Sniffing KittensSTRESS! It’s the pits, lord, yes.
Makes a woman do odd things. Makes an already loopy woman even loopier.
Case in point: A certain someone you all know has been dealing with stress in her usual atypical way -- no overeating for her, no valium jonesing, no nail-bitey, fidgety, explosive ragey shit for this chick. No, this certain someone that you all know, this magnificent, goddess-like albeit kind of stupid (in an endearing way) woman deals with her bottled-up feelings of hate, resentment, sensory overload, and quiet despair by pulling out her eyelashes. At night. When she’s asleep.
Fine, now that you know of whom I am referring, please allow me a moment of tender reflection, a small mental health intermission , before I continue.
Tender Reflection #1: Newborn kittens make me happy. They smell like Necco wafers.
Tender Reflection #2: The first time I was introduced to Godiva chocolates, my tongue actually leapt from my mouth, hopped onto the table, and did an erotic bump and grind.
Tender Reflection #3: The Marie Collander chicken pot pie I ate a few months ago was really, really good.
And now a few seconds of self-pity.
All better now. I shall continue.
So last night I woke up pulling out my goddamned eyelashes, a hideous behavior I thought I’d kicked some two years ago. ‘Course, my stress level has climbed to an all-time high of 17.5 on the Richter-Hades scale, so I shouldn’t be surprised by the return of this abhorrent nighttime OCD thing of mine, but I am repulsed.
Oh, this has SO been a month of cruel, totally not funny jokes….Screw my lashes -- it’s a wonder I haven’t pulled my damn lips off.
Couple-few (charming Dansville, N.Y. colloquialism, “couple-few”) random yet soul-killing thoughts for your dismissal (seriously, please do dismiss them -- I'm just whining out loud here):
I’m so sad that I had to let a dear, dear, DEAR friend down recently…She understands why, but that doesn’t ease my guilt and disappointment.
My guilt and disappointment are exacerbated by my reluctance to learn how to flush the chemo port in my mother’s chest. My brother and I are going in today to watch, listen and learn, and honestly, I’d rather eat a pile of bunny pellets…But it must be done.
I feel like screaming obscenities at my mother, for reasons I shan’t express.
I feel like the worst person that ever walked the face of this godforsaken earth.
I still hate Tim Allen. Why am I thinking about Tim Allen? Well, I don’t know. I just am. And I hate his guts.
I need to sniff a kitten right about now.