Blog Archives

The new year

I was tucked up in my bed with reruns of The Office playing me to sleep. I was tired. I was dozing off. And then I remembered something that happened at work this morning. Something small and meaningless.

It sent me down an angry, panicky path and now I’m shaking and upset and I can’t sleep, so I’m updating this blog and listening to Transatlanticism. I feel like I’m going to throw up my dinner. My head hurts. I’m hot and cold. I just want….I don’t know what I want.

What’s wrong with you? Just tell me. You never talk to me. It hurts when you don’t talk to me.

But I don’t know what’s wrong. And I don’t know how to explain what’s in my head and I don’t even know if it’s something that’s wrong or it’s something that’s right and I’m just confused about it.

I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.

So this is the new year.

Advertisements

Forever is tomorrow is today

This afternoon, I spent half an hour in a small room at a doctor’s office with my best friend, listening while an understanding but purposeful doctor drilled her about her mental health. It’s all part of the disability application process. A hard part. A part that leaves people feeling judged and hopeless, because really how much can a complete stranger tell about your disability in such a short amount of time? There’s no easy way to capture what life is like for us; I’ve tried dozens and dozens of times and can never find the right words. Everything seems so simplified and black and white when in reality, it’s a chaotic rollercoaster that we can’t ever exit.

She’s exhausted. When we left the doctor’s office, she was gray. Sweating and gray and shaking like a leaf. When her anxiety, panic, and agoraphobia get really bad, she becomes vacant. A shell. I don’t like it. When other people cause her to shift into that place, I get angry. I don’t like to see my best friend suffer.

I’m not really sure what the point of this is…just a small glimpse into another day in the life. I’m so tired of these days, full of doctors who don’t listen or don’t care or demand evidence that you are as sick as you say even though you’re a shaky, absent, incoherent wreck on the exam table.

I’m tired. Down to the bone tired. And if it’s this hard for me, if it’s this hard for me to draw up the memories of certain days or months or periods of time, then how hard is it for her, the person who has lived them firsthand?

Look at all the fucks I give!

WOW WHAT A WEEK FOR DOUCHEBAGS.

Okay, so first things first, work is pretty awesome and I enjoy being employed LIKE A BOSS. My coworkers are nice and fun to work with and we get shit done while still being awesome. I am terrified of the day when I am shoved into the swimming pool and forced to sink or swim, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Other than that though, holy balls. People were supremely douchey this week. First there is Little Girl, who I have written off as a person I ever want to have anything to do with again. I can take or leave Little Girl, but she is kind of involved in The BFF’s life, so while I can be flip and give zero fucks about her, I still need to be supportive of The BFF. And then there is this other person, who I will not mention by name or otherwise right now, but ugh. If you read my blog, just…ugh. Go away. I don’t want your traffic here.

Now. I NEED TO GET MY ASS IN BED. Well. It’s already IN bed but it needs to get to sleep. Also: can we take a moment to observe the awesometasticness of Wisconsin, Libya, and Bahrain (not to mention all of the other countries fighting to have their voices heard)? Because damn, y’all. YOU ARE GETTING SHIT DONE.

My bff shiraz

Twelve found an unopened bottle of two buck Chuck in the cupboard, so I have had some wine and I feel SO NICE YOU HAVE NO IDEA. I mean, my fingers are tingly and everything. Don’t judge, I HAD A BAD DAY.

And now my friend is all I WILL PAY FOR YOUR TRIP TO PORTLAND IF YOU COME SEE HOWIE DAY WITH ME and I can’t go because I’m waiting to hear about some jobs and I need to be available immediately.

Dear Howie,

If you’re reading this, pretty please announce some shows in northern California so I can see you again. It has been almost a year and that is not acceptable.

Love,
Sparkle Pants

P.S.
you have no idea how hard it is to type this post and put all the letters in the right plaaaace