2004-12-17
Loooooooon-ey
Being clinical is kind of awesome.
Check it out: I am not stable. I know this. I function better with the meds and I know that, too. Sidenote: Parents, DO NOT medicate your children with anti-depressants when they are still developing. Hey, nobody knew back then but they do now so, dig it - do you want your kids to be cripples? I don't think so.
But it's too late for me and the roller coaster of depression and euphoria is quite a ride. While it's exhausting, it does ensure that things will not be dull. I am becoming a little unpredictable as well. Things that I would normally expect to be shattered about are rolling off like they should have rolled off for my entire adolecsent and adult life while at the same time, I can reach such a state of panic over leaving my debit card in the ATM that I won't fall asleep until 3:33 am.
You would expect that after all that, I would be really, super bummed about dude not calling me AT ALL this week. The truth is that I'm not all that freaked. Another several months of freezing in my poorly-heated apartment, alone save for the cats and a bag a Cheetos is fine by me. I'm crazy so that can be totally cool for me to be down with fuzzy-wuzzy-wittle-paws and the cheese shit that sticks to your fingers after you eat Cheetos for like 20 minutes or so. Mental incapacitation clearly has its benefits. While another more stable young lady might rue her plight and seek to change it, I'm fucking nuts and I only rue the fact that Cheetos are not packaged in a bottemless bag of joy.
Otherwise, pull up the blanket, find the remote, and pull my hair back because I don't need anything more.
On the flip side, in the past 24 hours, I have flipped over leaving my debit card in the ATM. I could not wrap my head around the fact that I would have to go to the bank, get cash, ration it, manage to not get robbed, and try not to lose any of it in the car or in my gym bag. I had a shaking fit when I spilled the tiniest spill of coffee on my desk at work and realized that I didn't have anything to wipe it up with. I mean, this spill was so small that I could have smudged it away with one finger but for some reason, it sent me into a literal shaking panic of how I'd be able to clean it up and finish the email I was composing.
Well, fuck it, I say.
Fuck it.
I give in to you, Feeble Minded stereotype.
I choose Not Right.
I select Insane in the Membrane.
I am almost 31 years old and I can be as much of a cussing mother-fucking nut job as I want to be.
Sanity, I flip you off.
Cheetos, I salute you.
Friends, I warn you. This is only going to get worse before it gets better, yo.
arizonasarah at 10:37 a.m.