At Least There Are No Rabid Donkeys Eating My Toes?
You may remember my general distaste for scales. Not the weighing type, but the type healthcare providers are always trying to use to measure subjective issues. Pain scales. Anxiety scales. That sort of thing.
I always come up with my own, when asked.
“Well, on a scale of one to childbirth, this pain ranks somewhere around a 7.”
“On a scale from one to that one winter when I lived in Rochester, my emotional health is somewhere around the mid-Atlantic.”
“On a scale of one to rabid donkeys chewing my toes off while I watch a middle school production of Riverdance, I’m doing ok.”
So for those keeping track, today I am officially at, “desperate enough for a few minutes of quiet that I will take a bath even though it smells a bit like cat pee in my bathroom because my 18-year-old cat can no longer go down the stairs and we have nowhere else to put the litter box.”
I’m having one of those days where every tiny perceived injustice and annoyance feels like the universe is out to get me. Not in an OCD way. More in a going to kick rocks because I have a cold and therefore everything sucks sort of way.
Every day I wake up and Donald Fucking Trump is still our president-elect. Basically, I’m waking up and the donkeys are sniffing my toes already.
It’s an interview week at work, which I don’t mind but it stretches my resources because I’m a major introvert and small talk with strangers makes me want to hide in a dark closet. Luckily, my office is pretty small and has no windows.
Lorelei just had her first taste of not being chosen for the part she wanted in a school play, and she is not. having. that. shit. Basically, I think she’s having the kid version of the same type of day as me. She has also drawn all over her face, which I actually don’t mind, but I always feel like I should. She says she turned herself into a “puppy surprise” which is this stuffed dog that comes with 3, 4, or even 5! puppies inside it. As far as I can tell you play the part of Doggie Houser, OBGYN and deliver the puppies via c-section. She maybe wants one just a little. As in, when she visited my sister I got a text that said, “For the love of all that is holy, someone better buy L a Puppy Surprise for Christmas.”
I drove by my therapist’s office today (Not in a stalkery way, I swear! It’s on my way home from work), and it suddenly hit me that it’s not her office anymore. It’s going to be weird to drive by for a little while! And yes, I did immediately want to email and tell her about it, but I didn’t because boundaries. All of my tens upon tens of readers are going to be really grateful when she gets back from maternity leave — because for now, you guys get to read all the mundane shit I’d normally make her listen to. You’re so lucky!
So what have I been doing to relieve the emotional pressure of the last week?
Why, making #jobama memes, of course! Seriously, I have a problem. It’s a sickness, and I need an intervention.
Here are the ones I’ve made so far.
