Hide The Mess

strange days

This is one of those weirdo days where I would like to start over. I hate my hair. I feel fat in my clothes. And my period is almost over so I can't even blame my crazy lady hormones. I don't know why I feel all funky. I just do. I would like to take a shower and begin again. I would also like to tell the wanna be hair dresser in my head to stop it with the trimming of the bangs because she is just making it worse! Gah. So stupid. Why must I butcher my hair like that? Why can't I just leave well enough alone. Good thing about bangs though, they grow fast, so next week, I'm sure it will look fine, but right now all I have is hate directed towards my stupid bangs. I know, none of this is exciting, but that's what is rolling around in my head right now.

In other news: I went to water the plants outside and there's a birds nest in our watering can. I kinda love that, and I don't want to disturb the nest, so I guess I'm going to buy another watering can. In more plant related news, the two plants I wanted to water seem to be having a hard time with the whole staying alive thing, and we couldn't figure out what was happening, why they weren't thriving. Well, I know now: Squirrels. Little bastards. They are the reason I can't have a bird feeder in our backyard. Well, the raccoons are also part of that reason, but the squirrels are by far the most destructive. So irritating. I love having a bird feeder. I love watching the birds. I'm sure there are remedies for this, and in truth, I don't want to harm the little fuckers, I just want them to eat the five bajillion acorns on the ground instead of the birdseed in the feeder. Seriously. Nuts are everywhere, stop hijacking my bird feeder!

It is almost 1pm and my son has been napping since 10:45am. I LOVE THAT. I hope he sleeps a little longer, so we can have a fun filled afternoon that wears his little fanny out before he goes to bed tonight. I still obsess about his sleeping. We're having trouble getting into a groove, although I'm hoping now that he's well and can sleep better thanks to his VERY EXPENSIVE allergy medication, his sleep starts to sort itself out. Yesterday he was up before 5am (I know! WTF?) and this morning he slept until after 6am. It's so hard to plan a day when I never know what time he's going to get up or how many naps he'll take. I swear to God, he's going to be in college and I'll probably nag him about sleeping. And I swear to God one more time, because I will talk about my kids sleeping issues and habits to anyone who will listen and then fall asleep myself because I'm bored with my own repetitive conversations about it.

Cough & Cold

I have this awesome hacking cough. The kind where you wake yourself up in the middle of the night because you're coughing so hard and it feels like you might actually cough up a literal lung. But you don't. You just pee on yourself a little because you're one hundred years old. Sigh. I am so over this whole cough/cold/allergy thing. I get to spend the day attending a Microsoft Project training class in what I assume is the room where my company freezes meat during off hours. I swear that room is so effing cold - like I'm a wuss when it comes to that shit so I realize that maybe when I'm cold everyone else is all "what, it's nice in here" but this particular room? It's a deep freeze. When the menopausal women in the office go in there to cool off from their hot flashes, you know that's cold. I'm just saying.

menstroo-ation

Twenty two days. That is how long it's been between periods. What.The.Hell.  I'm a regular kind of girl, I'm used to being able to predict these things with a little accuracy. But for real yo – that's early and wrong to the millionth power. Squared. On top of an early period, my head is so full of snot that when I turn my head real quick I swear I can actually hear the snot sloshing around in there. Ew. I just grossed myself out.

crybaby

I cried at my desk.
I cried in the bathroom.
I cried at Walgreens.
I cried in my car.

This was my day.

And now my eyes hurt and I feel like I've been run over. It doesn't matter why I was crying, disappointment is a bitch sometimes and that's really all there is to it. 

I think it's time to down a bottle of Midol.

Funky Winkerbean

In a funk. Funkafide. Funkalicious. The last three days I've felt like I'm walking through peanut butter - heh it's always about the peanut butter – uh anyway – I've been in a funk. Not a garden variety, having my "ladies days" kind of funk where I'm a bitch and then I'm crying and then I am on top of the world. Not like that. This is more like a lay-on-the-couch-at-various-and-random-times-during-the-day-and-take-naps kind of thing. Sometimes the nap turns into regular sleeping through the night. Like for real y'all – I am so fucking tired all of the time and I've slept A LOT the last few days. I can't decide if it's normal since I have been working my ASS off or if maybe there's some freight train of depression bearing down on me and sleeping helps me avoid the fuck out of that.
Or maybe it really is just PMS and I need to go chew on some Midol and get over my melodramatic self.

Wine Induced

I'm just going to ramble, because that is what I do. Babble on about things that are roaming around inside my head - especially after two glasses of merlot ON A SCHOOL NIGHT. Shit. What the hell was I thinking? Well, I guess I was thinking that I was out with a vendor from work at a fancy schmancy steak house with My Boss and her boss (The Not Scary Boss Lady) and The Pretty Blonde Supervisor and that it would be ok to have a glass of wine but then there was another glass and damn their glasses are GIGANTIC. I mean seriously - they are way big. And well, I'd only eaten two apples all day so that first glass of wine made me feel all warm and fuzzy. And then I ate a bunch of bread because I love bread so much - second only to sugar - and then there was steak, and I'll be honest, since the whole head injury thing two years ago and the not being able to smell -  well, I can smell but not like a normal person and I sometimes get tired of explaining that so I just say I can't smell at all which isn't really true, I can smell things but it's all fucked up ... anyway since then I've tried to eat steak, more than once, and it never tastes right. The first time I was so disappointed that it tasted like someone had just soaked the steak in some nasty ass chemicals and I thought I was doomed to never eat steak again but something in my brain keeps making me try it. Because I am a meat and potatoes girl at heart. And when I go to a nice steak house type restaurant I think to myself  "This steak will be good because it's expensive, right?"  Uh. No. Not so much really. And tonight was no different. Filet Fucking Mignon. How can that be bad? I'll tell you how it can be bad. Dip it in bug spray. I don't even know if bug spray is the right comparison but whatever, you get the drift, it tastes WRONG. And it's steak. I love steak. And now I don't and it makes me sad. Or that could be the red wine. But still. Filet Mignon - RUINED. Maybe I should just become a vegetarian.
I kinda want to throw up right now - I ate so much bread and the wine and ... ok, yes the left over chocolate chips from the Christmas baking that I keep meaning to just throw away already but I haven't and now I've eaten some of them and I feel like a crack whore except crack whores are skinny and I AM NOT and yes, I know that's all inside my head so I don't want to hear the  "You're not fat" bullshit because you know what? Doesn't matter. I feel fat. Inside my own skin. Bleh. It'll pass; I'll go to the gym blah blah blah ... but right now? FAT. ORCA fat. I can feel my skin stretching and the fat growing right now. Uh yeah -  the second glass of wine seems to have kicked in and self pity is on the menu. Awesome.

Self Pity Is An Ugly Color

I swear, sometimes I am just psychic. Makes me wish I'd written down something that I just knew – on the inside. You know - that feeling you get about something but you can't really back it up with any real evidence? You just simply know. If I'd written it down I could point to it now, now that I know for sure and say "See? I knew this already." Not that knowing it internally and knowing it with solid evidence that you see with your own two eyeballs makes a difference. In my own twisted, fucked up reasoning,  it just validates the horrible bitch that wanders around inside my head saying "Of course you're not good enough, of course he's with someone else, of course, of course, of course, of course."

The person I want to be is happy for him. Really.
The person I am just feels sorry for herself.

And not because I wish it were me he was "in a relationship" with – because I don't – for real I don't – but ... hell ... I don't even know why I feel sorry for myself. Maybe it's just out of habit. And ew – I hate that I just wrote that down. That I'm just feeling sorry for myself because it's what I do. More often than I care to admit, more often than anyone really knows.

Self pity. It is not a pretty color on me.

sadness can be so very seductive

Every time I pick up The Dive From Clausen's Pier by Ann Packer and start reading a feeling of melancholy moves in and takes up residence inside of me. While I read I'm aware of  the seductive pull of sadness humming in the background, but I try to ignore it. And yes, sadness can be so very seductive. At least to me.
I really don't know why this particular book is causing an almost black hole like depression inside me - it isn't Map of The World sad - it's different and I was going to say 'subtler' but it's not really even that subtle.
Maybe it's just my mood lately.  Even seeing the movie Stranger Than Fiction did this to me, and that's a Will Ferrell movie for Christ sake  - but I found the heartbreak in that movie. Picked it up, held it in my hands for a while. I just didn't realize it would stick and that I'd have such a hard time trying to shake it off.  As if  I'm whipping my hand back and forth like I've got industrial strength packing tape stuck to my fingers, annoyed and trying to get that sticky depression and sadness off of me.
There's nothing wrong really, although I'm sure I could pay a visit to Make Shit Up (shout out to my friend Carin Dawn for coming up with that!) and find some shit to be depressed and sad and woe-is-me about, but I don't even have it in me to lie to myself that way. There's nothing fundamentally wrong, there isn't anything to focus on or blame for this weird emotional pit I'm in. I'm simply here. 

I Am All Of These Things At Once

Defeated
Lonely
Overwhelmed
Isolated
Misunderstood
Forgettable
Unreasonable
Confused
Resigned
Afraid
Melancholy
Disappointed

Let Me Hear Your Body Talk

I feel like I've been crying all day. But I have not shed one tear. My eyes have that scratchy, grainy feeling that is usually the result of many hours spent lying on the couch with a box of tissue and two or three or ten Very Sad Movies. The kind of movies you watch for the sole purpose of turning the faucet inside your eyes on full blast and crying your fool head off during the cemetery scene where Sally Field rips your damn heart out Every. Single. Time. I have no idea why my body is telling me I've been crying when I haven't. It's weird.

I am also sore from Yoga class yesterday. Every time I stand up I'm reminded, by the PAIN IN MY ASS,  of the warrior poses that we held for so long that my legs did  that uncontrollable shaking thing. Whenever I stand up it's like my ass is screaming  "Heyyyyyyy stop it ... sit the fuck DOWN."   Yes. My ass is talking to me. I'm sure that doesn't make me insane or anything.