Monday, January 05, 2009

How Not to Take Control of Your Life

Ever have one of those days that starts out GREAT and then kind of declines into a downward spiral of pain, suffering and ooginess? That's what I'm having today. Some kind of Monday meltdown.

Gray is on day 5 of not smoking, and his not smoking is making ME want to smoke. Oh my hell, if he isn't a roller coaster of moods at the moment. One minute he's laughing, the next minute there's literally steam coming from his nostrils and he's visibly restraining himself from putting his fist through the wall. It's really unsettling to me, which is completely unacceptable. He's normally the calmest most go-with-the-flow human being imaginable. I'm trying to be supportive by not killing him.

That said, I had a total fucking freak out on Saturday when I purchased stamps from the ATM before making a deposit, THEN it told me that my account was overdrawn due to the stamp purchase, when if I had known that, I would have made the deposit first for FUCK'S SAKE. There was yelling and stomping and cries of, "I'm getting a second job!" and "I'm sick to death of being fucking broke all the time!" and "We're never going to get our heads above water!" It was the ultimate in melo-drama, let me assure you.

This morning, I had to call (strike one: phone usage) and make an appointment to see a dermatologist (strike two: explaining an embarrassing skin condition to a complete stranger) for my raging backne. In November, my OBGYN assured me that the backne "wasn't so bad", and that it was likely a result of my hormones going haywire. My body thought it was pregnant, then when we went in to remove all the shit that isn't necessary to have when the actual BABY isn't in there anymore, and all of a sudden I went from Pregnant to Vacuumed the Fuck Out, and my hormones apparently have some kind of PTSD that manifests itself by covering the upper half of my body in the biggest, deepest, most painful fucking hell-zits I've ever imagined in my wildest nightmares. And despite body wash with salicylic acid and daily astringe-ing and all kinds of freaking attention to the hell that is my upper torso, they are getting WORSE AND BIGGER AND MEANER and I'm pretty sure the one on my shoulder flipped me off this morning.

My doc said I can either go back on the pill or I can go see a dermatologist. So I'm trying the route less likely to land my ass in a padded room, at least for now.

On top of the fact that I can't look in a mirror without vomiting in my mouth a little bit (or fighting the urge to play Connect Four on my boobs), is the other fact that I've gained about 7lbs in the aftermath of the holiday season, compounded by my smoking cessation, and a hunger that has increased since I started running again. Technically, running should help me get into better shape, but so far has done nothing but hurt my legs and give me extra time to listen to The Smiths on my Ipod and feel sorry for myself.

Wah. Wah wah wah. Who needs kids when I'm the biggest baby around?

On the upside, I did start clearing out the spare bedroom to make room for...not exactly sure what I'll do with it, only that I'm hanging a dart board (which is funny because I hate darts). I also realized that clearing out one room multiplies itself into a project requiring the organization of that room plus two additional closets.

At least my screwdrivers are in length-order now. That should help me sleep at night.