Thursday, October 26, 2006

This, that and the other thing

Well, my brain is dead again. I've had a couple days of Hormone Storm or carbohydrate poisoning or some such ailment that rendered me anxiety-ridden with a dash of depression and a side of discontented confusion. (I was almost going to use the much overused word ennui but as I mentioned it's overused and frankly I hate it. Sounds like an infected body part south of the border and I ain't talkin' 'bout Mexico.)

I was very, very, very pissy and found myself flipping someone off in my car because I let them merge and they didn't give me the courtesy wave. I got mad at an admired journaler for crabbing on their blog about a personal problem then I got irritated at someone else for writing about being happy. I called Oprah a bitch and made my cat barf by forcing her to wear a lobster costume on her head. Tuesday I couldn't face the world and called in sick and spent a good part of the day in bed. It was all very upsetting, especially for the cat.

I will spare you the dirty details of my current stupid stresses since it would sound retarded anyway and every time I try to start an entry about all of this melodramatic heavy shit weighing on my soul, oh how melodramatic, it comes out like blah bleh why ah! fart poop cry. Which makes sense inside my head but loses something in the translation, no?

I can't seem to find a consistent voice and I'm comparing myself to others who manage to put coherent thoughts on fancy pages for people to read so, in conclusion, I am an asshole. At least that's how I feel right now.

There are so many changes I need to make right now. Big, huge, looming changes that look like a gigantic monster who's going to gobble up my head then spit its chewed remains onto the floor. Intellectually these changes are good ones. They're important and have to be done. But it's scary and stressful and as much as I hate my feet standing in quick-set cement it seems harder to move forward than wear a pair of cinderblock sandal's.

I hate change. Change to me usually equals bad. I'm a creature of psychotic habit. I don't even like to change pens as it takes me days to get used to a new one and my gawd you cannot expect me to switch from a black ballpoint to a blue uniball all willy-nilly and without properly going through the 5 stages of grief. Christ. Am I a robot? No.

This cute little idiosuckcracy has plagued me since I was conceived or shortly before that. My mother still likes to tell the story (with rolling eyes) of when I was 5 1/2 and it had been decided (for me) that in anticipation of a move from one city to another, and with my entrance into first grade coming up, that I would graduate from a twin mattress to a full. The day the swap was made I sadly stood on the driveway with giant tears rolling down my fat face watching the mattress men take my baby bed away because I was so attached to a hunk of cloth and springs I had a full-scale meltdown.

Right now I have much more than a bed to say goodbye to. We've decided to move. Move away from my home of 36 years. The whole of my conscious life has been spent in San Diego, with the exception of attending 3 years of college in Pomona, a whole 100 miles away, this is all I've known. My familiar space. My identity.

Most of the time I know deep down in the smart part of me that this is a good thing. A necessary thing. An inevitable thing. But there are times when it goes beyond an intelligent idea shooting right past an exciting plan into a terrifying thought of very bad badness and then it eats my face off. Just trying to decide when to visit our city of choice, in another state, to hopefully get the good vibes I need to make the final decision made me nearly self-combust.


I wish I was more brave. I wish I had bigger balls. I wish I wasn't such an asshole.

While I'm trying to sort these things out I thought it would be a good idea to expose myself to more self-doubt and stress by joining this awesome idea by the lovely Eden of Fussy. (I'd add this as a side-bar tag thingy but I can't fucking figure out how to do that.)


She's brilliant and I'd like to swap lives with her for a weekend except she has a little boy and he shouldn't be exposed to an asshole like me. I guess I'll have to settle with pushing myself by writing every single day for the month of November and trying not to cheat and hopefully entertaining all 4 of you at the same time.

And there's potential prizes involved! Which always turns me from an everyday asshole into a competitive SUPER asshole. You should see me at baby showers. I will take home that travel shower gel kit with the matching loofah at all costs. I don't care if you're giving birth in a month. Who's idea was it to play a game of arm-wrestle the preggo anyway? I did what I had to do.

Because...I am an asshole.

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