30 Day Writing Challenge, Day 16; My Day

Y’all can catch up on my progress here.

30 Day Writing Challenge Day 16; Bullet my day:

9 am: Alarm goes off. I just fell asleep a couple hours ago, (yay, insomnia!) and I now have a migraine, so I ignore it.

10 am: Get out of bed and brew a few k-cups because fuck the environment. If Mother Nature didn’t want me using k-cups, she should’ve made me a morning person, until then, I ain’t reusing shit, I ain’t reducing shit, and I ain’t recycling shit.

Nature wants me dead. Fuck that bitch.

10:30 am: Leave for my shrink appointment. Notice I actually have a full tank of gas and contemplate staying on the interstate and seeing where I end up, remember I’m broke as fuck and I need this tank of gas to last until Friday.

10:47 am: Shoop comes on the Pandora, I flawlessly serenade the city of Hopewell and wonder if it’s too late to start a rap career.

12:30 pm: Leave shrink with a letter stating my incompetence to stand trial, and 2.5 hours until I need to be at work. I’m hungry, and still have a migraine, so I drown my sorrows in falafel and diet coke.

1:30 pm: Still have a migraine, contemplate smoking the last of my weed, remember I’m still broke as fuck, drive to vegan-friendly grocery store and get a slice of cake instead.

2 pm: Head to sonic for happy hour, but the line is backed up into the road, and half of Midlo Tnpk is closed because some fuckwit got creamed. Fuck this shit, I’ll get a slurpee on my way home.

4:30 pm: Gallbladder (henceforth, “Tonya”, because she’s always trying to take me out of my game) informs me she is displeased with my choice of lunch, I’m breaking out in hives, and I still have a migraine, so take a fistful of Benadryl and keep on truckin’.

6:20 pm: Stare out into the parking lot, contemplate running away again, remember I’m even more broke now than I was at 11 am, AND my friend’s daughter’s first birthday party is this Saturday, so regardless of finances, I can’t run away until after the party. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to leave the state, and at my age, it’s no longer “running away”, but “moving out of my parents’ house like every other adult in America”.

6:30 pm: Make a mental note to find my way to Dollywood once rich.

6:31 pm: Make mental note to stop by one of those taco shacks on East Hull st I passed the other day when I zoned out driving to work and got lost. #ADD

6:35 pm: Recall this time at a funeral two years ago when a family member of the deceased told me he didn’t think there would be anything vegan-friendly at the reception, and I replied “I’ll live”, and commence panic attack.

6:57 pm: Time to close up shop. Wonder how far a tank of gas will get me, then remember I can’t math.

7:05 pm: In my car, at the stoplight, look longingly towards the west, Bohemian Rhapsody comes on the radio, because I was raised right, I crank it full blast and sing along.

7:22 pm: SCARAMOUCH! SCARAMOUCH!

7:30 pm: Seriously, how is Bohemian Rhapsody NOT the national anthem? Make mental note to rectify that as president.

8 pm: Stop at grub kitty for cake fixins, am briefly tempted by the cheese display, Tonya not-so-gently reminds me to chill the fuck out.

8:30 pm: Shoop comes on again, that’s it, the Universe is definitely telling me to pursue a rap career.

 8:52 pm: Forgot my damn slurpee, but remembered to buy popsicles, so it’s cool.

9 pm: I spend too much time on my winged liner for no one but the gay dude at work to appreciate it. Take a selfie for instagram before reluctantly washing away my hard work. #Shameless

It should be noted I have no natural eyebrow arch whatsoever; this is sheer artistry, and yes, I’m bragging.

Even the used cotton pads look good!

9:43 pm: Eating cold leftover falafel with one of my cats and looking at cakes on Pinterest, see the most darling wedding dress ever and consider getting a girlfriend, look down at left hand and remember I’m too stupid to date.

OMG!!!! *Heavy breathing* *Vapors*

If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.

 

10 pm: Idea: a GPS city-folk to hick translator app, so instead of saying “continue on Monument”, it’ll say “keeeeeep goin’, yer gon’ pass that feller beatin’ them youngins with a tennis racket, keeeeeep goin’…”

10:06 pm: Sister-in-law calls in hysterics because her dogs got sprayed by a skunk. #CountryLivin

10:17 pm: Notice my nails look shitty even by dyke standards, stare at polish collection, decide to go to bed instead of painting even though I won’t be falling asleep anytime soon. #Insomnia

10:28 pm: Wonder if I should publish now, or wait and see what the rest of the evening brings, decide I can always edit later.

10:31 pm: Wonder if I should remove mentions of migraine, gallbladder, and hives so I don’t seem like a sympathy whore, but since I pride myself on keeping it real, leave everything intact.

10:36 pm: Sobbing out of frustration. I must have done something in a past life to deserve chronic urticaria, because I’m certain I have never fucked up that badly in this lifetime.

10:37 pm: Curse God.

10:41 pm: Remember I’m a bad-ass.

10:42 pm: Keep sobbing like a weak-ass bitch even though I’m a bad-ass, because fuck you, that’s why.

Happiness, Halloween, Prozac, ADD, NaNoWriMo, and Copious ‘F’ Bombs (Sorry, No Recipe :( )

Sorry for the hiatus, I’m having a shitty year, but that’s no excuse to keep my dear readers un-entertained, so please accept my sincerest apologies and attempts at redemption. Also, as many of y’all are aware, I have ADD, so this post is all over the place (Ooh! Look! A turtle!) Moving right along…

Firstly, here’s a picture of my People of Wal-Mart Halloween costume. You’re welcome:

FYI; I’m fat and broke, if anyone’s allowed to make fun of POWM, it’s me, so save the hate mail about “appropriating trailer park culture” and being “classist”. Don’t tell me I’m not fat either, this is a flattering photo, but trust me, I have more rolls than a bakery. You can’t even tell I have a belly ring! (not that I give a single flying furry fuck, I’m a motherfucking goddess!) Again, moving right along…

Yesterday marked the beginning of National Novel Writers Month. After much thought and consideration, I’ve decided to finish writing my current novel instead of starting a new one. I’ll post the first three pages on the next blog post, please give me brutally honest feedback! Thanks in advance. Yet again, moving right along…

The easiest way to earn yourself a swift kick in the tender vittles from me is to purport that “happiness is a choice”. If you’re one of those people who says this shit, stop. Just stop. There are so many things wrong with that statement, I’m going to break them down into list form. If you’re still confused as to why it’s an ig’nant ass thing to say, then I can’t help you. Please see a therapist (BTW, there’s a reason you’ve never heard a licensed, reputable, therapist proclaim that happiness is a choice, and it has nothing to do with “big pharma”, that’s a whole ‘notha blog post!)

1) Yes, there are people who choose to be miserable. We all know the type who looks for things to complain about. Anyone who has ever worked in retail or food service know exactly what I’m talking about, “Like, oh my God! How hard is it to give me exactly 3/4″ of foam on my non-fat latte?! And how do these losers not even know if the coffee is GMO or not?!”, but it’s not a matter of them needing to choose happiness, their problem is that they’re ungrateful, and gratitude is a choice.

2) If you honestly feel that you’re not depressed because you chose to be happy, then you were never depressed in the first place, so shut the fuck up, you don’t know what you’re talking about.

3) It’s incredibly condescending. It’s like telling a blind person that vision is a choice.

4) It’s a huge FUCK YOU IN THE ASS WITH A RUSTY STEAK KNIFE to people (like me) who need pills to function. I didn’t choose to have a chemical imbalance of the brain anymore than I chose asthma, allergies, scoliosis, or T1D (seriously, I have so many health issues, if I was a kitten, my mama would’ve eaten me). If you honestly think I don’t need Prozac (or Xanax, or any other antidepressant/mood stabilizer/anti-anxiety aid), then I challenge you to spend a week with me, alone, in a remote cabin with no phone/internet service, fully stocked with an arsenal of loaded firearms, sans pills, and teach me to be happy. Two of us will go in, one of us will come out.

5) It adds to the stigma of mental illness by implying that it’s a simple fix that depressed people are just too stupid/stubborn/lazy to do. Really, what do y’all think people like me get out of having an illness that confines me to my bed for days at a time (but getting no sleep), makes me cry for no reason (especially in public, which does not help my social anxiety one bit), and seemingly nobody takes seriously? Any time I’ve had to call in to work because I was just too sad to get out of bed and into the shower, I’d say that I had a “stomach flu” because as far as most bosses are concerned, if you don’t look sick, then you can bring your ass to work. Oh, and good luck getting a doctor’s note because it was a day where you just couldn’t function. Doctors can be the biggest dicks about mental illness. (Again, whole ‘notha post!)

6) It implies that depressed people are just seeking excuses to do nothing. The last thing depressed people need is to be made to feel guilty for not getting out of bed. That will just send us further into the blanket fort.

7) If it’s true that happiness is a choice, then there would be no psychiatric field whatsoever. There would also be no wars, no murders, no violence, and no internet trolls who will undoubtedly leave ig’nant ass comments on this post. We would all just choose happiness and move the fuck on. Life would be perfect.

And now a list of equally offensive things NOT to say to mentally ill people that should be common fucking sense:

1) “You need god/religion.” I also need a working pancreas, but I’m getting along fine without it.

2) “Did you know a handful of cashews is the equivalent of a Prozac?” No it fucking is not.

3) “Exercise cures depression!” Again, if you honestly believe this, you’ve never been depressed. Go fuck yourself.

4) “I’ll pray for you.” Yeah, let me know how that works for you.

5) “You’ll feel better if you get some fresh air!”  Bullshit.

6) “Don’t you know that antidepressants are a global government conspiracy to gain mind control?!” You need more help than I do.

7) “Lose some weight” You’re either a) a jackass in a lab coat who googles my symptoms right in front of me, or b) a troll, go groom your neck beard.

8) “Try _ herbal supplements.” Unless these “herbal supplements” are of the cannabis variety, eat shit and die, you anti-vaxxer shill.

9) “What have you tried so far?” None of your fucking business.

10) “You need to meet someone.” I have a pretty face and a nice rack, I “meet” plenty of people, but you can’t rely on someone else for happiness. If you’re depressed by yourself, you’re going to be depressed with someone too.

If I’m forgetting anything, please feel free to leave it in the comments. Thanks for reading 🙂