I Never Liked That Stupid Game Anyway

There are a few major life changes that are going on in the Stoleyourprozac universe lately and as always, my body is noting them. All of them. In unique and specific ways. (Here is where I turn into an old lady and list my ailments.) My face is reminiscent of a teenager, my hair is frizzing out daily, and as always is the case when I have to deal with things that are emotional, my digestive track is all, "let's play red-light/green-light, but not actually tell you when we are changing the light." Fuuuuck.

Red Light: Most of my stress is from getting ready to move to my own apartment. I am doing it all pretty much alone and although it is going very smoothly so far, the toll of coming across unused wedding invitations, old photos, and the like is, uh.... DUDE, IT SUCKS SO HARD. And it hurts and I don't really have any tears for it, but man oh man can my stomach knot up and just sit there like a grumpy toad. Arms crossed, refusing to move, and majorly scowling. That was much of yesterday.

Green Light: Then suddenly, umm... a shift occurs (oh god, is this post seriously about whether or not I can take a crap due to stress? Just... wow.) and serious gurgling and movement starts. And I then shit myself wild for the next 14 hours straight.

It's been great fun around here.

But my new apartment is fucking cute as hell and has all these built-ins and lots of sunlight. I know that once I am settled in and out of this emotional (and gastric) purgatory, I will be back on top.

On top of what, we are not so clear about, but let's not question the slightly dehydrated, overwrought, redhead today. Let's just feed her Malox and weak tea, and give her sweet compliments about her appearance that may or may not be true.

Yep, I totally look like this today.

There Are Real Post Written, But It Isn't Time For Them Yet

So instead of my emotion based rantings, I give you some youtube videos. Enjoy, chickadees.

Time Is On My Side (I Wish It Would Get Off)

This was the subject line to an email to a friend, but only having one person read it was not enough to satiate my desire for attention regarding tiny witticisms. That pretty much explains why I have a blog at all, now that I think about it. Also, I have a lot of time to dawdle away lately.

BUT, I have some hopeful news on the job hunt front, and although I realize saying anything about it on such a public forum might potentially jinx it, I just have to gush a little. It is one of those perfect storms. (Which is meant to be a positive metaphor, since I love the rain. Keep up, people.) I really want the job and I have someone with a notable amount of clout advocating for me. It feels awfully nice to have some hope about employment for a few days, even if it doesn't pan out in the end.

I am currently listening to a band called Royksopp, and even though I am about a decade late on the pick-up (their album Melody A.M., which is the one I am listening to, was released in 2001), the light use of auto-tune is not driving me batty. No small feat.

Have we established that this is going to be another directionless entry? I think so, but I just wanted to clear that up incase you were wondering.

My band's first real show is tomorrow and I am sort of vibrating with slightly elevated adrenaline levels. I am walking around doing my normal to-do items, but with a fuzzy feeling in my joints, pulsing very lightly. WHEEE, cheap highs are cool by me. It is going to be a great show, I can feel it, but being in front of all these people I know and respect makes me nervous. I really want people to like what we are doing and I hate the idea of falling flat or friends nodding and saying "yeah, that was really great" just to placate me (and my bandmates) if we are weaksauce. I think it helps me to imagine the worst case scenario. I can't say exactly how this is beneficial at all, but the nervous nellie in me won't shut-up, so I guess I have to make her useful somehow. Even if it is bit of chimera. So, if you haven't looked us up, here we are online: The Visceral

The other day, I stopped by a place I used to haunt all the time. I have made a few appearances lately and although I was rather nervous about peoples reactions to me showing up, things were completely fine, and my worries were for naught. In fact, the sweetest thing happened. A few people there have picked up on the fact that AM and I have been going through some very hard times and that the nature of our relationship is changing and being redefined. I didn't know if people would take sides, shun me, get way too fucking nosey, etc. Consistently people have been graceful and kind (okay there are a few I sorta want to spit on, but I think I wanted to spit on them anyway), letting us figure it out. So, there I was at the bar ordering a beer, standing next to someone I have always liked, but was never particularly close to. He is a middle-age black man, always impeccably dressed and possessing very kind eyes that he hides behind sunglasses. We always say hello and exchange pleasantries/updates and a quick hug. I assumed that day would be no different. We greeted one another and then mid-sentence he stopped, looked at me and said, "Girl, come here. We don't need words, do we?" And then he gave me a hug like never before. It wasn't lecherous, lest you get the wrong idea. It just was supportive, protective and caring. An "actions speak louder than words" moment. I got a little verkelmpt and leaned in. He just held me for a moment and then we smiled at each other and said "yeah."

I have been trying to remember to take my vitamins regularly and always get a kick out of how it turns my pee from pale yellow (I am hydrated, bitches) to sort of NEON pale yellow. I feel like a mutant superhero, or some shit. I AM RADIO-ACTIVE, MUTHAFUCKAS.

I think I have consumed no less than five cups of tea today. Caffeinated tea. Nerves and caffeine is making me want to have an impromptu dance party!! Won't you join me?

I Have No Idea Why I Want To Have a Post Title With Spud Mackenzie In It, But I Do. So There.

It is nearing on 3am and I can't sleep. I have managed, as I so often do when given lenient schedules, to flip-flop my sleeping hours to only occur during the early to mid morning. I start to actually get tired around 4am and finally asleep by 5. Then I wake up every hour or so until 9, check my email, maybe make some tea. I often crawl back into bed by 11:30, totally exhausted and pass out for an hour or two. Fucking ridiculous. But the wacky, light sleep does lead me to thinking about Spuds MacKenzie in the the wee hours, which is kind of fun, right? I GOT FREE ASSOCIATION ON LOCKDOWN, bitches.

So. Do I actually have anything to say? Yes. Am I feeling articulate enough to elaborate? Nope.

Things I was going to cover:

1. How much I have changed since I started this blog. How the blog itself has morphed and changed to reflect this.

2. How I wonder about someone reading old stuff, today for the first time and how they might then get a slightly off perception of me.

3. A universal theory of physics. That I developed on my own.

It was going to be pretty badass with its heavy emotional and intellectual content. But now I am just going for pretty. And badass. And meaty. And then WHOA.

Oh my god, I just want to go to sleep.

Pep Talk To Myself

I am getting really good at being strong. Not physically strong, of course. In fact, I think my arms were sore for two days after carrying four heavy grocery bags barely two blocks recently. I mean, I am mentally and emotionally capable of dealing with loads of shit in ways I never was before. And let me tell you, there is shit everywhere these days. Okay, well I need different imagery, but you get the idea. I have had so many sleepless nights in the last 6 months... nights fraught with worry and anger. Days filled with moving forward as much as life allows, which often is not particularly far and frequently I get pulled back behind where I was even further. Losing my job was a huge blow. I am glad to be rid of it, but the timing was just about the worst ever. Pretty much the moment I had some money in my savings account dedicated to a very important use in my near future I had to let go of that plan. It is now my emergency survival fund as opposed to the deposit and first months rent in a new place.

This reality keeps me stuck like a lightning bug in a jar. I have some grass and a twig, but there is no escape until the fates release me. I can flicker all night long, but to no avail if no one sees me or if they think it isn't such a bad deal being contained like this. I know, I am being esoteric with my metaphors here.

I am one of those people that avoids getting angry as much as possible. I don't like to raise my voice, I don't like being cruel or cutting to another person. However, I know I have a depth of rage in me about some of the things that have happened in my life. The things no one asks for, never wishes on another, but they happen anyway. Rape, manic-depression, job loss, watching someone choose substances over their relationship with you for just too long... What I am learning about myself is that I am finally capable of taking the hurt and anger and using it for something greater than it really is. (Giving myself a little slack when I provide someone with a piece of my mind doesn't hurt either.) I never pretend that I have it all figured out or that I am some pro at dealing with the fucked up parts, but I am able to see the progress I have made and how much better off I am these days.

Ya know, just harnessing the power and energy of life's shit-storms on the regular.

I really gotta get better metaphors around here.

1. I Make Lists 2. For They Are Good 3. Even If Uneeded

A. Phrases I have said repeatedly over days or weeks for often totally unclear reasons:

1. Katarina Witt (which I pronounced "Vitt" as it should be). This is my first memory of a persistent word or phrase that I would say over and over in my mind that occurred with no triggering reason. I was in 6th grade and I remember sitting at my desk in my remarkably boyish looking outfit (consisting of an oversized striped t-shirt, oversized plaid shorts and vans. This was also the year I wore turtlenecks under a fitted blazer to school. I guess I couldn't decide if I was a skater wannabe or a professor in training.) and being called on during class. Turns out Katarina Witt was not the answer to the simple math question I was requested to solve and it took multiple verbal summersaults to get out the correct answer.

2. Deutschland uber alles. Mostly the "uber alles" part. This happened the other day as I was wiping down the kitchen, changing the music playing on my computer and adjusting my resume's objective section for a possible job. I was not singing the German national anthem or anything, just letting the words ping around my brain, echoing each time they hit a preferred neuron, I guess. Germany above all.

3. Subcutaneous. College. I am glad that one was short-lived, as that word gives me the heebie-jeebies.

4. Coin. This stems from when I was young my older sister pointed out any word could sound weird and not actually like a word you would be inclined to use in conversation if you say it over and over enough. Her proof of this was for her to say the word coin 10-15 times in a row and leave me with this groundbreaking discovery (hey, I was 6), and boy-howdy did it fascinate me. I said it over and over out loud and then, when told to shut-up at the dinner table (I certainly don't blame them) I just set it on internal repeat. That word still sounds odd to me to this day.

I am not too OCD-ish otherwise. Just let me organize my MnM's/Jelly Belly's by color, wash my hands 5-6 times per day (okay sometimes more, BUT THAT'S JUST GOOD HYGIENE), and find a measure of solace in completing menial tasks in a particular order.

B. Firsts (inspired by a much more eloquent post about firsts by Petunia Faced Girl)

1. First time I got the wind knocked out of me: Also my first day of kindergarten. I was running around a corner just as Michael Whoshisface was rounding the same corner in the other direction. I was notably smaller than he and down I went hitting the checkered linoleum floor on my back. I promptly thought I was dying. Drama ensued. I never forgave Michael for that as well as for having the same birth date as me. HE STOLE EVERYTHING FUN FROM ME was my stance for a good year. Punkass.

2. First kiss: My first real lip-lock was with my then Junior High boyfriend. We had been sweatily holding hands as we walked home for a couple of weeks and hugging before we parted ways. Each day the hug lingered, we touch foreheads, but neither of us would go for it. My girlfriends had all been kissed (one had her boyfriend make out with her bellybutton. I still do not like that image.) and were pestering "when is it gonna happen, already!" One lovely blue sky day we stopped where we always stopped, on the sidewalk right outside of the park we always walked through. When we said our goodbyes, I was never aware of the world around us. Puppy-love did a number on me, that's for damn sure. It was just always him. And me. We engaged in our silly little mating dance of laughter, closeness, bad british accents, quietness, and longing. I haven't the slightest clue who leaned in first or even how the kiss finally came about. I just know it did and I was never the same. The best part was that as we separated from this new and awesome lip to lip thing, someone across the street hollered "WHOOOO!" We were shook out of our revery and giggled like the school kids we were. The accolades may have been unrelated, but I like to think that some homebound weirdo was rooting for us each afternoon and got a kick out of us finally going for it (stopping short of the possible pedophile thing, of course). It was simple and sweet and once I was around the corner and out of my first's vision range I clicked my heels and then ran with a shit-eating grin plastered on my face the five blocks left home.

(Source)

First desired professions: I wanted to be Mrs. Bon Marche (why I had to marry "Mr. Good Market" and couldn't just be the CEO on my own was rather telling of the times, no? In my later years I made up for this by being a totally kickass feminist) and get to run the store, speak french, and wear awesome clothes all the time. Also I wanted to be a detective as well as a broadway star singing show-tunes every night. Not necessarily in that order, but these first vocational leanings occurred roughly around the same time. (Alright, then it isn't really a "first" then is it, rather a series of firsts, but we are flexible here at Ward of the State of Mind. Except when it comes to Jelly Belly organization.) Now if I could just find a profession that wraps all these up into one I might actually know what they fuck I am supposed to be doing professionally in my life today.

Ugh, I am tired of this post. And hungry. And my drink glass is empty. I NOW PROCLAIM THIS POST COMPLETE.

Things Made of Stuff. Wrought From Other Stuff/Things.

Today is national articulation day, if you can't already tell. Also, here is a bunch of random shit that I thought about as I wrote it. TA-DAH.

1. I am yet again battling a swollen gland/throat affliction and am all, um, 2010 has been 2/3rds sickness already. Great. Which is sort of unfair to 2010 as there have only been 3 days so far, but I thought I had an agreement (with who, I am not sure) about strange viruses decreasing in frequency and severity in this coming year. I should probably be happy that my joints are not attacking themselves and AM is not having to help me get dressed and I am not breaking down into tears every time I try to walk up and down the stairs because it hurts and WON'T THE DOCTOR PLEASE EXPLAIN THIS, I AM PRETTY SURE THAT IS YOUR JOB, as was the case last year near this time. That was hell. Okay, perspective.

2. The first words out of my mouth this morning were "what on God's green earth?" My alarm sounded at 5:30 in the morning and as I reached to turn it off that is what I blurted out. (What could have possibly possessed me to set my alarm for 5:30a.m. on a Sunday? I have absolutely no idea.) It is rather quaint sounding of me to use that phrase as normally I would have opted for slightly more vulgar terms. Definitely would have thrown a "fuck" in there, bare minimum. I think all the Prairie Home Companion that has been playing in my home is having a vaguely Lutheran-y restraint/aw-shucks effect on my language.

3. I keep having brief pockets of brain twitchy, emo-ness where I just mentally flop about like a fish out of water who is rapidly giving up the fight to find the river again. There is no pattern to it, so I haven't figured out how to predict its appearance. Suddenly I am disconnected and floating above everything with questions, questions, questions. Just bonk me on the head already life, and let's move on to frying me up with lemons and capers or some tasty campfire/cook-with-beer recipe. (Hmm, I took that metaphor too far and now it makes no sense, but I am hungry for fish now. Which if I follow this to its logical conclusion sort of means I want to eat my own brain/emotive state. BRAINS!!!! Self Cannibalizing Zombie on the loose!! Which I suppose I don't have to warn you about, because I am only eating myself. Scary warning rescinded.)

4. (That was a fun rabbit hole, no? I think so.)

5. On New Years Eve I went on a date with myself (gotta woo that brain before you nosh on it. [I just can't let it go, can I?]) with a book about George S. Patton and a couple beers at The Fox & Goose Pubic House. 20-30 minutes before midnight, I was invited repeatedly to various tables after many pitchers of beer were consumed by those table's patrons and many strange looks were thrown my way. You could just see the "WTF" thought bubbles above their heads as the evening wore on. After politely declining numerous invites, I said "oh hell, why not?" to the table that seemed to be having the most enjoyable time talking intensely, smiling, laughing and guzzling beer. In the brief time I was hanging out with them I was able to get three awesome book recommendations, people committed to coming out to MY BAND'S FIRST SHOW, a midnight (and chaste) kiss from a stranger, and heady conversation about supporting local arts and music and the ultimate purpose of art. It was fifteen kinds of fun and silly as well as remarkably information dense and passionate.

6. The only resolutions I have made are to use the the word "tits" as a confirmation of coolness phrase (e.g. If a friend tells me about a great meal he had, I can happily reply "tits!" so as to convey I am glad for him and think it is rad that he enjoyed said meal so much) and to find a reason to use the word "fisticuffs" more often. I am all about vocabulary enhancement for the new year.

7. Why is there no sex allowed in the champagne room? If ever there was a room for sex, I would think the champagne room would be it, or at least next door to it, so you could wobble your happy little butt over and get it on. Someone should look into this. But not me.