It is Blurdsday the 54th of April, a day like the other day which came from another day which also was, like the last, a day. I haven’t worn anything but pajamas since sometime last year, which was in March when COVID-19 was not yet a huge concern for Florida.… Read More »COVID-19, or, Jesus Wept While riding a Raptor.
If you can’t handle the fact that a) we fart, and b) animals fart then you’re gonna have a bad time. I don’t really understand why I was such a prude about something that is so necessary and normal a body function when I was a–okay, I do. It’s a… Read More »Kitten Farts: tiny, yet powerful.
I wrote on the 16th of November on the dreaded book of the face, how I found it distressingly amusing that in times of personal grief instead of being the lovable weird pink monster of glitter over sharing that I usually am—I lose all ability to communicate as I would… Read More »Grief has no plot, like my blog posts.
9 and 1/2 years ago we lost an almost 20lb meatball of claws and purrs named Raven. She came to Shawn well before he ever met me, via a lady who I believe asked him, “Hey, want a cat? We don’t want it anymore,” and became the illusive meatball ninja… Read More »I Carry your Heart With Me
Hurricane Dorian made my butt clench in anxiety, I am not going to lie. Florida was a little messed up during the week up to the hurricane which ended up being not much more than a tropical storm with a few droplets of rain–making life here inconvenient. The worst thing… Read More »Hurricane Dorian and Cat Food: a stinky tale.
When I was 16, I was terrible. Not only was I going through what any teen at that age goes through–hormones, boys, body image issues, self-esteem problems, trying to fit in desperately where I didn’t–I probably had the beginnings of my depression and bipolar II crop up. I didn’t know… Read More »What’s in a tooth?
Living with chronic illness; be it physical or mental takes a ridiculously gross toll on everything in your life. There’s no “quick fix,” to being empty of even the energy to wash your own face in the morning, let alone clean your home like “normal” people do. (Please imagine my hugely sarcastic, eye rolling finger quotes being made in the air as I say normal. ) Cleaning during depression can be like climbing a mountain naked armed with a pencil and a pack of stickers. Medication is great, but it’s never an end all, be all, cure all. There will be days where your shit will simply not get together, personal hygiene becomes an afterthought, dishes pile in the sink, never or barely rinsed, and you’re pretty sure the clothes on the floor in your room have become sentient. It’s overwhelming to look around you and see your home reflect the state of your mental, emotional and physical shambles—and knowing you should care, and you should do something; but you just can’t drum up enough feeling to do anything than feel miserable and not caring. And then that sends you on a lovely guilt spiral that makes you want to do anything even less. And the cleaning never happens.
So how do you even start cleaning during depression?
I haven’t worked in 15 years. I am grateful to have been so lucky as to get a retail job within the first week of girding my fat, anxious, bi-polar diagnosed loins and handing out resumes the old fashioned way. (Store to store in person.) But, wow. Wow. In the past months… Read More »Retail at 40: Fantasizing About Strangling Balloons, a Rant.