11.30.2006
Simmering Cauldron of Resentment
Yeah. Not pregnant. But I have a hard, hot, blackbluered bruise the size of a hen's egg on my forearm to show for everything. I know I'm not getting that much blood drawn. I know that if we were doing ivf I'd be getting poked far more often. But my veins have just about had it. They are in full rebellion and the phlebotomists are having to get creative, and creative leaves angry marks.
So last night me and my bruise received the results of the beta and found out just how twisted and sneaky a thing hope can be, and then we overate at dinner and spent the next 2 hours finding new ways to call myself fat. Good times. Good times.
Guess what? Despite all my medications and supplements and despite the fact that I fired my therapist (which really should make me feel better since I never really liked her anyway, but since I fired her without telling her that I was was firing her, kind of backfired if you know what I mean), and despite the fact that I have a really fucking cute kid and a wonderful partner, and despite the fact that I finally finished the Series of Unfortunate Events and nothing in my life has ever been as unfortunate and tragic as what happened to those poor Baudelaire orphans... I'm depressed.
Somewhere I read or heard or was told or, heck, maybe I made this up, anyway, it doesn't matter. Somehow I came across the thought that depression is anger turned inward. And it's been well documented to myself that I have a huge problem with anger. I don't know how to express it. Piss me off and you'll never know it. I'll probably be even sweeter to you. You know, in a sort of saccarine way that I hope will slowly corrode your soul and give you cancer of the psyche without you knowing what's really going on, but which actually just does that to me as the source of the carcinogenic cordiality and leaves the intended victim untouched.
So, in an effort to let some of that anger out, I present to you:
A Sure Way To Make Me Unbelievably Pissed At You Five Days Later When I Finally Get Around To Really Thinking About What You Said:
Compare my needing expensive medications to keep me sane, functional, and yes, ALIVE to your one-to-two packs a day addiction to cigarettes. Because OF COURSE they are EXACTLY the same FUCKING thing.
This is not to say that I hate smokers. I don't. I don't hate smokers. Smoke all you want, I'll even keep you company while you do it. But do not, DO NOT compare your decision to buy cigarettes instead of tampons one month because you were too poor to afford both to my agonizing dilemma two summers ago of how to pay my utilities AND pay nearly $200 a month for my antidepressants. If you do that I will be forced to smile at you sweetly and murmer some nonsense about how I understand your conundrum while little pieces of me turn black and die inside.
I may not be able to control what's happening or not happening in my reproductive system; I may not be able to control my daughter's teething; I may not be able to control that fucking clerk in Nevada who won't fucking fax the fucking documents I was asked to track down for a fucking deposition this morning; I may not be able to do anything about the fact that I accidentally uninstalled the driver for my computer's sound card and so now all the music and video that comes out of my computer sounds as if it were uttered by Alvin, Simon, and/or Theodore; but I can damn well make certain that you never get to eat my cheese fondue again.
Phew. I feel better now. Sorry to have subjected you all to that. It may have seem a bit extreme to severe a friendship because of one misguided anecdote, but that was just the proverbial straw. I'm better off without her in my life.
Now. What about you? Anything you need to kick to the curb? Feel free to vent on your own blogs or in my comments. Let's make this last day of November as full of vile sentiment and darkest anger as we can before we kick November itself to the curb. Because November sucks baboon balls.
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To quote Tom Waits:
No prayers for November
to linger longer
stick your spoon in the wall
we'll slaughter them all
November has tied me
to an old dead tree
get word to April
to rescue me
November's cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
and shiny black ravens
on chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
you're my firing squad
November
Go away, you rain snout
Go away, blow your brains out
November
In a pinch, couldn't your friend (former friend, that is) have just crammed a couple of Camels up the hoo-hah to absorb her monthly flow?
I do it all the time (except I smoke Marlboro Menthol Ultra Lights, which makes for a rather nice tingle, I might add), and then, see, I set the menses-soaked cancer sticks on the window ledge to dry, and on a sunny day, I'm able to smoke them in a matter of hours, thereby saving money and wasting nothing (except my sad little life).
I use the savings in tampons to pay for Night Train, (which also doubles as a douche, by the way), and this must be the other drug your friend (former friend) and I have in common -- Night Train -- because it sounds to me like she bought a one way ticket from sober to stupid five days ago, and then forgot to think before she opened her yap. Night Train makes me do that all the time, which is one reason I'm writing this comment. The other is that I'm feeling kind of PMSie and am consequently fixated on the hoo-hah, menses and absorbant items which I have yet to purchase for the occasion.
I don't want to put ciggies up there.
I'm headin' out to Rite Aid. You need anything?
I'll drink to November's suckiness. Bottom's up! Glad you got a little bit of anger out - it's healthy. And leaves room for more anger! Or rage! I'm full of rage & frustration & am eagerly looking for someone to unleash it on. My boss almost got a dose of it this morning, but I broke down in tears instead. Not nearly as impressive as ranting & raving.
Where was I? Oh yes, drinking to November & the fact that it sucks monkey butt. Yum!
Did you say cheese fondue? Do I have to really journey to Utah to get it?
Yes, November sucks butt. Big butts. Big buttfaced butts.
And again, I"m sorry people are frickin idiots.
Fuck November.
OMG the veins, the veins. I have never been scared of needles in my life, but when it reached a point that every single cycle for every single test they were blowing veins and requiring three attempts to get one HCG sample I was starting to feel sick and shaky when I saw the needle. All I can reccomend is, if your veins are thin and thready and like to hide, make sure you drink a huge amount of water before you go for the test, take a quick jog around the block to boost your peripheral circulation and wear a nice warm shirt to keep those veins fat before they hit them.
PS - I wrote a whingy blog entry as per instructions. But it's now December here already. Damn it.
My vent....
Vince just failed his fucking stats test. The fucking ROTC program has him so stressed out he can't think and blanked everything.
Tomorrow we have to go play nice and be social with the ROTC assholes making my husbands life hell.
Oh, and they are likely putting him on probation next semester meaning our already tight income will go down and I don't know what to do.
The shots that Sydney needs to possibly save her lungs... my copay is $146.23 plus a $20 copay to the flea. This is monthly. So we have no Christmas money because the tiny amount I mannaged to save now needs to go to her shots.
I just love this damn month.