UPDATE; The Man came home and in passing said in his whiniest baby voice, “Oh are you sad and depressed?” And he made the baby pouty face too.. WTF MAN?! Really?! Thanks for the support, you asshole!
Sorry, this is not going to be a good – or even mildly organized – post, so just pass it by if you don’t want to read a little raw honesty.
I know I’ve been keeping a rather brave and positive face on lately. But on the inside, I’m depressed, stuck, scared, and more than a little freaked out.
I still haven’t found a job that will pay me to sit safely at home and make news all day. Who wants to hire a crazy editor lady who can barely go outside without having a panic attack? No one wants that person…NO ONE. I have my volunteer work, and one day it might be able to pay a few of my bills when they get off their feet. But that day seems rather far away.
This damn shit has messed me up so bad that I just can’t believe things will ever get better. The last four or five days it’s been so bad I can’t even be artistic and creative.
Paying my bills and June’s rent are all that’s ever on my mind. It’s so fucking debilitating. I barely have enough cash to cover the rent for next month, and no hope in sight for after that. I just can’t be homeless.
Even in my sleep. I’ve been having these dark and “busy” fucking dreams where I wake up feeling more exhausted than when I went to sleep. They’re not nightmares, just really all over the place and busy. By “busy” I mean fast-paced and disjointed and physically exhausting.
I. HATE. THIS. SHIT.
Dirty dishes in the sink. Feel like drinking a case of beer and taking an entire bottle of pills. Good thing I don’t keep pills in the house. Laundry needs to be done. I need to clean so many things. Nothing is organized at the moment. I can’t. I just can’t.
I have managed to visit and care for my garden every day. I guess it’s my one saving grace on a daily basis. Kinda like OCD. I wake up and know I have to do this and this and this, then do this 3 times before doing that 6 times. Spending five minutes with my veggies every day is now part of that routine. Fucking routines. I’ve even noticed that I have begun to count deodorant swipes under each armpit. Always 10 for the left and 11 for the right. WTF?!
Just a big, neurotic mess of an old lady I guess.