5/9/00
"There was no message to be found anywhere in sight inside or out...I had looked everywhere but the only lamp left on in the house was a blue light..."
It's a gray, ugly day. Last night we finally got the rain that we've been expecting since Saturday--the weather has been so weird, it'll be really cloudy, and humid as hell, and the leaves on the trees will be blowing so that you can see the undersides (which always means rain, my hillbilly grandma taught me that and IT'S TRUE), and then all of a sudden the wind will shift, the humidity will drop, and it will cool down about 15 degrees. But no rain. Not until last night around 10:30. It would have been an excellent night for sleep but our a/c didn't get fixed (because it was frozen solid--yup, it's broke!) yesterday and Noodle was hot, meaning she was up all damn night doing that annoying as fuck heavy breathing thing. If she'd just lay down and put her face in the window, she'd be fine, but dogs are stupid. So I got very little sleep last night. And it sucks that when I did wake up, I never woke up fully enough to really enjoy and appreciate the rain.
My cat didn't appreciate it much, either, as she apparently got chased out the back door yesterday by the dogs. I found her this morning--I was searching the basement for her and found her in the window well in the back bedroom--only she was on the wrong side of the window. And wet, and muddy, and not terribly happy. I have no idea where she went, I was outside yesterday afternoon and didn't see her, and there aren't a hell of a lot of hiding places in my backyard for a cat with no claws. (None--that was my evil mother's doing, I was in Omaha and didn't find out until it was too late.)
I have so much fucking work to do today and I don't want to do any of it. I no longer give a shit. I have decided today that I'm going to call that midtown coffee shop I love and ask them if they need any part-time help. Who wouldn't want to hire me? I'm a legal secretary, over 25, a college senior and an honor student to boot. I'm every employer's wet dream, for the love of Mike! (Still, when I applied for part-time jobs at pet stores last summer, I never got so much as a call back. Assholes!) I will probably only keep whatever part time job I get for a short time, just long enough to make enough money to pull my ass out of the hole. And make money for vacation. God, I need a vacation. Super bad.
My house is filthy, the laundry doth pile, the dogs need baths (but with today's rain that would be kind of counter-productive, I think), the spare room needs attention, the litter box overfloweth, and the dishes are preparing an attack. There is TOO DAMN MUCH TO DO AT MY HOUSE AND NOT ENOUGH US TO DO IT. It sucks.
"Downstairs the big old house is mine...upstairs where the stars still laugh and they shine...find some Christmas angel and give that to her, if that's what she wants...guardian angel...if you were wiser, you would get out...don't listen to her, listen through her..."
I missed my appointment with Dr. Gimmepills today. Oh, well. I don't think I want any more drugs. I think I want to see if I can handle life on my own. I wasn't taking the drugs for the right reasons, anyway. Psychotropic drugs are supposed to work like a crutch--you have to do the mental "physical therapy" yourself, the drugs just help you along. What I wanted was a quick fix. It's what I'm used to. Having a bad day? Have a fifth of vodka. Life got you down? Take several of these pills. It works. For a few hours, anyway--therein lies the problem. But that's what I was really expecting--I could take the pills and then I wouldn't need therapy because the pills would make everything all better. Well, maybe I was on the wrong pills, but at any rate, that didn't happen. And I wonder now if I can't maybe do all this on my own. I've made small progresses here and there. And I think there are more to come. Shit, I've made it this far without killing anybody, surely there is life after the therapist's couch...
I actually told Megan last night that it really upsets me that I can't talk to her about things. She countered with that "you can tell me anything" crap. I reminded her of several things she's said in the last 5 months I've been under the microscope. I think she was turning red under her fake-bake sunburn. But I think she understood, for once. Actually, I think a lot of the time she knows that what she's saying is really biting me, but she lives under the impression that all you have to do is say "sorry" and everything's cool. Need I remind her that I grew up with a mother who would spout all kinds of ugliness and then cry in my room "I'm sorry" over and over and over again? "Sorry" doesn't mean a hell of a lot to me, as bad as that may sound. But it's true, I can carry a grudge to my grave. Which doesn't do much for my outlook on life. But maybe that will change, as well.
I did finally get a fucking haircut last night. Instead of making an appointment with Leslie, the hairdresser on fire, love 'o' my life, who charges me $25 and then I have to tip her, too, because I fear her, I chose to instead go to Snip 'n' Clip at the mall where Megan always gets her shitty haircuts. At $9.95, you can't beat it. So I go, and there's only one stylist, and she looks like she's had a REAL bad day. And she's cutting this icky guy's hair and then when she finishes, it's my turn. She doesn't even sweep up the damn hair on the floor. Then she puts the cape on me and says in a voice straight out of "Mommie Dearest," "uncross your legs, please." Uh, yes, massuh, don't beat me. Then she says "head down, please" and nearly breaks my neck pushing my chin to my chest. Which is when I notice I'm wearing the same cape she just took off Icky Guy and his fucking hair is STILL ON IT. Oh, God. That's when I very nearly stood up and said, on second thought, you suck, I'm going to Leslie, but the psycho bitch was holding scissors and I was afraid. So I just sat there and let her yell at me. It was like getting my hair cut by Roseanne when she has total PMS. The upside is that she actually did a decent job and my hair looks a hell of a lot better than it did yesterday. But rest assured, I will never go to that place again. She didn't even bother to brush me off when she was done, so I went to dinner with hair all over my back and it about made me bonkers. God knows how much I shed in the salad bar.
I need to work. I don't want to.
I need friends. I need inspiration. I need new shoes. I need to sip margaritas on the gulf coast of Florida. I need to exercise.
I've been told that nicotine withdrawal will sometimes make you incredibly emotional. Perhaps that would explain my sudden melancholia. More later...
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