Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Life in the Trenches. Or something.

A/N: This is not me passively-aggressively begging for money. This is me venting, hardcore.

I had a very bad day yesterday. I woke up mad at GuestDog, because she barked at the mail carrier and woke me up. Which she has done every single day she's been here, except Sunday. I love GuestDog, but I'm getting really cranky about the rude awakenings every day.

I found some decent clothes and went out and mowed the back lawn, then took a long shower. It wasn't what I wanted to do, which was break things or throw furniture, but it was something. The physical worked off some of my prickly energy, and the shower helped ground me some - scrubbing every inch of myself is pretty mindless, but also reminds me where the numb spots are, gives me something specific to think about. And I can listen to a playlist on my Kindle.

I may yet need some Angry Girl music tomorrow (as in Wednesday, because Tuesday hasn't ended for me, yet), but even if I do, I will already be better than today. Listening to Breakfast Club and Blast From the Past and Contact in the background while I did other things helped. A lot.

My depression is very "angry at myself" based. I'm angry at too many things, but not all the time. I get angriest when I get overwhelmed, when I feel like I'm failing, when everything just seems to be coming at once.

I had reached out to a local woman, asking her basically if I could pick her brain about business, since she owns one or two and is successful, and because of my miswired circadian rhythm, I fell asleep yesterday morning instead of staying up for her call. So being awakened by the dog barking at the mail carrier, me looking at my phone and realizing I'd slept through something important, something meant to help make this new direction in my life easier, was just that little bit too much.

Money is a thing for me. I grew up in a household where we never talked about money. That was Mom and Dad stuff, and none of our business. I knew we were poor, though things got easier by the time I got to high school, but I had no idea how my parents made ends meet, or if they didn't. I seriously wish my school had taught some kind of budgeting or living on your own for real class, because reality was a big surprise. I was one of those, "But I still have checks left, what the hell do you mean, I don't have money?" And I'm good with numbers. Gah.

Anyway, money's always a sore spot for me. Even if everything else in my life is going relatively well, not being able to take care of my own basic needs makes me feel like a huge failure. That is where I am - too many things coming down at once, with little income in the foreseeable future. Everything costs money that I need now, not in two months - my meds, food, a storage unit I'm desperate to get out of (we've even made room in the garage), bus rides, EVERYthing. And the bank decided my "extended" overdraft (all $30 of which is fees, which is completely asinine) was extended enough to close my account. So I'm in a really hurty "What kind of fifty-year-old woman can't take care of herself? How can you be such a failure?" place. My worst critic truly is myself.

Money failure always hurts more, pokes harder at my self-esteem, and sometimes, like yesterday, it makes me very angry. At myself. At my brain that refuses to go to sleep at anything approaching a reasonable hour, and equally refuses to awaken early enough for me to get anything done with requires leaving the house. If I want to leave the house, I have to simply stay up. Going to sleep isn't an option.

I honestly have no clue how I functioned all the years I was a single parent, except that it involved three or four hours of sleep a night and about five alarms in different places in the room. And out of the room, sometimes. And a kid who didn't get to school on time, sometimes.

Anyway, this one was especially dark because over the last week, I have come up with a fantastic idea for taking my editing to a new level, and it WILL change my life. I have absolutely zero doubt. I can feel it, deep inside my soul. The energy is changing. And I was am so excited about it.

And then, I get a day like yesterday, and it makes my usual depression feel like a stubbed toe.

I think of all the things I "have" to have money for, and it just seems hopeless. How do I go to my doctor appointment in two weeks, and pay a $5 copay, when I don't have the $5 to get on the bus to even get there? How do I send in my med mail order when I no longer have a bank account to give them the debit card number for? How do I find a way to pay for that storage unit, and for a way to get those belongings here, when I have neither the money for the storage place, or a vehicle with which to move the stuff? How do I buy the things I'm going to run out of tomorrow, which are part of my fairly strict diet, when I don't even have a frakkin' quarter to put in the buggy at Aldi, even if I had a way to get there.

I'm just so frustrated and angry and when my brain does this, it sucks the energy out of me and makes everything I do that much harder, that much more painful.

I think in my next life, I want to be a butterfly. I'd start out as a worm, hibernate, then get pretty for a few weeks, help flowers and trees have sex, and move on to whatever's after that. Yeah. Helping flowers and trees have sex. Sounds perfect.

Monday, August 17, 2015

Netflix: Sense8

Jenny Crusie, a romance writer I enjoy, has been watching Sense8 on Netflix, and critiquing the show. Her critical analyses are by turns funny as hell and irritating as frak.

Be warned, if you have not seen the show, she spoils EVERYTHING. EVERY SINGLE THING.

After the last two episodes, I decided to respond on her blog. Here's my answer.

I have to laugh at these – what do we call them – critiques?
Beyond the occasional reminder that you love this show, one could not be blamed for thinking you actually detest the show. They hardly ever do anything right, or to be more precise, the way you would.
I love your books, have for a long time, but they are not the only books I read, because your way of telling a story is not the only way of telling a story which appeals to me.
Sense8 is telling the story a different way than you would, and it’s a way I quite enjoy, have experienced before, and am looking forward to more of. That’s not to say I was never “What the ever-lovin’ frak was that?” at any time, because I was, but overall, I knew the payout on this would be a long time coming, and I for one, am willing to invest the time, the effort, to slowly put the layers back on the onion so that when it all comes together, in the end – and it will, make no mistake – it will be such a profound feeling of satisfaction.
“Normal” storytelling is what most TV is, and most TV is frakking boring, with a few exceptions.
Show me something new, Wachowskis. Show me something that makes me think and wonder and turn ideas over in my head, JMS. And then go away and let me watch my very predictable Law & Order, so I can give my brain a break.
If you haven't yet checked out Sense8, I highly recommend it. It's smart and frustrating and unflinchingly emotional. It's only on Netflix, which is a problem, I realize, because I had to visit a friend and borrow her Netflix to watch the show. But if you're a Wachowski fan, if you like JMS's storytelling style, find a way to watch it.

Cranky Monday

Guest Dog barked at the damn mail person. Until then, I was sleeping really well for once. I am not feeling very friendly toward guest dog at the moment. I'll get over it, 'cause she's a dog, but until then, she needs to stay the frak away from me. I didn't even let her lick the yogurt from my empty breakfast bowl.

Chase wrote off my overdraft balance, 100% of which was their stupid fees - monthly service fees for not using my account (because I had $2.48 in it), an extended overdraft fee, and the one that started it all, the charge they put through when there wasn't money to cover it in the first place. On something I had cancelled, for frak's sake. I guess I'm supposed to feel thankful that they never charged me the $35 overdraft fee? Yeah, okay. Thanks for that tiny kindness, Chase. Gramma doesn't like you today. Gramma preemptively doesn't like you tomorrow, either.

Blue Bell is rolling out distribution, FINALLY. Only the part of the country they started with wasn't even Texas, and the part of Texas they started with is awfully frakkin' close to Louisiana. So Houston might get some Blue Bell, but not San Antonio or Austin or Waco or Dallas or Fort Worth. Blue Bell, I love you, but you damn well better be worth MONTHS of waiting. I support you taking apart your factories from the ground up - it was a good move - but damn, man. I haven't had any Blue Bell since like, I don't know? December?

And in the final insult, Applebee's, which has $7 burgers on Monday nights, sent out an email saying some of those $7 burgers even come with refillable fries! When I can't get out of the house and get a burger tonight, that's just mean. Cruel and inhumane, even.

On a not-cranky note...........okay, I don't have one.

I'm alive? That's a win, I guess.

Oh, hey. I have clean underwear because I washed my underwear last night. Win!

How far in advance do you add things to your calendar?

My birthday next year. I'm celebrating, even if I'm alone. Come celebrate with me if you want.

Monday, August 10, 2015

Easy, no. Necessary, yes.

Once again, theferrett puts my thoughts into words, so much more articulately than I usually can.

I am not normal (frankly, I don't think anybody is, but that's just my personal opinion). I am okay with my abnormality. Some days I hate my brain because some days it feels like it hates me. But I also love my brain, because I see/perceive things in ways other people don't or can't.

Sometimes, I wish depression were a monster I could just slay and be done with it. Unfortunately, it is more like a Goa'uld, which has wound its way around my spine and brain stem, and which can never be separated from me without killing me.

But because it is so intrinsically a part of me, I learn things from it, I arrive at insights I wouldn't normally get within ten miles of. Thus is the curse also a gift, and if the world is a balancing act, then I have it so someone else doesn't have to.

Basically, instead of killing my demon, or railing against it, I've learned (am still learning) to live with it. Key word being live.