Monday, December 19, 2011

How I got stuck in my own coat - An Essay On Insanity

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If I'd been able to stay in bed all weekend (nothing sexy about it), I would have done so gladly. Nothing would have made me happier than curling up with books, movies, and laptop under a pile of blankets while reclining on a mound of pillows. I was/am exhausted. When I received a text message at about 12:30 this morning that read, "Thanks, you too :)" I couldn't even stop the audible outburst. "F*ck you ya self centered asshole. Always thinking you're the most important thing in the world. I don't know why I wasted any time on someone like you. Find someone else to stroke your ego when you're not too busy. Prick. Well not again. Screw you, jerk!" and then Naomi Campbell'd it against the floor (thank God for area rugs). A few tears rolled down my face to my pillow and I slipped blissfully back to sleep.

I knew today would have to be better. I made it to the office on time, Monster Lo-Carb in hand, wielding a chocolate frosted doughnut to tame the savage beast that was my appetite. Everything flowed along nicely until about 11. I was talking to a friend over lunch today when something signaled my brain that if the other person said one more word I was going to cry. It wasn't offensive at all. As a matter of fact it was sweet. I'm a big softy, ya know.

"Maybe I just need to get out of the office. This going to work in the dark and coming home at dusk is a downer. A quick trip outside into the fresh air will help." I thought. Reaching into my purse, I located my gloves, slipped my coat on, donned my sunglasses, and headed for the door. When I reached the door I thought it best to check my pockets to make sure I had my office key card. I slipped my hands inside my coat pockets and felt the keys and breathed a sigh of relief. At least I wouldn't have to walk back to my desk looking like a forgetful moron. My arms made the motion designed to remove my hands from my pockets.

"Son of a bitch! I'm stuck!" A moment of panic hit me as powerfully as if I were climbing a ladder in a tunnel filling with water only to find the hatch at the top locked from the outside (recurring dream since childhood... scary shit man). You see, my gloves have thick fluffy cuffs on them and when I shoved my hands in my pockets the cuffs went in too. Easier in than out apparently, when I pulled my hands back they caught. Was I stuck? No. We all know I wasn't freaking stuck. Don't be ridiculous. Anyone would know that, but anyone does not include my brain. OBVIOUSLY.

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80's Flashback Memory Intermission

When I was about 9 or 10, I recall my sister and I asking one of my mother's friends for a little insight into an age old question. "Joyce? Why does our Mom cry?" we asked. Looking back I know that Joyce was being kind. She gave us the soft answer when the truth was, "Because you kids are assholes. Stop fighting. She's got enough shit going on without you brats making it worse."


Do you see there how I used a past experience to make me feel better about the fact that I can't always be stoic? I get it from my mom. She cried sometimes so it must be hereditary right? WRONG!

1. Tired
2. Hungry
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3. Angry
4. Emotional
5. Hungry
6. Irrational 
7. I'm still sort of hungry

Let's get something clear here, okay? PMS is real. There is nothing make believe about it, and it may affect someone you know (me). If you want to argue with me about it that's fine, but it's important that you know ahead of time that you're wrong.

PS. I do not regret feeling like I have spent too much time in my life on people who can't reciprocate because they are emotionally vacant. I do regret throwing my phone. There are cookies in the break room. Don't mind if I do.


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