I feel myself descending into … I’m not going to say depression because that’s too dramatic … ennui? The blues? Free floating anxiety?
Loony has been gone for six days; who knew I needed him so much? I asked Itchy if he misses daddy and he said yes.
I’m not above trying to win the popularity game against my own husband so I asked him, “What exactly is it about daddy do you miss?”
“I just feel more comfortable when he’s here.”
I feel the same way.
He leaves Michigan tomorrow morning and starts the drive home in his mom’s car. It’s about 10 years old but it only has 50K on it which makes it a whole lot newer than any car we have.
“It smells like mouse pee. I hope it makes the drive.”
What? You didn’t have it serviced?
“I haven’t had time!”
You’ve been there a week! You could have dropped it off at the shop, your sister and/or your brother could have given you a ride back to the house and the mechanic would have had a whole week to look at it.
“I guess I could have done that.”
You could have had it detailed, too. For the mouse pee smell. Just sayin’.
Just because I miss him doesn’t mean I’ll pass up an opportunity to feel superior. Have me admitted for 24 hours of psychiatric observation if I ever do that.
But my mental state is taking a dive. I feel myself going to a dark place where I feel anxious and disconnected, crushed by the weight of negative self-talk.
I realize that it is not based in reality but it still sucks. Did you know that there are entire Pinterest boards devoted to negative self-talk? It’s pretty amazing.
I’m not an affirmation kinda gal, but sometimes they help. I have a prescription for anti-anxiety meds but I rarely ever take them, mostly because I am afraid of developing a dependence.
My negative thoughts can be persistent and repetitive, very little gives me relief.
I get stuck in ridiculous loops. For instance, I have a friend who joked that she cannot be friends with anyone who 1) starts a sentence with “I heard this interesting podcast …” 2) Listens to KBCO, and 3) uses the comic sans serif font.
I DO ALL THESE THINGS!
I start 75% of my conversations with “I just heard this really interesting podcast,” I listen to KBCO when I’m in my car and public radio is in the midst of a pledge drive, and I actually like comic sans serif.
Like, really. It’s so casual and non-threatening.
Ergo, this must be why she’s cancelled or begged off on my last four invitations to get together. It’s also why she never invites me on her camping trips even though I invite her to everything.
I should just stop trying.
I took a walk down to the mall and stopped into Bliss, only the best gift shop in the universe.
Bliss sells my favorite brand of stuffed animals, Jellycats. I have a hard time restraining myself around them.
When Itchy was a baby I used to take him into the store on our walks. Once I (gently) tossed him into the giant pile of Jellycats so he could revel in the fuzziness. Oh the look on his face.
I wish I could do that, it would totally help. Instead I bought this sign …
… not for anyone else, but for me.
My inner voice sucks. It’s telling me that no one likes me, I’m a horrible, thoroughly unlikable person that no one wants to be around. It tells me that I am a negative, unhappy, unsupportive person that just brings everyone down. It’s why everyone else is all best friends and posts pictures of the fun shit they do together while on vacations that I’m not invited to. I should give up on friendships. They are doomed.
I like being alone. Being alone is great as long as I can listen to podcasts.
It’s just my anxiety talking but it’s pretty damn loud right now. Hence I engaged in some therapeutic shopping.
I don’t do it often and I’m going to confess to all my sins in order to feel better about impulse buying.
I blame the cold weather and endless shoveling for my diminished mental state. That, and with the kids being home, I can’t sneak off at 6am to take a yoga class. I’m pretty much shut in.
Not only do I miss out on the oh-so-soothing voice of my extremely young and hot yoga instructor, Bates doesn’t leave me alone when I do yoga at home … unlike in every other situation where he won’t have anything to do with me. And not that I mind.
Just incase you are thinking I’m cut from too delicate a cloth, here’s what my sidewalk looks like. It’s fucking endless. The overcast weather doesn’t help either.
It takes 45 minutes to shovel the walks, the stairs and the decks. Yay podcasts.
Wait, no! Podcasts are for posers!
But I like them. But admitting it makes me sound like a poser. Am I a poser? Oh shit.
At least the weather is much nicer now. Yay Colorado! Yay mood swings!
Sitting around and wallowing in my misery is bad for me so I’ve taken on the Sisyphussian task of sorting Legos to sell. It sucks but hey, I get to listen to podcasts!
God, I’m insufferable. ENOUGH WITH THE PODCASTS!
Stage 1: Separate the Bionicles from the Legos, because this house isn’t big enough to have more than one type of modular toy. Scratch that. NO HOUSE IS BIG ENOUGH FOR MORE THAN ONE TYPE OF MODULAR TOY!
Stage 2: Remove all the minifigs because those bad boys sell for up to $3 a piece. I wonder if anyone would buy a baggie of those tiny hands?
Stage 3: Separate the useful (i.e. square and rectangular blocks) from all the proprietary shit, which equals about 1/20th of the bulk because Legos aren’t for creative free play, they are for prescribed, paint-by-numbers, conformist, final product oriented money wasting.
Stage 4: Sell all the stupid pieces eBay by the pound after I wash everything. Don’t ask me how I’m supposed to wash Legos.
Stage 5: Slay.
Itchy helped me out today, which was really nice. He’s in a very amenable and friendly stage. If only it could be like this forever. Dare I dream that he might skip that whole sullen teen thing?
He even made this adorable snack for us …
Here’s Itchy showing me some of his moves from parkour …
Anyhoo, Loony will be home by Monday I hope. But then he’s going away again for ten days.
I informed him that if he’s going to be gone for so long, I’m going to start dating again. He really gives me no choice.
He gave me the okay as provided my lovers have four legs.
Did he just give me permission to get another cat? Hello Craigslist!
Look what I just found on Craigslist! Surely he won’t object to eight legs. Look at those paws! And those grumpy faces!
Or I could two men. Two men have four legs. That works, too.
Oh, and I need to figure out a way to incorporate this into the exterior of my home.