Today was another weird day. Yesterday many of my coworkers were asking why I seemed so down. I didn’t exactly feel as though I had to explain myself. Idiots.
This morning on my way to work the train was crossing Industiral Boulevard and I got stuck smack dab in the middle of the bridge. I rarely catch the train and when I do I can often make it to the exit. I found myself estimating the weights of the vehicles in front of me. The Coca-Cola truck, the SUV, the mid-sized sudan….No Idea. Even since I was young I’ve had a problem with bridges. Not heights, mind you, but the idea of being suspended on a piece of construction built by the lowest bidder and holding up not only myself, but thousands of pounds of metal, upholstery and whatever is in the trunk.
I began to panic. My heart pounded and my breathing became heavy and rapid. Even though I sat in the car all alone I said aloud, “I don’t like this! I don’t like this!” over and over. I must have looked like a cat being crated for the first time.
I was finally able to make my way to the bridge exit so I could loop to the interstate. Fourty minuets later, my smoking gadget, The Chuck, quit on me. The atomizer (herein referred to as an “atty”) is what heats the liquid nicotine and water mixture and turns it into a vaper, allowing the user to inhale like a cigarette. This is what keeps me from smoking currently and has kept me quit for nearly two months. It died. I dug through my purse and found my spare; never leave home without a spare everything.
My spare, brand new, out of the package, was completely dead. I announced I had to run home and would be right back. I clocked out and made my way home as fast as possible. I nearly made Shawn crap himself when he heard shuffling around from the front of the house. Good thing he was already hovered over the toilet. New atty in hand, and everything working as it should, I got my needed nicotine fix and hurried back to work.
This is God’s sense of humor at work: I got stuck on the bridge AGAIN by another train (or possibly the same one moving at a rate of two feet per minute) and got stuck on the bridge AGAIN.
Once on the interstate though, I felt a sensation I hadn’t recognized for a couple days. I was hungry. Really hungry. I ate an apple about an hour later and stayed quit busy for the rest of the day. Maybe you might say there is no God, but I believe there certainly is and He knew exactly what I needed to take my mind off everything. I was actually hungry, for crying out loud.
Once I got off work, nine hours later and exhausted, I rushed through my errands and ran a marathon around the house getting Shawn’s dinner and school stuff ready while trying to shower and keep tabs on our flashlight e-cig customers. I did chores with lightening speed because I knew I would hate to them tomorrow, on my birthday.
Shawn came home from work, I slammed a chicken sandwich in him and shoved him off to school. A short time later, I found myself at the funeral home where I expected a simple evening visitation. First of all, it was standing room only. I stood alone in sea of strangers of all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors.
It was a full blown service, complete which beautiful music and a testimony of Marianne’s life. A short, amazing sermon on salvation was given and a woman spoke of all the wonderful things Marianne had doone in her fifty-five years. Marianne’s husband, David, spoke a very long time on Marianne’s giving and ministry and kindness, and love. David sang many of her favorite songs, part in English, part in Spanish and it melding together like butter and sugar in a beautiful bi-lingual manner.
Growing up in Texas you cannot live your life not picking up some Spanish, though I did not quite recognize the praise songs until David began to sing in English. He has an amazing voice.
I saw only a couple people from work. Enedina, who worked with Marianne in the alterations department for several years, her daughter Amanda. I felt a hand on my back, there was Austin, the eighteen year old boy who works the front counter part-time. I could be wrong, I mean, it’s hard to tell from the backs of heads but that was the only ones I saw from work.
Marianne was one of those people you knew was different. She had love in her heart and in her life, the kind of love only God can give. I hate to sound preachy with this, but her actions and the way she spoke told you she had God in her heart, even if she not yet spoken to you about God.
Marianne was unmovable in her faith, never moving.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Oooooh!!! Shocking!!
I pulled up my homepage and there's this little news thing that is displayed there. Take the term "news" lightly. It's usually just celebrity bs that no one ever cares about. Not people that have better things to do than keep up with all the celbrities' babies names anyway.
sigh.
So anyhow, there's a big 'ol picture of Ricky Martin with the bold headline RICKY MARTIN COMES OUT ONLINE
Yeah, I'm just as shocked as you are. In fact, I'm as equally as shocked as when that weird looking dude from the one of those boy bands offically "came out". You know, the one who tried to hitch a ride on a space shuttle or something. HA HA HA!!!!!!!!
Feeling a little better. I took a Benadryl to help relax--only one. I am a light weight, I know, I know. I'm suprised Advil doesn't knock me out like everything else. First time in well over a week I've taken anything other than Advil so I think it's safe to say I'm dealing with things a little better. This week anyways. Next week might be different.
Have a $10 coupon for a large meat lover's pizza at Pizza Hut. I now have dinner planned for the 31st of March, 2010. I'll be twenty-nine year old.
...and freaking out.
;-D
sigh.
So anyhow, there's a big 'ol picture of Ricky Martin with the bold headline RICKY MARTIN COMES OUT ONLINE
Yeah, I'm just as shocked as you are. In fact, I'm as equally as shocked as when that weird looking dude from the one of those boy bands offically "came out". You know, the one who tried to hitch a ride on a space shuttle or something. HA HA HA!!!!!!!!
Feeling a little better. I took a Benadryl to help relax--only one. I am a light weight, I know, I know. I'm suprised Advil doesn't knock me out like everything else. First time in well over a week I've taken anything other than Advil so I think it's safe to say I'm dealing with things a little better. This week anyways. Next week might be different.
Have a $10 coupon for a large meat lover's pizza at Pizza Hut. I now have dinner planned for the 31st of March, 2010. I'll be twenty-nine year old.
...and freaking out.
;-D
To All Things...
It’s been a rough week, to say the least. Shawn quit his new job on Friday due to safety concerns and things not being run the way things they ought to be. I could write pages on the details but I’ll spare you the boredom. He did get his old job back but his 401(k) will be all screwed up and he won’t have any vacation for a year.
This job thing cost us some money and he was really upset over the whole deal. With that done and taken care of and the two of us feeling better about the job situation, I got my birthday meal on Saturday.
My sister, her husband and their four kids had made plans three weeks ago for my birthday weekend. “They didn’t know…” Mom said.
Completely and totally joking I said, “They didn’t know? My birthday has fallen on the 31st every year for the last twenty-eight!”
Of course I must emphasize how much I was joking because here’s the deal: Either we could all get together on Easter Sunday and have pie or cake or whatever after dinner, or Mom said she would make chicken fried steak on Saturday. Guess which one I chose? I haven’t had Mom’s steak, mashed potatoes and homemade gravy in years.
I was in absolute Heaven. Dad made a huge peach cobbler which came out perfectly and Mom had bought an Edward’s chocolate pie. Both were divine, ha ha.
It’s the kind of gif that cannot be ordered or purchased. To eat a meal that I didn’t cook is really something special to me.
Ah, and then there’s the other thing. Marianne had had congential heart disease for years upon years. She was always in and out of the hospital because once the heart has issues, every other organ seems to follow suit. I spent a lot of time with Marianne at work, in between things to do, chatting it up.
Last Thursday, Marianne’s husband called the store and said that she would be sent home on hospice care, given two weeks to live. I brushed it off because Marianne has always gone down and bounced right back up like it was nothing. “I feel fine. I’m only sick, because they tell me I’m sick,” she would say, speaking of the doctors.
She once fell into a coma. The doctors asked her husband what he wanted to do. “Give it three days. If she doesn’t wake up after three days, then we’ll do it,” Marianne’s husband had said.
Marianne woke up from her coma on the third day.
Mom called yesterday and asked for Marianne’s last name. I gave it to her and asked if it was in the obituaries. It was.
I checked it out online since we don’t get the newspaper and made sure it was Marianne. There was her husband’s name, followed by the names of her four grown children. She was fifty-five years old. And about one of the sweetest people you could ever meet.
Marianne helped me when I had my wisdom tooth pulled. She was the one who told me to alternate Tylenol and Advil when I couldn’t take Vikodens at work. She constantly encouraged all my quit -smoking tries. She was so happy when I quit and always asked how my mother (who she’d never met) was doing with her quitting smoking.
It’s been a rough day because most people go to work to get their minds off things. My job is so mundane and boring that once a thought enters my head, it just strings along all day. The folks in the back didn’t spend as much with Marianne as I did so I felt alone for the most part. My stomach has churned since the moment my feet touched the floor this morning and the faintest smell of food makes me ill. I feel as though I’m going to throw up and I know this is all simply due to my issues with anxiety.
I can however rejoice in the personal knowledge of Marianne’s faith. I know she is with God now. That, I am sure of and I know it deep in my heart. Never again will she need to spend the night in that awful hospital.
I’m gonna miss you, Marianne.
This job thing cost us some money and he was really upset over the whole deal. With that done and taken care of and the two of us feeling better about the job situation, I got my birthday meal on Saturday.
My sister, her husband and their four kids had made plans three weeks ago for my birthday weekend. “They didn’t know…” Mom said.
Completely and totally joking I said, “They didn’t know? My birthday has fallen on the 31st every year for the last twenty-eight!”
Of course I must emphasize how much I was joking because here’s the deal: Either we could all get together on Easter Sunday and have pie or cake or whatever after dinner, or Mom said she would make chicken fried steak on Saturday. Guess which one I chose? I haven’t had Mom’s steak, mashed potatoes and homemade gravy in years.
I was in absolute Heaven. Dad made a huge peach cobbler which came out perfectly and Mom had bought an Edward’s chocolate pie. Both were divine, ha ha.
It’s the kind of gif that cannot be ordered or purchased. To eat a meal that I didn’t cook is really something special to me.
Ah, and then there’s the other thing. Marianne had had congential heart disease for years upon years. She was always in and out of the hospital because once the heart has issues, every other organ seems to follow suit. I spent a lot of time with Marianne at work, in between things to do, chatting it up.
Last Thursday, Marianne’s husband called the store and said that she would be sent home on hospice care, given two weeks to live. I brushed it off because Marianne has always gone down and bounced right back up like it was nothing. “I feel fine. I’m only sick, because they tell me I’m sick,” she would say, speaking of the doctors.
She once fell into a coma. The doctors asked her husband what he wanted to do. “Give it three days. If she doesn’t wake up after three days, then we’ll do it,” Marianne’s husband had said.
Marianne woke up from her coma on the third day.
Mom called yesterday and asked for Marianne’s last name. I gave it to her and asked if it was in the obituaries. It was.
I checked it out online since we don’t get the newspaper and made sure it was Marianne. There was her husband’s name, followed by the names of her four grown children. She was fifty-five years old. And about one of the sweetest people you could ever meet.
Marianne helped me when I had my wisdom tooth pulled. She was the one who told me to alternate Tylenol and Advil when I couldn’t take Vikodens at work. She constantly encouraged all my quit -smoking tries. She was so happy when I quit and always asked how my mother (who she’d never met) was doing with her quitting smoking.
It’s been a rough day because most people go to work to get their minds off things. My job is so mundane and boring that once a thought enters my head, it just strings along all day. The folks in the back didn’t spend as much with Marianne as I did so I felt alone for the most part. My stomach has churned since the moment my feet touched the floor this morning and the faintest smell of food makes me ill. I feel as though I’m going to throw up and I know this is all simply due to my issues with anxiety.
I can however rejoice in the personal knowledge of Marianne’s faith. I know she is with God now. That, I am sure of and I know it deep in my heart. Never again will she need to spend the night in that awful hospital.
I’m gonna miss you, Marianne.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The Roller Coaster is On The Way Up Again
Felt as though I had an obligation to my (HA!) four followers. Oh well, gotta start somewhere, right? Next, I'll begin posting that 23 pages of good stuff--all worth a read and most of it is very funny. My cousin said so.
Haven't had time to write much. Shawn started his new job on Monday. We were fighting for a solid week up till Sunday night. His fault, he said so. It's one of those recurring fights where nothing actually gets solved, it just keeps repeating itself. I love him dearly, I just hate it when he makes me hurt emotionally and cry.
Been busy trying to get stuff Shawn needs for new job, keeping up with errands, work, extra errands, cook Shawn some dinner, send him to night school, do more chores....all of this has kept me very busy. I only got my post-fight appetite back somewhat last night. I ate 156 calories worth of popcorn. It's a start anyway. Say what you will about depression, but it works wonders on a waistline. Joke in poor taste, I know.
Been OK this week for being so busy. Next week will be equally busy. Mom is giving me some money for my birthday and I desperately need sneakers. On my feet all day & there's not much left to my current sneakers. I'd also like to get this hack-job of a haircut I gave myself fixed. I was sick of going to bed with wet hair so in February, I just began cutting. It's really uneven because I didn't take my time at all. I found a lady accross town who cut my hair once & I loved it; I'll go to her. Also gonna get my teeth cleaned. I quit smoking nearly 2 months ago--still haven't had that done.
While Shawn & I were fighting, I thought about smoking for 3 straight days. On Sunday, I tried it. It burned the back of my throat. Felt like my thraot was on fire and tasted like I had licked one of those ashtrays that sit outside of 7-11. It was Monday before the taste went away. That's a good thing though. It means I'm done for good.
Shawn is now smoking full time again. I spent 3 hours scrubbing down the bathroom--he's smoking in there in the mornings. Oh well. At least I didn't paint yet.
There have been little things going wrong, things that would normally cause me to freak out but I've done OK. Searcging for the correct respirator for Shawn (because he's welding galvanized steel--go do an internent search on zinc oxide) has been a night mare. The lawn mower started, died, started again, died. Then it rained. If you look at the front lawn it appears that no one lives here. There's more. Usually when lots of little things pile up on is when I start to freak out but past couple days I've been dealing like a "normal" person would and not going into panic attacks or crying because one. more. thing. went. wrong.
Get it?
Asking for advice on meds, I posted to a depression forum, hoping to save some hassle in the future because the roller coaster will surely come back down ina few days. For some insight, here are my replies in that thread:
My insurance doesn't cover psychiatry, therapy or anything like that. I have been to regular doctors for medication but it's always let's try this one, now let's try that one, over & over. They just pick one off the list and co-pay me to death
My moods are sporadic, the slightest thing can set me off into a rage, put me into a deep depression, etc. And my emotions are to the extreme. When I'm happy, nothing can go wrong. When I am sad, I wish I was dead. When I'm angry, I wish someone else was dead.
When I get down, it's hard to come back up. I'm very insecure and I have suffered with depression since I was a child. (my parents put me in therapy when I was 14, Lithium and it didn't help)
I need something that's available in a generic, won't cause weight gain, and doesn't have seriously scary side effects--the last pill a doctor gave me caused most reviewers to gain 10 pounds each month and as former big girl--i just won't do it. It also caused blood sugar to rise & fall dramatically. I don't want diabetes!
I have ZERO sex drive and Wellbutrin sounded promising but I was very allgeric to it.
At the end of my rope here. Husband doesn't understand why I go through this & I have no friends, no one to talk to about it all.
Does anyone have a recommendation for medication that I can take to my doctor and say I'd like to try this one?
I'm 29 yr old female, married, no kids
………………………………...........................................
I have considered bipolar yes. The last doctor I saw said what i described sounded boarderline bipolar. She gave me something that had something for a mood disorder and an anti-depressant in it.
I don't spend much money on this stuff. I had given up on it a while ago because I couldn't afford it. Usually now, it's just co-pay and the doctor will give me samples or I'll pay $15 for a generic presciption.
This feels so hopeless & i have no one to talk to.
………………………………................................................
Thanks for the advice. When things are like a roller coaster, it will take very little put me into angry/depression mode and then I stay there. The next day I may wake up fine or I may wake up angry/wishing i were dead.
This can last a couple days to a couple weeks. Same as the highs. I can be up for a couple weeks, a couple months even (rarely) but i often feel as though i cannot deal with things at times.
For example, my husband & i were fighting for a solid week. I barely ate and I took benadryl to make me fall asleep (only 1 or 2--i do not go over board) and i do this to "get away" from the problem. I resorted to causing bruises on myself where it could easily be hidden because I couldn't do anything with the pain i felt.
in hindsight, I did this about a month ago. I spent 2 straight days in bed over the weekend, not eating and keeping myself drugged slightly. I again bruised myself as a way to make the emotional pain into something I could understand. There was nothing to upset me; it just came on that friday at work--feeling worthless, not useful to anyone or anything, literally wishing i were dead. Nothing "happened" at work. Things slowed down & I became bored.
Past three days, better. Husband & I made up 3 days ago, getting appetite back but still only taking in about 700 calories per day--better than nothing. Sleeping solid at night with no drugs. This may last a week or two.
I do find when I am extremely busy between work, home, and other stuff I am more content because I do not have time to dwell on things.
Not sure if the bupropion I was given last year was SR or what--when I can get to the doctor, I may bring these up to her. Therapy is really not an option right now, money is a little tight but I can do another $35 co-pay in a couple weeks so I will mention these things.
for the record, since we've stopped fighting, my sex drive is off the charts. This is new to me. Between that and maturely dealing with broken things, I feel like a whole new person. Not sure how long this will last. Wish I could be like this all the time and become a functional & productive member of society.
Haven't had time to write much. Shawn started his new job on Monday. We were fighting for a solid week up till Sunday night. His fault, he said so. It's one of those recurring fights where nothing actually gets solved, it just keeps repeating itself. I love him dearly, I just hate it when he makes me hurt emotionally and cry.
Been busy trying to get stuff Shawn needs for new job, keeping up with errands, work, extra errands, cook Shawn some dinner, send him to night school, do more chores....all of this has kept me very busy. I only got my post-fight appetite back somewhat last night. I ate 156 calories worth of popcorn. It's a start anyway. Say what you will about depression, but it works wonders on a waistline. Joke in poor taste, I know.
Been OK this week for being so busy. Next week will be equally busy. Mom is giving me some money for my birthday and I desperately need sneakers. On my feet all day & there's not much left to my current sneakers. I'd also like to get this hack-job of a haircut I gave myself fixed. I was sick of going to bed with wet hair so in February, I just began cutting. It's really uneven because I didn't take my time at all. I found a lady accross town who cut my hair once & I loved it; I'll go to her. Also gonna get my teeth cleaned. I quit smoking nearly 2 months ago--still haven't had that done.
While Shawn & I were fighting, I thought about smoking for 3 straight days. On Sunday, I tried it. It burned the back of my throat. Felt like my thraot was on fire and tasted like I had licked one of those ashtrays that sit outside of 7-11. It was Monday before the taste went away. That's a good thing though. It means I'm done for good.
Shawn is now smoking full time again. I spent 3 hours scrubbing down the bathroom--he's smoking in there in the mornings. Oh well. At least I didn't paint yet.
There have been little things going wrong, things that would normally cause me to freak out but I've done OK. Searcging for the correct respirator for Shawn (because he's welding galvanized steel--go do an internent search on zinc oxide) has been a night mare. The lawn mower started, died, started again, died. Then it rained. If you look at the front lawn it appears that no one lives here. There's more. Usually when lots of little things pile up on is when I start to freak out but past couple days I've been dealing like a "normal" person would and not going into panic attacks or crying because one. more. thing. went. wrong.
Get it?
Asking for advice on meds, I posted to a depression forum, hoping to save some hassle in the future because the roller coaster will surely come back down ina few days. For some insight, here are my replies in that thread:
My insurance doesn't cover psychiatry, therapy or anything like that. I have been to regular doctors for medication but it's always let's try this one, now let's try that one, over & over. They just pick one off the list and co-pay me to death
My moods are sporadic, the slightest thing can set me off into a rage, put me into a deep depression, etc. And my emotions are to the extreme. When I'm happy, nothing can go wrong. When I am sad, I wish I was dead. When I'm angry, I wish someone else was dead.
When I get down, it's hard to come back up. I'm very insecure and I have suffered with depression since I was a child. (my parents put me in therapy when I was 14, Lithium and it didn't help)
I need something that's available in a generic, won't cause weight gain, and doesn't have seriously scary side effects--the last pill a doctor gave me caused most reviewers to gain 10 pounds each month and as former big girl--i just won't do it. It also caused blood sugar to rise & fall dramatically. I don't want diabetes!
I have ZERO sex drive and Wellbutrin sounded promising but I was very allgeric to it.
At the end of my rope here. Husband doesn't understand why I go through this & I have no friends, no one to talk to about it all.
Does anyone have a recommendation for medication that I can take to my doctor and say I'd like to try this one?
I'm 29 yr old female, married, no kids
………………………………...........................................
I have considered bipolar yes. The last doctor I saw said what i described sounded boarderline bipolar. She gave me something that had something for a mood disorder and an anti-depressant in it.
I don't spend much money on this stuff. I had given up on it a while ago because I couldn't afford it. Usually now, it's just co-pay and the doctor will give me samples or I'll pay $15 for a generic presciption.
This feels so hopeless & i have no one to talk to.
………………………………................................................
Thanks for the advice. When things are like a roller coaster, it will take very little put me into angry/depression mode and then I stay there. The next day I may wake up fine or I may wake up angry/wishing i were dead.
This can last a couple days to a couple weeks. Same as the highs. I can be up for a couple weeks, a couple months even (rarely) but i often feel as though i cannot deal with things at times.
For example, my husband & i were fighting for a solid week. I barely ate and I took benadryl to make me fall asleep (only 1 or 2--i do not go over board) and i do this to "get away" from the problem. I resorted to causing bruises on myself where it could easily be hidden because I couldn't do anything with the pain i felt.
in hindsight, I did this about a month ago. I spent 2 straight days in bed over the weekend, not eating and keeping myself drugged slightly. I again bruised myself as a way to make the emotional pain into something I could understand. There was nothing to upset me; it just came on that friday at work--feeling worthless, not useful to anyone or anything, literally wishing i were dead. Nothing "happened" at work. Things slowed down & I became bored.
Past three days, better. Husband & I made up 3 days ago, getting appetite back but still only taking in about 700 calories per day--better than nothing. Sleeping solid at night with no drugs. This may last a week or two.
I do find when I am extremely busy between work, home, and other stuff I am more content because I do not have time to dwell on things.
Not sure if the bupropion I was given last year was SR or what--when I can get to the doctor, I may bring these up to her. Therapy is really not an option right now, money is a little tight but I can do another $35 co-pay in a couple weeks so I will mention these things.
for the record, since we've stopped fighting, my sex drive is off the charts. This is new to me. Between that and maturely dealing with broken things, I feel like a whole new person. Not sure how long this will last. Wish I could be like this all the time and become a functional & productive member of society.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Radium Barrier
Ring, Ring...
Me: Hello?
(short pause)
Unknown: Hello?
Me: Yeah, I just said that
Unknown: Hey, Misty what's going on?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: This is Jason with something-something and we're calling everyone on West Avenue to see if they've checked the radium barrier in their attic.
Me: Excuse me? Radium what?!
Jason: Radiant barrier. It's sprayed on the rafters and support beams on the inside of the attic and helps protect, blah, blah, blah, talking, talking, talking, helps the air conditioner be more efficient--
Me: Oh! Radiant barrier. Wait--are you the guy that sells this stuff for the company that makes it?
Jason: Yes! And blah, blah, blah--
Me: OK, then. You need to call someone else to try to sell to, because we're broke and not interested in having some weird chemical sprayed all ove rthe attic. Thank you!
Jason's voice trailed off as I cradled the phone and then he was gone and out of of my life forever.
Here's a little tip to you phone sales-creeps out there. Refer to me as "Mrs. Jones" and DO NOT, I repeat, do not try to act like you're some buddy of mine. I know better because I don't have any friends. So there.
Go get a real job you shlub.
Note: I can't find the spell check button because I didn't copy & paste from Word as usual. So btie me.
HA HA!!
Me: Hello?
(short pause)
Unknown: Hello?
Me: Yeah, I just said that
Unknown: Hey, Misty what's going on?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: This is Jason with something-something and we're calling everyone on West Avenue to see if they've checked the radium barrier in their attic.
Me: Excuse me? Radium what?!
Jason: Radiant barrier. It's sprayed on the rafters and support beams on the inside of the attic and helps protect, blah, blah, blah, talking, talking, talking, helps the air conditioner be more efficient--
Me: Oh! Radiant barrier. Wait--are you the guy that sells this stuff for the company that makes it?
Jason: Yes! And blah, blah, blah--
Me: OK, then. You need to call someone else to try to sell to, because we're broke and not interested in having some weird chemical sprayed all ove rthe attic. Thank you!
Jason's voice trailed off as I cradled the phone and then he was gone and out of of my life forever.
Here's a little tip to you phone sales-creeps out there. Refer to me as "Mrs. Jones" and DO NOT, I repeat, do not try to act like you're some buddy of mine. I know better because I don't have any friends. So there.
Go get a real job you shlub.
Note: I can't find the spell check button because I didn't copy & paste from Word as usual. So btie me.
HA HA!!
Friday, March 19, 2010
Dr. Jekell & Mr. Hyde
I honestly don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. Am I a product of environment, or was I made this way in same way that the color of my eyes was decided. It doesn’t really matter. I haven’t felt like writing whether for public or private. I began writing again because I thought it might help me work some things through. As a teenager, I wrote and wrote and wrote. It was all for nothing because that stack of notebooks is rotting somewhere in a dump under a pile of bacteria and electronics’ chemicals.
A few weeks ago, I found myself on my knees on the cold kitchen floor, sobbing like a person who had just learned their best friend was horribly murdered. It was nothing like that, of course. I don’t remember what, if anything set me off that time. Sometimes I just wake up like that. Sometimes, a small thing will upset me.
I’ve began o revert to my old ways of bruising myself and when desperate to get away from world, taking something that will help me sleep. I haven’t mutilated myself as I did before. It hasn’t come to that. At this stage, as insecure and as fat and ugly as I feel, I don’t think I cut hurt myself in a permanent manner. A bruise heals quickly and he’d never notice it since it’s still chilly and I’m still in sweat pants around the house.
All I have to do is keep the lights dim. We’ve been there twice and he never noticed it. Not that I’d want him too. I already told him I wanted to start looking into anti-depressants again. This was met with little discussion or reaction. I’m not sure what he thinks about it. He didn’t really say anything about it.
“If that’s what you’d like to do.”
So, I don’t know if this idea upsets him, makes him nervous, or glad to hear. I don’t know. That’s men, really. They don’t communicate.
I tried to be OK yesterday. I really worked hard to push it all out of my mind. Today I just couldn’t. I simply woke up feeling funky. Really, a just-don’t-care kind of mood. Nausea hit again and my stomach makes a rumbling that reminds me of that Simpson’s episode where Homer get hit in the gut with a cannon ball repeatedly.
I want to join a gym and see a dermatologist. I want to get my teeth white and straight. I want a (good) boob job.
Will these things make me happy? If I had them, I mean. I doubt it. Even if I had all of that, the killer body, perfect skin…I’d probably look into the mirror and see a fat, ugly loser staring right back at me.
What was I thinking starting a blog? I thought I could keep it light and airy. Who wants to sit there and read this crap anyway? I wouldn’t.
I hate this. I wish there was someone I could talk to--anyone--that would understand this and fix me. I cannot talk to him. No, that’s ridiculous. To spare him, I told him I wasn’t comfortable talking to him about this when I brought up the anti-depressant search. He wouldn’t understand. Never has. I’ve spent a total combined time of five or six hours reading up on different drugs and user reviews. I’ve wrote down a few things. Even one that was prescribed to me long ago but I never took it. I don’t know yet.
Where am I going to get the money to pay for a visit to the dermatologist? Doctors visits and co-pays and drugs….I really hate staying after work. I should be using that time to go for a run or something, maybe try to shed the fat off this body. Maybe it won’t make me “happy” but it might perhaps make me a bit more secure with myself.
I really don’t know. I just don’t know.
A few weeks ago, I found myself on my knees on the cold kitchen floor, sobbing like a person who had just learned their best friend was horribly murdered. It was nothing like that, of course. I don’t remember what, if anything set me off that time. Sometimes I just wake up like that. Sometimes, a small thing will upset me.
I’ve began o revert to my old ways of bruising myself and when desperate to get away from world, taking something that will help me sleep. I haven’t mutilated myself as I did before. It hasn’t come to that. At this stage, as insecure and as fat and ugly as I feel, I don’t think I cut hurt myself in a permanent manner. A bruise heals quickly and he’d never notice it since it’s still chilly and I’m still in sweat pants around the house.
All I have to do is keep the lights dim. We’ve been there twice and he never noticed it. Not that I’d want him too. I already told him I wanted to start looking into anti-depressants again. This was met with little discussion or reaction. I’m not sure what he thinks about it. He didn’t really say anything about it.
“If that’s what you’d like to do.”
So, I don’t know if this idea upsets him, makes him nervous, or glad to hear. I don’t know. That’s men, really. They don’t communicate.
I tried to be OK yesterday. I really worked hard to push it all out of my mind. Today I just couldn’t. I simply woke up feeling funky. Really, a just-don’t-care kind of mood. Nausea hit again and my stomach makes a rumbling that reminds me of that Simpson’s episode where Homer get hit in the gut with a cannon ball repeatedly.
I want to join a gym and see a dermatologist. I want to get my teeth white and straight. I want a (good) boob job.
Will these things make me happy? If I had them, I mean. I doubt it. Even if I had all of that, the killer body, perfect skin…I’d probably look into the mirror and see a fat, ugly loser staring right back at me.
What was I thinking starting a blog? I thought I could keep it light and airy. Who wants to sit there and read this crap anyway? I wouldn’t.
I hate this. I wish there was someone I could talk to--anyone--that would understand this and fix me. I cannot talk to him. No, that’s ridiculous. To spare him, I told him I wasn’t comfortable talking to him about this when I brought up the anti-depressant search. He wouldn’t understand. Never has. I’ve spent a total combined time of five or six hours reading up on different drugs and user reviews. I’ve wrote down a few things. Even one that was prescribed to me long ago but I never took it. I don’t know yet.
Where am I going to get the money to pay for a visit to the dermatologist? Doctors visits and co-pays and drugs….I really hate staying after work. I should be using that time to go for a run or something, maybe try to shed the fat off this body. Maybe it won’t make me “happy” but it might perhaps make me a bit more secure with myself.
I really don’t know. I just don’t know.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Growing Up and Moving On
I’ve been selling off our toy collection. It was a mutual agreement that we do this since the toys have been sitting in boxes, unlooked at, not enjoyed at all. We both felt as though we’d sort of outgrown it all. So, little by little, I’ve been taking out things here and there. We decide that no, we don’t want to keep it, and I list it on eBay for a fair price, sometimes taking the best offer.
The last three things we sold made us one-hundred and fifteen dollars. Not bad, but probably not a massive profit. We learned that these figures would be opened an enjoyed on a shelf by someone who still loves to collect X-Men and whatnot.
It was a little sad. I opened a couple things to save the guy on shipping, only after I confirmed three times he really did not want the packaging, of course. The box gives a toy its value, protecting it from man’s skin flakes and harmful dust particles. The better the condition of the box, the better the price the item will fetch. I delicately placed all of these things in a box myself, years ago, careful to avoid the bending og backing cards or scratching the surface of a plastic blister.
It seems silly, I know to keep something in it’s box. It should be released from it’s tiny prison and displayed so it may be enjoyed as a small conversation starter. What’s the point of buying something if you leave it in the box? Years ago, I bought a set of cheap curtains. I certainly did not leave them in the plastic wrapping they came in. No, I ironed them and hung them in the windows, proud of my color coordination.
As I cut the tape on the side of the box, I felt weird. It was like I was destroying a little piece of Shawn and mine’s history. We shopped for this together. We sometimes drove to three different stores looking for a figure in pristine packaging, paying a dollar or two more in a store that kept these types of things on the top shelf, out of small hands.
Ironically, it was the comic book thing that sort of got us together. Shawn hadn’t known many chicks into that sort of thing and well, here I come along, toting X-Men trading cards, plucked from my bedroom which was wallpapered in Batman and Star Wars posters.
But it is simply cheaply, painted plastic. And we’re not enjoying them. Can’t we at least feel good about getting back the money we spent on the toys? We know someone else is enjoying them and we have a little extra money in our pocket. Hopefully enough to put into the can for a flat screen TV.
Still, as I pulled the figures from their molded plastic display, I couldn’t help but feel sentimental about it all. We would spend every Saturday scouring the stores for the next big thing. We spent every weekend together, spending money we really didn’t have, but we did it together.
As I wrapped each figure in plastic Wal-Mart bags to prevent scratching, I didn’t feel more grown up. I felt as though I’d lost something. Since I really don’t care about these toys, it wasn’t the value of a righteously protected toy-in-the-box for ten years. I felt as though I’d lost a part of my youth, part of the fun Shawn and I used to have together just by simply spending too much money on worthless things.
Oh well. Live free, Jean Gray, Scott Summers. Fly on, Storm.
Aw, screw it. You know what? Good riddance! We’re gonna (hopefully) make enough money to get a flat screen! Yee-haw!!!
SHAMELESS PLUG....if you're looking for any toys our eBay seller ID is table-top-warrior
Feel free to add to our Flat Screen TV Fund
The last three things we sold made us one-hundred and fifteen dollars. Not bad, but probably not a massive profit. We learned that these figures would be opened an enjoyed on a shelf by someone who still loves to collect X-Men and whatnot.
It was a little sad. I opened a couple things to save the guy on shipping, only after I confirmed three times he really did not want the packaging, of course. The box gives a toy its value, protecting it from man’s skin flakes and harmful dust particles. The better the condition of the box, the better the price the item will fetch. I delicately placed all of these things in a box myself, years ago, careful to avoid the bending og backing cards or scratching the surface of a plastic blister.
It seems silly, I know to keep something in it’s box. It should be released from it’s tiny prison and displayed so it may be enjoyed as a small conversation starter. What’s the point of buying something if you leave it in the box? Years ago, I bought a set of cheap curtains. I certainly did not leave them in the plastic wrapping they came in. No, I ironed them and hung them in the windows, proud of my color coordination.
As I cut the tape on the side of the box, I felt weird. It was like I was destroying a little piece of Shawn and mine’s history. We shopped for this together. We sometimes drove to three different stores looking for a figure in pristine packaging, paying a dollar or two more in a store that kept these types of things on the top shelf, out of small hands.
Ironically, it was the comic book thing that sort of got us together. Shawn hadn’t known many chicks into that sort of thing and well, here I come along, toting X-Men trading cards, plucked from my bedroom which was wallpapered in Batman and Star Wars posters.
But it is simply cheaply, painted plastic. And we’re not enjoying them. Can’t we at least feel good about getting back the money we spent on the toys? We know someone else is enjoying them and we have a little extra money in our pocket. Hopefully enough to put into the can for a flat screen TV.
Still, as I pulled the figures from their molded plastic display, I couldn’t help but feel sentimental about it all. We would spend every Saturday scouring the stores for the next big thing. We spent every weekend together, spending money we really didn’t have, but we did it together.
As I wrapped each figure in plastic Wal-Mart bags to prevent scratching, I didn’t feel more grown up. I felt as though I’d lost something. Since I really don’t care about these toys, it wasn’t the value of a righteously protected toy-in-the-box for ten years. I felt as though I’d lost a part of my youth, part of the fun Shawn and I used to have together just by simply spending too much money on worthless things.
Oh well. Live free, Jean Gray, Scott Summers. Fly on, Storm.
Aw, screw it. You know what? Good riddance! We’re gonna (hopefully) make enough money to get a flat screen! Yee-haw!!!
SHAMELESS PLUG....if you're looking for any toys our eBay seller ID is table-top-warrior
Feel free to add to our Flat Screen TV Fund
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Handmade Flashlight Mod 510, 801, 901
This is merely a shameless promotion on my own behalf. A while back, I wrote about what a time I had quitting smoking. I dropped my gadget, broke it, started smoking again. This prompted Shawn to build his own gadget and we have since BOTH quit smoking. I have a posting in the Classifieds section of Vape Zone listed here: http://vapezone.com/showthread.php/sale-handmade-flaslight-798.html
Or, you can read all about it below:
For sale:
Handmade Flashlight Mod with a 901, 801, or 510 connector
$35.00 shipped anywhere in the USA
4.5 Volts…..3 standard AAA batteries (700 mAh rechargeables are cheap at mass retailers)
OR
6 volts……2 Unprotected CR2 Batteries (please do your homework on using unprotected batteries as I will not be held responsible for injury or damage. Protected CR2s are a tad too long for the device)
Weight with AAA batteries 2 ounces
Weight with CR2 batteries 2.4 ounces
Total length with an atomizer & cartridge 5 ¾ inches
Diameter 1 inch
LED light lets you know everything is working properly
Connector is sealed for dripping
Solder used is lead-free and safe for vaping
Removable carry strap
Press flashlight power-on button located at base of body to power on the batteries. Press top side button to power the atomizer and vape away! When done, press the bottom button once more to turn off the batteries and avoid unnecessary drainage of batteries.
Please PM me with:
Your email address
Choice of color (blue, black, red, silver, camo)
Choice of LED light color (white, blue, green, red, uv black light…pink coming soon)
Atomizer connector (510, 801, or 901)
I will send a Payment Request via Amazon Payments to your email address and payment may be made using any credit or bank card, or your Amazon account.
When the mod is shipped, I’ll send package tracking number to your email address.
Orders will be built to order on a first come, first served basis, according to what we have in stock. Please allow about 2 weeks for shipment.
Sorry, atomizers & cartridges not included. For sale is the Flashlight Mod only.
Anti-Depressants are Depressing
I did see a doctor. The problem with anti-depressants is that no one doctor can possibly know everything about every little pill. And no one doctor can possibly know which pill is right for you. So for me, it’s a complete waste of time and money. My insurance doesn’t cover head doctors so I saw an MD. She was very sweet and said what I described sounded boarder line bi-polar so she gave me five weeks’ worth of samples for a med that contains an anti-depressant and a mood stabilizer.
Once I got home, I looked up the drug on the internet and decided after this one try, it was time to give up. Well, either that or I’ll have do my own research and take my findings to a doctor and say, “Hey, give me this.”
This drug I was given had three huge red flags. It doesn’t come in a generic and with my insurance, I’d never be able to afford it. Ninety-five percent of the reviewers said they gained an average of ten pounds EACH month they were on the drug. You don’t give a former fatty a drug that causes weight gain. She will never take it, and that’s the truth.
The last red flag was that the drug caused major fluctuations in blood sugar, in that, it could actually cause diabetes! While on the drug, you must carefully monitor your blood sugar very carefully.
No thank you. For now, I’m OK. I’ve been keeping myself very busy with my obsessive cleaning and that so far, is my life. Or rather, lack of. What will eventually happen is that I’ll get down, and stay there. I’ll decide it’s time I need to try another anti-depressant and be so depressed I won’t even look into it.
It’s so depressing.
Once I got home, I looked up the drug on the internet and decided after this one try, it was time to give up. Well, either that or I’ll have do my own research and take my findings to a doctor and say, “Hey, give me this.”
This drug I was given had three huge red flags. It doesn’t come in a generic and with my insurance, I’d never be able to afford it. Ninety-five percent of the reviewers said they gained an average of ten pounds EACH month they were on the drug. You don’t give a former fatty a drug that causes weight gain. She will never take it, and that’s the truth.
The last red flag was that the drug caused major fluctuations in blood sugar, in that, it could actually cause diabetes! While on the drug, you must carefully monitor your blood sugar very carefully.
No thank you. For now, I’m OK. I’ve been keeping myself very busy with my obsessive cleaning and that so far, is my life. Or rather, lack of. What will eventually happen is that I’ll get down, and stay there. I’ll decide it’s time I need to try another anti-depressant and be so depressed I won’t even look into it.
It’s so depressing.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Lucy Hates Carpet
My sense of smell is out of control and to tell you that story, I must first tell you this story. We have two small Chihuahuas living with us and it’s normally a pleasure but as with any roommates, it can also be a hassle.
Lucy appeared on my front lawn as I pulled up to the curb after a long day at work. She was barely three pounds heavy, covered with fleas, literally half bald, and full-on starving. The first two weeks were a little rough as I kept her in the laundry room, separated from our ten pounds of sweetness, aptly named, Prissy. It was apparent that Lucy had been abused. Someone had once been very cruel to her and it took a full two weeks for her to warm up to me.
After getting her checked out by the vet, getting shots and having years of plaque scraped from her teeth, I set Lucy free into the house where she immediately set herself up as The Dominate One. She quickly began her ascent into a healthy, still half-bald, leader of the pack. She also marked each room. Repeatedly.
I’ve always gone easy on Lucy, I guess because of her unknown past. She absolutely loathes strangers, no matter how many times they come over. For example, Shawn’s brother used to visit us once a week and no matter how many times Lucy saw him, she would attempt a Rottweiler attack each and every visit. She startles quite easily and snarls at the other pets if they simply get too close to her.
So, Lucy has issues, to say the least. Soon after we got her I told my dad I almost sorry we’d kept her. He told me that God had placed that dog specifically in my front lawn at the precise moment that I would pull up in my car because I was meant to have her.
Tell that to my rug.
Normally, Lucy will go to the back door, or if it’s very cold, use the pee pad I’ve laid out for her in the laundry room. And yet, even to this day, after all this time--years even--she still pees on the living room rug. She only does this if I am not around so I can’t possibly catch her. How am I to punish her when I cannot catch her?
It wasn’t really until I quit smoking that I realized how bad it had gotten. The carpeting in our living room is a hodge-podge of stains, color loss, and God-Knows-Where-That-Came-From sort of markings so it’s difficult to tell when a new stain is born. My sense of smell has of lately been heightened to a level that could be toned down in my opinion and as such, the entire living room smells like dog urine.
It has gotten to be so bad that I cannot be in that room for more than a few minuets. My parents came over a couple weeks ago and I so paranoid of the smell, I saturated every fiber with a mixture of fabric softener and water from a spray bottle. No one mentioned noticing the pee smell. I made sure of that because I asked Mom about it later.
I’m supposed to get Mom’s carpet shampooer sometime this week but the moment cannot come fast enough for me. I usually borrow the shampooer from her every three months or so and have even considered buying one myself if I could come up with the cash. Once I obtain Mom’s magical carpet washer, I can fill it with all sorts of inane chemicals and scented cover-ups. Until then, I’ll just have to hold my breath.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Mind-Numbing, Life-Sucking, Boring
My job isn't exactly thrilling. I sort the clothes, I put them into the machine. I take out the clothes, I put them into the dryer. I put a chemical onto the stain, flush it out. I put another chemical onto the stubborn stain, I flush it out.
If I have a chance to get away from the spotting board, I’ll help the pressers. Press the collar, press the sleeves, press the body. Do it another two-hundred times. In a row.
I am a Dry Cleaner. It’s mind-numbing, painfully boring, and soul-suckingly monotonous. Every day, week after week, year after year. Occasionally my routine will be interrupted by a chat with a customer, a leaking washing machine, or a press that has locked down onto a pair of jean and I’m required to wiggle a bunch of greasy machinery parts until the boss comes downstairs.
We try to joke with one another, keep the mood up. Sure, there are moments when we laugh and kid with each other, but it is otherwise never-changing. This is life? Is this how it is supposed to be?
I run the same errands and come home to do the same chores. The only thing different is which closet item I will be taking pictures of so I can list it on eBay where it will sit, without offers, without interest. A complete waste of time.
And the next day, the only excitement will be whether or not I find a crack pipe in someone’s jacket. Of course I never find anything that would help me out. Candies, lip sticks, and globs of fluorescent green bubble gum in one’s pants pocket are all included in my findings. All the little things that make the day even more miserable than a streak in the rear seam of a Dry Clean Only pair of wool slacks.
Anything useful is already picked out by the folks at the front counter and they spend it on lottery tickets. At least they are helping out Texas schools. That’s what the back of the ticket says anyway. What I get left with are used Kleenex and old ticket stubs.
I’ve decided to try anti-depressants again. I gave up on it long ago after an allergic reaction to Wellbutrin. The co-pays and the try this, try that was enough to eat me alive in the checkbook and sanity department. I’m not sure if this is what God wants me to do. I’ve got to do something. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s not living at all.
I cannot allow myself to go back to self-destruct mode. My emotions are to the extreme and this is way more extreme than some lemon-lime soda commercial. When I’m sad, I wish I was dead. When I’m angry, I wish someone else was dead. When I’m happy, nothing can possibly go wrong. And then there’s the Robot Mood. I have no emotion, I just go with it and just do it. I also have moments when I think, “You can’t do like I do! No one does what I do!” Then I stop. Wait--I’m not better than anyone! Why am I thinking like that?
There is really no reason for me to be depressed. I have a home, I never go hungry, I have a job and a loving husband and family. Though I often feel very lonely and bored--as though there is no reason for me to be on this earth except to do the same mundane tasks day after day. That thought alone is very depressing. This is a problem that has been going on since I was very young. My emotions have always run very high and seem to have been swinging wildly on some invisible Mood-Swing-Pendulum since elementary school.
When I was fourteen or fifteen, a bout with some pills and a trip to the emergency room alerted my parents of the problem. Self-inflicted cuts and bruises covered my arms and legs--an act of frustration, somewhere to put the emotions in a tangible form.
I’ve made an appointment with a general doctor for next week. Head doctors are too expensive and are not covered by my insurance. It’s a first step, I suppose. I only pray God tells this doctor which pill to give me and that’s hits home with the first try and is safe and doesn’t cause me to break out into hives. The let’s try this pill, let’s try that pill approach is simply too stressful and never helps the situation.
I was excited to be placed on Wellbutrin. I had read it was one of the more safer, widely used anti-depressants. Not everyone breaks out into a massive rash all over their body the way I did. Side effects can be a cruel mistress!
If I have a chance to get away from the spotting board, I’ll help the pressers. Press the collar, press the sleeves, press the body. Do it another two-hundred times. In a row.
I am a Dry Cleaner. It’s mind-numbing, painfully boring, and soul-suckingly monotonous. Every day, week after week, year after year. Occasionally my routine will be interrupted by a chat with a customer, a leaking washing machine, or a press that has locked down onto a pair of jean and I’m required to wiggle a bunch of greasy machinery parts until the boss comes downstairs.
We try to joke with one another, keep the mood up. Sure, there are moments when we laugh and kid with each other, but it is otherwise never-changing. This is life? Is this how it is supposed to be?
I run the same errands and come home to do the same chores. The only thing different is which closet item I will be taking pictures of so I can list it on eBay where it will sit, without offers, without interest. A complete waste of time.
And the next day, the only excitement will be whether or not I find a crack pipe in someone’s jacket. Of course I never find anything that would help me out. Candies, lip sticks, and globs of fluorescent green bubble gum in one’s pants pocket are all included in my findings. All the little things that make the day even more miserable than a streak in the rear seam of a Dry Clean Only pair of wool slacks.
Anything useful is already picked out by the folks at the front counter and they spend it on lottery tickets. At least they are helping out Texas schools. That’s what the back of the ticket says anyway. What I get left with are used Kleenex and old ticket stubs.
I’ve decided to try anti-depressants again. I gave up on it long ago after an allergic reaction to Wellbutrin. The co-pays and the try this, try that was enough to eat me alive in the checkbook and sanity department. I’m not sure if this is what God wants me to do. I’ve got to do something. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s not living at all.
I cannot allow myself to go back to self-destruct mode. My emotions are to the extreme and this is way more extreme than some lemon-lime soda commercial. When I’m sad, I wish I was dead. When I’m angry, I wish someone else was dead. When I’m happy, nothing can possibly go wrong. And then there’s the Robot Mood. I have no emotion, I just go with it and just do it. I also have moments when I think, “You can’t do like I do! No one does what I do!” Then I stop. Wait--I’m not better than anyone! Why am I thinking like that?
There is really no reason for me to be depressed. I have a home, I never go hungry, I have a job and a loving husband and family. Though I often feel very lonely and bored--as though there is no reason for me to be on this earth except to do the same mundane tasks day after day. That thought alone is very depressing. This is a problem that has been going on since I was very young. My emotions have always run very high and seem to have been swinging wildly on some invisible Mood-Swing-Pendulum since elementary school.
When I was fourteen or fifteen, a bout with some pills and a trip to the emergency room alerted my parents of the problem. Self-inflicted cuts and bruises covered my arms and legs--an act of frustration, somewhere to put the emotions in a tangible form.
I’ve made an appointment with a general doctor for next week. Head doctors are too expensive and are not covered by my insurance. It’s a first step, I suppose. I only pray God tells this doctor which pill to give me and that’s hits home with the first try and is safe and doesn’t cause me to break out into hives. The let’s try this pill, let’s try that pill approach is simply too stressful and never helps the situation.
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