The problem with the internet is it seems to be a tool that won't allow me to forget my past. But I know that's my issue. the internet has all it's glories and bullshit to entertain forever ad nauseum. But as I've had a past that I'm never going to be proud of, run away from and some days, like today, can't forgive. I hate the internet because there it is; the magnifying glass of opinion and judgment bearing down. Come now - who gives a shit about me out there? *tumbleweed* Aye, that's what I thought.
Apparently I'm paranoid. I can see the signs and damn they're coming early. The words in my head making me feel fearful, wanting me to shut down, close shop and hide away in my home. I mean I was in the kitchen cleaning the oven, feeling annoyed because the steam buggy died and I had to do the deed by hand. Since I have the steam thingie I don't scrub the oven as often as I ought to and so it was a real fucking chore, let me tell you. Not That You Care! I am so dull. There - see now the self-esteem is shrinking too. Soon I'll be defensive and argumentative and push everyone away all the while pining because I have no friends and no one loves me. I'm like a frigging teenager again. And it's only ovulation! Usually I get a Goddess complex and think I'm awesome but not this time. Stand back, steer clear; completely not interested, you fucker. All of you fuckers. Lemme be.
I sometimes hate being a woman. Even worse is the psychology degree which spins my paranoia tighter and makes me proper coo-coo in the coconut.
Scrub more burnt on shit from the oven. Scrub scrub. Where have my fingerprints gone?
The fact I can see the symptoms, the fact I'm aware of them helps. It really does. Heart palpitations, hot flashes. Could be early early menopause. Who knows. Who cares. I will not go on meds again. I can do this without adding more chemicals. Although some IV caffeine or speed *smack my hand!* would be nice.
For fuck sake this shouldn't be happening until mid-September! What am I going to do when we go to Australia and the seasons are all fucked up and my internal depression meter won't know when to send the crazies? Maybe it'll be a good thing. I should be. It will be.
Can't talk much about Australia as it turns out someone from the office reads my blog and went asking questions. Promises to keep quiet but if there's one then there could be more. I wanted a blog to be all anonymous with and I'm so damned bad at it! The anonymous part. I think I'm an acceptable blogger. Although sitemeter has a different opinion.
Then again I did take pictures of the dirty and clean oven because I thought it would be blog worthy. I am fucking crazy.
Right! Kids go back to school in two weeks. Husband goes back to work next week. I get my house back to myself in two weeks. Two weeks. I'll keep telling myself. Actually - 10 days. Normality resumes, peace and quiet and stress free gyming and all of MY Life For Me and Not Everyone Else comes back in ten days. I can keep the shit for ten days.
Sciatica or not I have to go to the gym tonight or I'm going to freak the fuck out. I have to write. I have to write. Why do both activities make me feel like I'm abandoning those who rely on me? Why would anyone be fool enough to rely on me for anything?
Why the Fuck are they playing Kate Bush right now when really I need something I can dance to. Headache! Babooshka my butt.
I'm going to play Classic Cheap Trick and feel all nostalgic for a while until the babies cry.