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9:59 a.m. - 2010-11-07


Okay, this has always pissed me off, probably because I don't particularly like Christmas. And never have.


grrr.. all the people that have their tree up NOW, and are 'excited about Christmas' twenty seconds after the last trick-or-treater bangs on their door PISS ME OFF..

And even more so this year, when CJ is in Afganistan..


The only thing I will tolerate without grinding my teeth is christmas lights. NOT the flashing hohoho or sparkling pulsing strings flung around every shrubbery you have

The simple strings around the windows and whatnot. KEYWORD BEING SIMPLE.

And on Nov 12th, go nuts. Paint your house red and green, paint your children.

But WAIT until after Nov 11th and give all the poor bastards that died one minute of silence would you? And maybe think about the families they left behind? could ya? Just for ONE DAY, ONE HOUR, ONE MINUTE remember what being part of NATO means, and remember what being a PEACE LOVING NATION means..

We send the soldiers to keep the peace. And they die doing it. The least we can do is hold back the fustercluck that is Christmas from swamping Remembrance Day.

ugh. mt brain hurts. And what the hell is with Daylight savings time?! Stupidest fucking bullshit ever....

I need coffee, but I cant brew any until Amy and Rick come over at three. Because having a half pot of cold coffee isnt very nice to welcome people with.

My home isn't perfect, its a HELL of a lot cleaner than it was, and most of the alundry is gathered.. Im half way through the toys, sorting out what needs to GO, and what needs to be packed away until Dorian is older.. like two years older.. Julianne is old enough now that I can put some of her toys into a rotation.. The problem is that as soon as I think that, she digs into the bottom of the toybin and pulls out something she hasn't played with in a looong time, and then my plan for packing things away gets more difficult. After Christmas, I should be able to pack away the older toys while she is distracted by the new stuff, and then switch them when spring comes. And again at the end of summer, and again after Christmas... might work nicely... I have to add that in to my calender of ten tones of routines.

I figure I will get to the point where every moment of my day is scheduled into a routine, and then I won't have a problem anymore of standing in my kitchen feeling lost and hopeless.

Maybe if I do that, and schedule in some crying over dishes before I go to bed, maybe I wont need to pay a doctor to decide I need to be committed.

I keep thinking about that house of OCD suffering people, that reality show that I only caight a few epis of the marathone taht was on HBO.

The one guy was obsessed with violent images and things like that. And his fear was that he was a psychopath and could snap at any time. And the doc handed him a knife at one point (in front of the other patients, which was STUPID, considering their anxiety levels are high already, but I figure thats the 'reality tv' portion of the show) anyways, the doc says something like
You are not a psychopath. You are not. I know this.
guy says something like how?! how do you know I wont just cut you?!
doc: "If you were, you would do it. You wouldn't have fantasies about it, you wouldn't obsess about it. You would do it. You would be killing people. And you're not. You are only thinking these thoughts, not acting on them."

Something like that. my writer's brain has taken hold of that scene and pushed it into other places, even though I can still see the guy's face in my mind as he's holding the knife against the docs wrist..

Anyway, the point of this? If I'm obsessed with psychological maladies like border line, or OCD or bipolar, If I recognize half a dozen symptoms of any one of these and have labelled myself simply mentally unstable. Or with a general mental illness tag. Because I can't reliably show enough symptoms to be labelled anything else (or maybe I can't see the symptoms because I'm in them)

Does that make it true? Do I really belong in an institution?

Or do I just have a different form of OCD that is manifesting in an obsession with the past, with past people, past friends/loves/hurts etc. Things Ive owned in the past, things Ive hung on to for over ten years for no concrete reason, except that it used to be mine, when I was a teenager.
And this is crippling me from making new friends, because Im constantly comparing people to friends Ive had in the past..

When you're crazy, do you know it?

OR am I just overanalyzing everything because of my slightly better than average intellect, and my writer's brain?

I used to define myself by the people I hung around with, when I finally had people I was around with enough.

Before that? I was nothing. A shadow. I could sit at the kitchen table, my mom on the phone making supper whatever, her friends might drop by, and they would stay with us for supper and me, being three or four, would stay at the table, silent, listening.

After dark my mom would realize that Im still sitting there and freak out.I dont know what time it was, but I could blend into the fucking wallpaper so well my own mother forgot I was there.

I continued that. I still do that. If Im by myself, I can sit and go unnoticed for the most part. unless Im trapped in a bus or taxi, then people sit near me and tell me their life stories..

My blankpage self has been filled to the brim with Parent things. Since never in my wildest imaginings did I ever think I would be a Parent, I'm feeling totally lost. Very very little about this life is familiar, so Im clinging more to the STUFF I have from the past. Ive got 2 boxes and a bag of garbage stuff. Ive got a bag of stuff to be shredded.

Ive kept a RIDICULOUS amount of crap. grade school is relatively easy, although some of it is hard. High school is fucking hard and I gave up when I got to those boxes. It looks like I saved every fucking note I ever passed or ever got passed to me.

And ofcourse I tore up my yearbooks, the last time I lived alone, because Im psychotic. If I save those and got rid of everything else, EVERYTHING. If I just junk it without looking, that would be easier. and all I would have is a tattoo on my leg, and some crumpled year books, because I forgot that Meghan made them.If I would have remembered that Meghan had a say in how every page looked, then I wouldnt have wrecked them. But my mind forgot, because I had fallen into the abyss and I forget everything that means anything and Im left with a lot of empty holes in my head.

I have seventeen days until I go back to work. I really don't want to go back there. I need to call my dad about my car..



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