Life Is My Pet Peeve

I’m listening to the book, Girl in Pieces, and this shit hits hard. The main character could be me with very few changes. So many events in her fictitious life, so many parallels to my real life. One thing that makes us different, though, is that she thought other people knew how to do things, life things, and I know for a fact that no one can guarantee shit. No one can know anything for certain and no one can trick me into thinking that they do. Sure, some people have a better grasp on how to manage their feelings, but anything else about the hows and whys of life? Those people get a big “fuck you, you got damn liar” from me. The book ended fairly happily, though. I don’t know about my own life just yet. Speaking of, I was so miserable that I was willing to apply for any job not talking to customers. I couldn’t take it another month. I applied for a job I didn’t feel qualified for, but they called me, I interviewed, they loved me, and now I’m outta this thang and into a new thang. ...

I can't sleep so I figured I may as well write something. My life is just a big clusterfuck. I am trying not to become addicted to sleeping pills. However, by not taking the pills every night I have to rely on my body going to sleep without any help and uh, yeah, I wouldn't need sleeping pills if the shit came easily. Of course, when I was visiting my friend in LA I slept all day and all night without an aid. Who the hell knows what's going. My body does what it wants. Speaking the fuck of, I can't take birth control anymore. I'm at the age where every possible side effect that could happen does happen. My friend is a devout Catholic and an overzealous non-pill popper. I may not do street drugs, but I'm not going to let a headache sit around killing me either. When she said that the birth control may have been causing my super duper depression I was like, ugh, here she goes with this shit. Birth control is not the cause of every bad thing. Turns out, actually i...

How quickly we adapt to ridiculousness! I have been using only the right side of my mouth to eat for about 6 months now. No insurance, you ask? Nope. Let me tell you guys why. My anxiety is setup in such a way that it will force me to do things I wouldn't normally do like live in pain for months. Here's the problem, my sister works for a dentist. Doesn't sound like a problem, right? Except it is. I was going to a Black dentist who bamboozled me and subsequently sold the practice. Two unrelated things. My sister, felonious sibling that she is, once saw one of my itemized "receipts" from the dentist and saw that they were charging way too much for services rendered. Not only that, one day years ago I was convinced my teeth were loose, soon to drop out of my skull and asked my sister to check. When my sister looked in there she realized the cavities that the dentist supposedly had filled were not filled. Sure one or two could've fallen out, but all of the filling...

I know I'm always like wah, wah, wah, me, me, me, but I am a Black woman in this country so I do have other concerns. So, I knew America was racist as fuck even during these "post-racial" times, but I knew not how low these muthafuckas would go. I thought to myself, ok, surely, no one is dumb enough to choose the unqualified, unprepared, psychopath to run the nation. Surely. I was a fool to think that. Just like I thought SURELY after all this footage of cops shooting and a lot of times killing unarmed citizens (not always even suspects), then they would either have to stop doing it or have a damn good reason. My faith in humanity extended too far. When they said a man associated with BLM was the reason those cops were targeted and shot was found, but they sent a robot with a bomb to kill him I had more than a hunch. That didn't even make sense. Even if I were to believe that since when is that how we handle criminals when the ones who shot up schools and churche...

Don't play with people who can't sleep, medical professionals. Why would you give me sugar pills instead of Ambien. Now I'm wondering should I take a second one and if that will lead to accidental overdose. Or at least accidental oversleeping which I can't do on today of all days because: vote. Today was my first day back at work. I spent approximately 30 minutes in the bed and shower combined, crying and thinking, Oh God. Please send me into a fatal crash down a ravine before I arrive. God has cancelled all requests from my line, apparently. Hmmph. It wasn't terrible, though. However, remember when I told Heavy Chevy I'm not up to being friends? Apparently that means fuck me and what he says goes. When therapy and self help is the fucking gift that keeps on giving. Out of all the people I would want undying love and devotion from? He doesn't even place. I have a hard time sleeping and an even harder time trying to be the optimal temperature to actually ge...

I was listening to this audiobook called F*ck Feelings by a doctor and his comedienne daughter. In the book, it said life is hard and we should give ourselves props (oh, God, I'm so old.) for making it through the days getting dressed, eating, and going to work. Initially, I was like, thank the Lord. Someone understands that we aren't all Beyonce or Kevin Hart. Aside: I sincerely wonder if Kevin Hart is on drugs because he does so much STUFF. How? How? I have no energy to get myself out of bed on a regular basis and he's doing 12 movies a year, a stand up tour, getting married, AND raising kids! Anyway, after my initial excitement at finding out that someone thinks life is hard and everyday small victories should be celebrated, I realized that is terrible. Should there really be humans on the planet who, decade after decade, have to applaud themselves on sliding out the bed just to feel any bit of happiness? I know, I know. Most people will think there's no way someone ...

As we can see, 30 consecutive days turned out to be a bit much for the kid. I was trying not to think of my audience when I thought of writing, but that's a bit difficult. I wanted to write just for the sake of writing and getting myself through a rough patch. However, it's difficult to not want to entertain. What's the point of me saying hey guys read my blog if it's just stream of consciousness with no appeal to the average reader? I'm sure you guys want to hear some cracky tales, but unfortunately, I don't have any new ones to go around. One thing I've realized during this bout of depression is that the desire to commit suicide and addiction have a lot in common. Any former addict will tell you that they still struggle with the desire to go back to their addicted ways. Everyday I struggle with the desire to just be done. Every. Single. Day. The only difference is that, as far as I know, I've never committed suicide before so I'm not fighting of...