insight into pathology

Mine, that is. I know it is very difficult for people who are normal to understand the brain workings of the crazee. Just think of this as an anthropological visit into a strange land. Listen and learn, I mean to say.

I have been procrastinating on a variety of things that make me very anxious. On the surface, this makes absolutely no sense, because the end result is more anxiety. Anxiety about the matter itself, and anxiety about the procrastination. Plus all the lovely self-shaming about how I should just get my shit together like a functional adult.

Well, one of these things was along the lines of "if y happens and I haven't taken care of x, the disaster of y will be magnified tenfold, but y hasn't happened and probably won't so, lalalala, ignore x as long as possible, because taking care of x will probably turn out to be some protracted ordeal where everything will go wrong and just the thought of how stressful that would be is giving me a panic attack now." Except when anxiety about y raised its ugly head to be worse than anxiety about doing x, I sat down, wrote the correspondence that needed to be done, and mailed it out a week or ten days ago. Relief and terror accompanied taking that letter to the post office. And in today's mail, there was a reply. All fixed. On the first try. No "provide us with more information", no "you must come to the office and sign this, this, and this", no "I'm sorry, but this nullifies the whole thing and we need to start from scratch", no mistakes, no extra charges, no agita. Just proof that everything was now as it should be, and if y happens, I don't have to worry.

I realize that all those other things that I am procrastinating on probably can be handled just as easily, even though I've had huge aggravations about D's MassHealth, the electrical work on my house, my parade of disappearing landscapers, the ongoing inability of CVS pharmacy to do their job properly, etc etc. Even though it *seems* like it, not every single thing always goes wrong. And the procrastination anxiety is probably worse than the "they will fuck this up" anxiety anyway. But that's just how my brain functions. Even on drugs.

I sent out another letter the same day as x. We'll see if any good comes from that one.

Are you wearing your underwear on your head today? If not, why not?

xoxo

panic in the disco

You can imagine my reaction to the hurricane news. My son, who is watching news center 5 or whatever at 6:30 am texts me that we need to get groceries before the storm. No, sorry, D, we are not going to buy a shitload of perishable food that will rot when we lose our power. We will get some drinks and some fruit and some bread and some peanut butter and cereal and perhaps that milk-in-a-bag and snack food items and more whey. Stuff that does not need to be kept cold nor cooked.

If I didn't already have a tree fall into my driveway this year and if I hadn't already had to shopvac a puddle out of my basement from one of last week's flash floods, I'd be a little more sanguine. Of course, I continue to hope and pray that the storm track changes. It is slated to hit us on Gandhi's birthday, so, y'know, the forcefield of good fortune might be enough to push it way out to sea. Or at least make it lose energy.

So how are your storm preparations coming along? I figure I have to put my plants in the house, along with my bistro set, my Buddha shrine, and all my solar lights. Sandbag my sliders out from the basement to the patio. Pray we do not lose electricity because then I lose the sump pump. Take ativan and cry a lot. I don't know what else to do.

xoxo

untitled

Untitled simply because every title I can come up with is a version of "I hate people", "I want to scream", "this is giving me IBS", "I am still disgruntled", and so forth. I suppose it would be only fair to warn potential readers that there is bitching and whining to come, but whatever. How long does it take to hit that little x in the upper right corner? C'mon now.

1.) D had to reapply for MassHealth disability coverage. This involved filling out a multiple page form that asked many questions about your health problems and what you can and cannot do and then filling out releases for all your healthcare providers. After sending it back, we got a letter saying it was received and that we would not hear from them unless there was a problem or change. Friday night I come home to find a letter from them in our mailbox. Before I even opened it, I started to feel sick. They want him to go see a psychologist in friggin' Malden on August 2 for further evaluation of his disability. Why? Because the health center where he sees his psychiatric nurse *did not send them any medical records*. Are you fucking kidding me? Besides which, what the hell do they think he takes clozapine for? (Besides the other...lemme count...five other drugs he's taking.) They give you that for schizophrenia, not the fucking common cold. If that doesn't qualify you for MassHealth (besides the fact he has NO INCOME), Double You Tee Eff. Anyway, I have a call in to his NP and am hoping if she calls them and sends them his records, this "evaluation" will not have to take place. I haven't said anything to him about this yet, because it's bad enough one of us has to be sick to the stomach over this. I'll save him the anxiety hit until it's unavoidable.

2.) The crap in work that's stressing me out is continuing. I thought things were under control until tomorrow, when it would hopefully be fully resolved, but I came into work today to another headache. This all could have been avoided by some wonk over at Partners in Boston signing off on a PO to get a piece of equipment fixed that *I need to DO MY JOB* on the same day we requested it, but no. The wheels of bureaucracy not only grind slowly, they stop grinding altogether for reasons that are unclear to those of us who actually do real work for a living. Again, I should not have to beg and borrow to get things that are essential for me to actually perform my job duties. Double You Tee Eff.

3.) My left eyelid is flaking again and I look like I have leprosy. Or something. It's very attractive. I'm sure it's stress-related.

Somebody tell me some good news. Rainbows! Sunshine! Kitten orgasms! Throw me a bone, por favor.

xoxo

in today's mail...

I got a summons for federal jury duty. (And they do not care I just did state jury duty.) Three fucking weeks in May. Three. No electronic devices in the courthouse. I am overjoyed. As you can imagine.

This is NOT what is supposed to happen on Trent Reznor Wednesday, I'll tell you what.

Oh, and I've got complaints left over from yesterday, too. Is there some kind of grape tomato shortage going on? I ordered some with my peapod order and they were out of stock, which was strange. So yesterday after acupuncture I went to the Shaws near Marcy's office and they had none either. Did the crop suddenly fail or what? It is fucking with my ability to have my salads they way I want them. God. All was not completely lost however, since I then stopped in B&N on my way to the subway and bought two fantasy baseball magazines. (There were like 6 to choose from. No lie.) I'ma take my band of sad losers all the way to mediocre this year. You just watch!

xoxo

in case you were up all night worrying n' stuff

According to the kind people at Slate who put up a widget for those of us in Gawker Nation to check whether our email addresses were on the list the hackers released as being hacked, mine was not. So, between that and all my frantic password changing and credit card info deleting I did last night, I guess evil people on the interwebs aren't buying shit with my semi-hard earned money even as we speak.

In other news, we had our holiday departmental lunch today, which was somewhat of a comedown in the festivity league, considering a bunch of people didn't make it. So it was a very small and intimate gathering of my boss, our other surviving full time doc, Townie Girl, Girl With No Catchy Nickname, and me. I ate a boatload of Chinese food and two cookies and now, two hours after the fact, I am still so stuffed, I'm thinking I can't go to the gym after work or I will puke. The very expensive (sigh) cookies I made were a big hit***, proving that the recipe was indeed idiot-proof. And with a little more online shopping today, I am officially done with the Xmas gift-procuring, other than picking up a few scratch tickets and Evil Kitty's Cosmic Catnip. (We figure if she's gonna stroke out any day now, she should go out in a drug-induced haze, is all I'm saying.)

Oh! And I curled my hair again today and it did not come out as good as yesterday. I think it works better when your hair is a little dirty. Nevertheless, I have my hair in an updo (festive!) and I am wearing my ridiculous tunic/shirt/dress that looks like a wedding cake (festive!) so the lack of festivity in that luncheon cannot be attributed to me. Again, all I'm saying.

I hope you all are having yourselves a festive Monday full of good hair, cookies, and a lack of internet crime. If not, Tuesday's another day.

xoxo

***I have enough leftover graham crackers, chocolate and butterscotch chips, nuts, and coconut to make another pan of cookies, so you want some, you just speak up. Or else I'll just be throwing the stale baking supplies away three years from now in a cabinet-cleaning binge. You know how it goes.

my stupidity n paranoia intersect

I'm sure you all had better things to do this evening than pay attention to internet news, but there's been a huge Gawker hack. As in, the hackers have all the Gawker IDs, email addresses, and (encrypted) passwords of 1.5 million users. Of which I am one, which you may have figured out by all the reposts of shit from jezebel y'all get from me.

Of course, I provided jezebel with my real, main email, like an idiot. Of course I used the password that I use for 80% of all my internet business (the perimenopause is fucking with my memory, I can only handle very few passwords, yo). I am fucking stupid and overly trusting that my firewall and virus checker and that little lock symbol that appears in my browser when I'm buying something will save me from having all my money stolen from me.

I am all extremely paranoid and freaking out now. I already had an ativan today, so taking another one probably isn't a good idea, but. I immediately changed my jezebel password. I immediately changed my email password to something completely different. I then spent several hours changing my password on all the online shopping sites I use that I could remember using the original password on, as well as on my Sprint account. I deleted my stored credit card info from the shopping sites. I don't bank or pay my bills online, so that I don't have to worry about. I don't think.

Do you think there's some hacker somewhere buying expensive yoga pants from Athleta with my debit card even as we speak?!??? Like I don't have enough to worry about. Bastards.

xoxo

you will all be thrilled to know

My payment has been received, my "intent to cancel" notice has been officially rescinded, and financial calamity has been averted.

More later!

xoxo

i haven't written about anything serious lately

Other than Evil Kitty's health travails, that is. (Which is enough, I suppose.) But everything else I've been pretty silent about, preferring to post pics and videos and talk about the gym and other inconsequentials. Well, it's my blog, bitches, and I'll cry if I want to. Cry if I want to... cry if I want to...

I majorly fucked something up. I paid an important bill late, not because I didn't have the money to pay it, but because I forgot when it was due. And all last week and the week before I was like, lalala, I need to look at those bills and pay most of them. And I didn't. And by the time I did over the weekend, I was late. First I was just pissed at myself for incurring a late charge. Call that 25 bucks a stupidity tax. I've been doing so much better since I set up my little folder scheme in the Great Reorganization of 2009, but apparently I have been backsliding. More about which later. Then, today, in the mail I get the nasty "we're gonna cancel you" letter, "but if you pay up in the next 15 days, we won't." Hopefully my check and the nasty letter have just crossed in the mail and it's okay now and there won't be any awful consequences, but I am completely sick to my stomach over this. And really disgusted with myself and feeling shamed as well as worried.

Here's the thing. I've gotten a lot of props from a lot of people over "holding things together" and making it through the various shitty things that have happened in my life, both since 2003 and of late. I always find that slightly puzzling, if flattering and well-intentioned. It's not like I get a choice. I gotta get up every morning and live. As do you. As do we all. But what's even more puzzling to me is that I'm doing a pretty crappy job and people can't see it. The Benevolent L was telling me this weekend, for example, what a good "kitty mommy" I am for being able and willing to do all I've done during Evil Kitty's crisis. But I think that's the point. I deal with whatever is the immediate crisis until it isn't a crisis anymore, neglecting most everything else. I procrastinate on everything that doesn't have to be dealt with IMMEDIATELY, especially those things that make me anxious. So people see me doing a good job with the crisis, but they don't perceive everything else falling to shit around it. But I know and it makes me feel so ashamed and paralyzed.

I went to the doctor--when? last week?--and I had to do the depression questionnaire I know so well, 'cause I'm on the crazee meds. I answered "not at all" to all the questions and cheerfully told my doc I am feeling great. And at the time I meant it. But, y'know, the very fact that I did pay that bill late (a classic "I'm stressed out and don't want to deal with real life" move on my part) and the fact that making that mistake (a horrible one, but just a mistake) has sent me into such a shame and self-loathing spiral that I feel it necessary to blog about it, tells me that I probably am depressed and I've been stuffing it down or something. The endorphins from the gym and the crazee pills can only go so far.

I have a whole nother paragraph in me, but I think it's just gonna stay in me.

Thanks. This has been very therapeutic. Heh.

xoxo

do me a favor

...and take a look at this website and tell me if it sounds shady and/or culty to you. They recently opened a franchise very conveniently located to my home and work, and from what you can see through the windows, it looks quite nice. Plus, the $20 per session of private/semi-private personal training is extremely reasonable, because that shit's expensive.

On the other hand, I know I do not want to follow their nutritional plan. The six small meals a day thing is really, really bad for me. It might do something good for other people's blood sugar and metabolism, but it just makes me ravenous with all the glucose spikes. Plus, the sample menu in the instructional video? 81 grams of carb in just the breakfast, including yogurt with sugar in it? I couldn't watch any more once they started talking about special "no cholesterol" eggs. If they believe cholesterol in your diet causes high blood cholesterol perhaps they should read some studies done after the fucking 1980s. So, no, I would not be following their food plan. But it doesn't seem optional.

Secondly, the whole "we don't accept everyone" thing is obviously a marketing ploy. I don't think people who buy franchises are looking to turn away anyone's bucks. It's all a cross between "if we make you think it's exclusive, you'll want it more" and the culty "oooo, you're special, we like YOU, won't you give us money?" Plus, what does "be coachable" mean? I'm thinking--and you guys know me, so correct me if I'm wrong--I probably am not. I have well-documented issues with authority.

Finally, the accountability thing is very vague and ominous. I could get into some very sick and twisted fantasies about what I would like my buff and terribly good-looking trainer to do if I don't meet my goals, but dudes, I bet they charge you extra penalty fees. (M1 goes to TOPS and they have to pay a token fine if they've gained weight at weigh-in, but I'm betting slick upscale franchise gyms would ding you more than a token amount.) And then, if they're shady, they could easily rig the scales or bodyfat measurement to make it seem like, oh, sorry, you haven't quite made goal, you haven't been working hard enough! Extra charges for you this week!

I think I've probably talked myself out of this, but whadda you think? Am I being overly cynical? Should I drop in and let myself get the sales spiel and argue about their diet plan? Now that I've dropped pretty much all the fat I wanted to, I really want to get everything tightened up and non-flabby and I know that means weights. So it's very very tempting.

xoxo

trying real hard

I realized today that the only thing that's helping me feel somewhat calm and not weepy is doing things in my house. This is both good and bad.

Good in that, yeah, I'm doing things in my house. Bad in that this is the kind of thing that leads to things like isolating. The last time I had a serious bout of clinical depression (in the early/mid-90s) the only thing I wanted to do in my free time (i.e. when I wasn't working and D was with his dad) was sit in my house, listen to the radio, and write. Hence my unpublished and unpublishable novel and my love for grunge. While some excellent things did come from this--I became a *much* better writer from the practice and some of the short stories I wrote towards the end of that practice period eventually got published and made me a pittance of money--I can't really recommend staying in the house and not interacting with other people as a permanent coping mechanism, no matter how comforting or even useful it can be. Um, see: my kid.

Anyway. I decided to not take any Ativan today, because I realized after taking it everyday for eight days or so, that my dry mouth, blurred vision, and pounding headache were side effects. D'oh. So I figured I gotta really save it for when I really, really need it and not use it prophylacticly. And what better day not to take it at all than a day when I could stay home all day. So this is what I did.

Packed up 288 books (eight boxes' worth) for donation and emailed to arrange a pickup. Cleaned my kitchen. Put some things away in my sideboard/china cabinet after getting rid of some stuff that didn't belong in there. Vacuumed my dad's room and cleaned up in there a little. Vacuumed the hallway. Did four loads of laundry including my sheets, and changed my bed. Got trash ready for trash day tomorrow. Stowed away some cardboard boxes that really need to be cut up for recycling. (I'll get to it, I'll get to it...mandatory cardboard recycling is like the bane of my existence.) Made short ribs for dinner, and some disgusting instant pudding for the guys. Again, not necessarily in that order. But I did a lot of stuff. I might do some more.

And I only cried for maybe three minutes all day, so there's that.

xoxo

read at your own risk

Is that one of those disclaimers I'm supposed to be avoiding? I'd like to consider it, instead, as a Surgeon General's warning label or the like. Protecting pregnant women, the elderly, and those with a low tolerance for whining. Like that.

I have not been doing what you would term "well." When one spends most of a Red Sox game and pretty much the entirety of a Pats game quietly weeping on a friend's sofa--NOT, I hasten to add, that those games did not deserve wailing and rending of garments--it suggests that the ol' brain chemicals might need a little, uh, tweaking. Your humble correspondent is off the evil hormones that weren't doing her mood any good (though they were instrumental in helping beat down that uterus) and so far, the withdrawal from same has been no picnic. Both Marcy and the covering MD at my PCP's office were of the opinion that the combo of the evil hormones plus the general anesthesia might possibly have--and I'll use the technical, medical term here--fucked me up even more, but who knows?

In any case, I am on emergency benzos now, which while they stop the panic attacks, do not (OBVIOUSLY) stop me from crying for little to no reason or contemplating black, black thoughts. I do believe the next stop at next week's MD appointment is going to be antidepressants. And, um, if they consider the physical problem I have going on and do something about it, not just tell me it's hypochondria or an allergic reaction, THAT'D BE JUST PEACHY TOO.

So, yeah, here's the other thing, though. Remember how I was freaking out about money oh so very recently? Being on the Ativan and thus calm, plus being depressed, has kicked me back into wanting to spend money.

I bought me some boots:


I bought me a case of the Mrs Meyers All Purpose Cleaner off Amazon. I almost bought those kitchen lights I already posted here, but then I decided to wait till my ET Cash In actually hits my paycheck, which I am hoping is this Thursday. And I am justifying this by the fact that I have been trying (sorta) hard to not spend money (no pedis x 2 months equals ugly feet, but since the rest of me has been ugly in my depressive state, who the fuck cares?) and, yeah, ET Cash In, baby. But basically I know I'm doing it to make myself feel a little bit of pleasure, which has been lacking. I promise not to go overboard.

I also promise I'ma take a shower soon and go rake leaves, despite the fact I could easily spend all day on the couch.

xoxo

y'know...

Earlier today I was remarking that with what was going on in my life this week, I really needed cheesecake and wine to restore my mental equilibrium. Well. I'm upgrading that to Jamesons and ativan. (Or klonopin or xanax. I'm not picky. Any benzo will do at this point.)

On the plus side, and there's always a plus side, right, kids?, this is the kind of stress that totally makes me stop eating, so I'm sure I can knock off five pounds of excess fat like *that*. I mean, I do not even want cheesecake now.

There will be baseball tonight, right? Or is it raining in Washington too? Baseball usually distracts me from bad thoughts. Maybe playing with my bumpits would help as well. Or maybe youtube. I dunno. I've done productive stuff all afternoon since I realized this situation is gonna cost me more money than I originally feared and being productive has done crap in the way of distraction. So slovenly time-wasting is obviously the way to go. That, and benzos. Ha!

Once again, those of you who do not have anxiety disorders and thus do not make yourself sick over things you cannot fix or help, please call your parents and thank them for the good genetics. Because, seriously, you've got no idea.

I should have a tag for this. Should I go back and retroactively tag all the gazillion old ones?

xoxo