which this absolute delight of breaking-up-the-monotony-with-mental-craziness lady flouted with aplomb. Heap big aplomb.

One of my favorite things she'd wear into the office on casual Fridays were a pair of leggings with an over-sized Marvin The Martian t-shirt. Once, it was liberally stained with cherry Kool-Aid.

Another time, while working reception, she decided to cut her hair. At the reception desk. Also in the bathroom meant for customers. There was hair everywhere - on the bathroom floor, in the sink, stuck to the receptionist chair and all up inside the desk drawer. Her reasoning for why this was okay is that she was on her break. Which doesn't explain why there was bits of hair all over the reception area, but to be fair, I didn't ask her if she intentionally brought back some hair from the bathroom and decided to store it in the drawer. She was actually that much fun.

But the story I'm really here to tell you about is much more complex to explain, and requires some visual help. Since all the cool kids with popular blogs have shitty MS Paint "drawings", I decided it was high time I utilize this tool myself. I can't wait to become famous as a result.

Keep in mind, I spent an absolutely outrageous amount of time on details no one will notice, for a story that is probably only funny to me. And here we go.

This is the general office layout of where I worked:

Just looking at this gives me indigestion and the farts.

The colored area in this next picture illustrates the lowest-form-of-secretary section:

I put a lightning bolt in my cubicle, because that's where all the magic happened.

We all spent a fair amount of time in the mail room, even when we weren't technically "working" the mail room - which is where this tale beings ...

I was just minding my business, standing by the office skull and crossbones ...

... when I noticed something unexpected in an office environment. Footprints. I saw them at the skull and cross bones and followed them thusly:

Oh yeah, this is just another normal day at twork. Chasing white fricking foot prints deep into Unit 5.

At this point, the footprints faded away. So I traced them back and followed them in a new direction.
Seriously, that guy Brian was a doll. The day after I had my wires tightened on my braces, he'd bring
me Italian Wedding soup for lunch because he knew that chewing was too painful for me. I miss him.

Keep in mind, this whole time I was making this face:

Just kidding. This is simply the face I owned at the time.
Look at me, all blonde with pursed lips and no nose ring. So young. So contact lensed. So over-plucked.
Actually, the expression I was wearing was more like this:

Pre-braces! Would you believe I was only 18 in this picture? I look 30 fricking years old.

Mixed with this:

Because a good mystery makes me feel like I'm having a great poo.
Finally, I reach the trail's end.
The footprints are coming from inside the cubicle.
Now, if your skills of deduction aren't as finely honed as mine, allow me to explain that this particular cubicle belonged to the girl fond of wearing juice-stained t-shirts to work and cutting her own hair. At work.

The trail not only originated from under her desk, but also held a pair of shoes filled to overflowing with white foot powder. She was off exploring parts unknown (visiting the break room to give herself a pedicure?) while I was struggling to get up from all fours because I was losing my shit laughing.

The only thing that came close to being as funny as this was when I reached this page in my Onion page-a-day calender:

Starship Crew Heroically Saves Screen
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Tuesday, February 4, 2014

I Play Sims Asylum (part7)

Well that's a shame. It looks like everyone has a warm place to sleep except you, Rev.
Hey, what are you doing with that remote? For one thing, it's the size of ten remotes.
Oh, you're good. And evil.
I haven't seen Eve this ticked off since we ran out of cheese.
Meanwhile, as much as I adore being surrounded by insanity, contempt and filth ...
... I think it's time to get this laundry sorted.
I'm even willing to view some wet testicles to get it done.
I will brave the hoards of flies.
I will suffer from exhaustion, malaise and low morale.
I will guard my machines, tolerating all manner of idle chit-chat as a result.
I will assure quality control by sniff-testing every garment.
I will celebrate the completion with song!
Only then will I enjoy a well-deserved and thoughtful naked dunk in the new hot tub.
Sure, join me, Greg. I was just thinking this tub didn't have nearly enough chest hair floating in it.
And, it's been way too long since you offered me your foot in friendship.
How polite of you to close your eyes while I emerge, barely-pruned, from my soak.
What a guy.
Sweet. Bunny's gonna make us a Summer Salad.
Yeah, girl - fuck it. It'll make itself.
Grab some shut-eye out front.
See, just like I said. Salads, all over the place. Platters full and plates full.
Here comes Rev, full of vigor, nearly toppling toward the colorful mounds of crunch.
Y'all better swarm that kitchen post-haste. She's moving at a fast clip.
"Take a picture of this shit, Broseph."
I don't care how many surfaces you clean, Greg, that was still fucked up.
Arthur Derrick is never going to be right again.
You broke him good.

I Play Sims Asylum (part8)
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