“Llama time”….*breaks out in MC Hammer theme song*….
I don’t have a lot of close galpals, simply because one of my besties told my son’s father that my son wasn’t his. Totally not the story I’m gettin’ into today. Just sayin’.
Or, because of the handful of spiteful, vindictive women who have helped destroy my esteem one rumor at a time.
Or, because of The Bully.
This kind of shit, no matter that it’s not your shit to own, makes a difference in the interpersonal relationships that every person needs for the sake of their sanity.
For the sake of the mutha’ feckin’ human race!
Yesterday I got to get some of their shit off of my shit…in the form of a few gal pals.
Cheaper than bubble wrap.
I’ve hit a low, I’ve made no secrecy about that. I put out there that I’m looking for a new therapist, and will most likely be calling to obtain further pharmaceuticals in order to help balance the chemicals that make me feel like running into the Ottawa River. Or driving. I’m lazy like that.
I struggle with not only the challenges in my own life, but those imposed upon me by people who push their own losses and failures upon my person.
I know this has hit a new kind of shit storm in my brain because I just gave the cat the look-of-death because I could *hear* her licking her paws.
I need quiet. I need people to stop asking for things at the very same time someone ELSE is asking for things. One at a time.
Take a number.
Get in line.
Today might just not be your day.
In a nutshell, I’m tired of micro-managing the Universe concurrently with the Cosmos being an asshat.
I’m also angry. Not, like, furious, but certainly of the *middle finger salute* kind of thing…because I figure, “Why in the blue hell do *I* need medical help for the status of my mental health, when I’ve outlined my needs, set clear boundaries…and no one feels compelled to own their own shit and help me the fuck out??”
Is that fair? No.
So, there’s a morning every week where I go out like this:
And then the conversations start, making a round of the table…and I’m all:
And then there’s always those little tidbits of enlightenment…those words of support…those momentary “forgets” of the things that make me want to run head-first into a wall…and I’m all, like:
And then? At the end of sucking back a drink that costs more than the anti-anxiety meds that I clearly need??
Scrapbooking is cheaper than therapy.
Bubble wrap is cheaper than scrapbooking.
Friends are priceless… 🙂