On Feeling Like A Stupid Slut

I wish that I were flexible enough to kick myself in the head.

As Alvin and the chipmunks sang, “Christmas time is here again…”

Well, long time, no blog, eh? I guess, well, I don’t know where to begin with the explanations as to why I haven’t been writing. I’ve been busy, yes, working a lot at [----]. It’s Christmastime, which is crazytime for retail. Ever since Black Friday, I’ve been either working or at home, exhausted, after working, the majority of the time. I’ve also been pretty depressed on and off.

A week before Thanksgiving, I got a call from my friend Camilla, to let me know that one of my best friends, Ellie’s, dad had dropped dead while playing basketball. Ellie was studying abroad at the time, and didn’t even know and it was just… extremely hard. Her family were able to get her a flight home the next day, and a lot of our other friends were able to come home from college so we could all be together… but it just sucked. It was so sudden, and so much like what happened with my dad, that it was hard to be as strong for Ellie as I needed to be. It’s like I wanted to help her with her grief, but it was only like seven months after my dad’s death and it felt like ripping the wound back open.

So, yeah. That had me pretty depressed, plus my grandma has been in and out of the hospital (long story), and it just seems like everything has been systematically going wrong, one thing after another, constantly. *big sigh*

But things are starting to look better! Really! Christmas is coming, and I love Christmas. All the decorations, the carols, the presents, the cheer. Plus, all my friends who are away being dedicated college students will be home for winter break, and we can party it up like it’s 1999, or something.

I also applied as a non-matriculated student at our local state college, and while I’m waiting to hear back on that, hopefully I can start taking baby steps back towards college next semester.

And in the best news, we are FINALLY moving back into our house this weekend! Yay! Not only is all the flood damage cleaned up/gutted/gone, but everything is shiny and pretty and new. I can’t wait.

It’s snowing right now, has been for a couple of hours, and it’s actually sticking. We’ve had a few flakes here and there, but no major snowfall until today, which is really unusual for where I live. Generally, I’m not a big fan of winter, or cold, wet, precipitation, but I must say, this snow looks beautiful. I don’t know how beautiful it will be when I have to drive through it to work in about an hour and a half, but right now? Gorgeous.

New Look

I just changed my layout up. The old one was starting to feel a little too doom and gloom for me. This one’s not too overtly gaga cheerful, but it’s got some color, some pizzazz. So far, I like it. What do you think?

It’s like fucking Dawson’s Creek around here! Or; Grief Makes You Selfish, and Occasionally Mean.

*Before I start bitching: All names have been changed to protect the innocent, as per usual. If I’m entitled to my anonymity, so are they.

Last night I went to go see Employee of the Month with some of my friends. Funny movie, btw. Dane Cook cracks my shit up; Jessica Simpson, not so much. Anyway, after the movie, I ended up spending some time sitting in my car, talking with my friend Carrie. Who was crying her eyes out, over our mutual friend Ken. There’s this whole fucked up triangle thing going on between Carrie, Ken, and Ken’s girlfriend, Taylor, who is also, you guessed it, one of my good friends.

I just cannot take the drama anymore. I want to fucking smack all three of them. Carrie’s sitting there, crying, and I’m trying to comfort her, and really all I want to do is to make her shut up, because I don’t care about her Dawson’s Creek problems, or how she and Ken are best friends, and she hates Taylor, and Taylor hates her, blah blah blah blah and will she and Ken ever be more than friends, blah blah blah blah.

Basically, for all you fellow Dawson’s Creek junkies: Carrie is Joey, Ken is Dawson, and I think that would make Taylor Jen. Which leaves me as what, Pacey? Oooh goodie. If we follow the whole storyline along that means I’m going to 1) fall in love with a mental patient and 2) end up in lesbian love with Carrie. Okay, so the Creek thing only goes so far.

I’ve been watching a lot of Dawson’s Creek lately. Damn you, Netflix. I give you my money and you send me Dawson’s Creek DVDs. I have a problem, and you encourage it. You’re an enabler, that’s what you are!

Anyway, I understand that Carrie’s hurting, really I do, and I want to be a good friend. But it’s hard for me to listen to her problems for hours on end without ending up feeling like she has no right to complain to me, my life sucks so much more than hers. Which is just mean! And what exactly do I say? “Um, yeah. My dad died unexpectedly, he just didn’t wake up one morning, and then my house got flooded and God only knows when we’ll be able to move back into it, so shut the fuck up about your fucking boy troubles?”

God, I feel mean for even thinking it. Basically, I’m a sucky friend right now. I’m not in any place to be giving people advice. But advise I did, and I talked to her civilly and didn’t strangle her, so why do I still feel like a lousy person?

Meh.

Meanwhile, I’m having trouble with the smallest, stupidest things. Like somebody will come through my line at [-----] and buy Good & Plenty’s (sp?) and I’ll feel like I’ve been punched, trying not to cry, because I hate them, but they were my dad’s favorite candy.

Okay, and now I’ve brught myself to tears writing this. It’s 4:15 in the morning. I should probably go to bed. And I refuse to cry myself to sleep. Sleeping pills, here I come.

Not bad for a Thursday.

Motherfucking WordPress lost half this motherfucking post. Why? Now, I totally forgot the rest of what I said.

Wow, I haven’t posted in a long time. I was feeling bad about it, but then I realized I am being more blog-conscientous than, say, Liza MacIver, who hasn’t posted since September 14th. My last post was on the 21st… a week after that! Ha! I’d say that I beat Liza at life but a) I love her too much to diss her like that, and b) she is currently living it up in London while I am a semi-college-dropout working the checkout lanes at [insert missrepresentation's place of employment] in blah upstate New York. So yeah, she beats me rather.

I had a lot more to say, but not anymore, because I was CUT OFF. Grrr. I was in a pretty good mood until that, too. And then this happens! And I think my Tylenol Cold & Sinus Daytime has worn off. I HATE THE WORLD!!!! Just kidding. Really.

On the trials of womanhood…

I got my period last night. Fucking A. That gives a whole new perspective on why I’ve been so depressed.

Is it just me or is WordPress being fucked up for everyone? I tried to save and continue editing a long entry and it just freaking disappeared.

Woe is me. That’s just the way it is. I am woe, hear me roar!

This sucks! I had a whole great post written and somehow I lost it. Poopy. Today is not my day, I suppose. My internet is being wonky to boot.

I’m very down today. The weather is crappy, I was waiting for a friend to call to go the mall and she never did, my mom and I are not getting along that well, and the online public doesn’t seem to be appreciating my writing (my entry at AvonFanLit). Liza likes it, but I’m suspicious that it’s just because a) she’s my best friend and b) she doesn’t read a lot of romance novels. She does, however, now have an in to the publishing industry, so maybe that’s something.

Anyway, you could say that today I’m just plain old-fashioned depressed. The reasons why don’t matter as much as the fact that I just want to curl up and cry cry cry.

I saw my therapist today and she thinks that part of the reason I’m so depressed is that my doctor is trying to wean me off Cymbalta. Ah, the joys of anti-depressant withdrawal! My doctor wants to put me on some new all natural deal that is supposed to have less side effects, like, you know, making me grossly obese. Anyway, my therapist says that while the withdrawal is not creating these feelings, it is making them more intense. No shit. I feel like ten kinds of shit.

On a tangent: What is up with people saying, “You look tired.” I mean, seriously, what the fuck? I’m trying here. I’m not tired, or ok, I am tired, but it’s because I can’t get to sleep without taking two anti-anxiety pills and a sleeping pill, but you know, I’m trying to look nice. Please don’t tell me I look tired. You just crushed my hopes that I was passing for normal.

But yeah, I was depressed BEFORE my dad died and my house got flooded and I half dropped out of college. Now? I’m lucky if I can smile at all. It takes effort, people. So please be nice to me.

I had to just get up because my dog was making these horrible crying noises and then she started barking like a crazy person. So I go over and there, in our front yard, are the Pomeranians from two houses up. And I think I saw one of them poop! Gross. Anyway, Dog totally hates the Pomeranians. She thinks they are pure evil. (My mom and I think they are cute, which they are.) She thinks that she is bigger (she’s not), better behaved (except for the whole pooping thing, totally not), and cuter (that I’ll give to her, but I’m biased). She’s part Pomeranian herself, so this hatred is rather inexplicable. In fact, I don’t know who she hates more, the Pomeranians or the Evil Neighborhood Children, which is saying something, because the ENC are her mortal enemies.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah, I was whining.

Obviously no one would even want to hang out with me. They’d have to be out of their minds. That’s probably why K hasn’t called. Not because she has to do something else or didn’t get my message or forgot she was supposed to go to the mall with me; no, because she doesn’t like me after all. (She’s a relatively new friend.)

Okay, I think I’d better wrap this whinefest up. I have several options for what I could do now. I could: crawl into bed and take a nap/cry, try to make myself feel better by getting my adrenaline pumping and doing some excercising, or playing with Dog, who is quite upset herself after the Pomeranians’ visit.

I’ll try not to take the crying option.

More anonymity?

Hmmm, maybe this isn’t anonymous enough. There are some things I don’t know if I even want Liza to know…

I feel dirty.

Black Friday, or something like that.

Today was another gray and ugly day. I woke up hungover and stayed hungover. I’m wicked depressed, and I don’t know if it’s because my doctor took me off my anti-depressant (seems the obvious answer) or because my life just suck majorly and this is my reaction.

Fuck this, I should just give up the ghost. I’m beginning to think that things will never get better.

Off to cry myself to sleep.

It’s much easier to say this kind of thing anonymously. When people I know see me and ask me how I’m doing, I always lie. I say I’m doing fine, so’s my mom, everything’s fine fine fine.

Fine is a line. The smile is fake. All I am is a dark hole of sadness and grief and I just want to burrow further into my hole, into myself, away from the world.

My mom would never show to me but I can hear her cry at night and I know she feels the same. We’re just two holes, that’s all that’s left of my family.

Every day I miss my dad. I keep thinking it will get easier, but it never does.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow we’re burying my dad’s ashes. I don’t know what to say now, and I doubt that I will have figured something out by then. It’s been four and a half months since he died, and somehow I’m still in shock.

I worked an eight hour shift today. I’m hoping that I’m tired enough that when I hit the bed I will fall asleep immediately. I don’t want to think, don’t want to end up crying myself to sleep.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with this.