Therapy Monday! Like riding a bike, right? You just get back on and go even if you haven’t ridden in 20 years and your legs hurt just looking at it?

So, big news. No, that builds it up too much. Let’s just call it kind of news.

I did it! I had the hardest conversation I’ve ever had with my doctor. And I know you’re thinking, this conversation shouldn’t be that hard. Unless you’ve been in my situation, in which case you know what I’m talking about.I went in for a physical last Friday and fessed up. This anxiety thing is too much. It’s impeding my ability to enjoy pretty much anything I’m supposed to be enjoying and that sucks. It’s starting to fill my head with images that could play out on the national news and that sucks. It’s to the point that I’m actually anxious about being anxious and THAT SUCKS.

When I put it this way, asking for help sounds very reasonable. But there’s nothing to be anxious about…yet. <—-see, right there?! That’s the shit this bitch will do to you!

A real reason to feel anxious = hanging off the side of a mountain while doing higher math. eech.

Anyway, what? Right. The conversation – there’s nothing to be anxious about. So, when I started the conversation with my doctor, I essentially said, “Hi. Yes, that’s great my blood pressure is athlete low. Oh, my cough is clearing up. Excellent, excellent. sooo…I’m having trouble coping…with..life.”

Which sounds completely ridiculous and the minute it was out,  I wanted to take it back. Be all, just kid-ding! Of course I can manage the daily dealings of life. HAHA, Christmas? No problem, who freaks out about Christmas, RIGHT? Hahahahaohmygodhelpmepleasexmas the crowds, ohhhh, the crowds

But the truth was (x-files) out there.  My doctor was adorably caring and concerned. He asked me about symptoms and I’ll list them here so you can know. My main physical manifestation is in my stomach. As in, it feels like a million rapid dogs ripping their way out.  I also get bad headaches and, occasionally, a racing heart. Emotional manifestations include anger and more anger and being irritated at flies. Flies are everywhere, I don’t understand that at all. Where do they come from and why do they suddenly get in my face? Psychological manifestations (these are the worst) include being sure something insanely horrible is going to happen and then picture the insanely horrible thing that for no reason feels completely real. Even though it isn’t.

Again, when I write it out like that, the problem sounds very dramatic and urgent.

But then I have to add – that’s my reactions…to…life. And I feel stupid.

My doctor clarified the largest freak outs by explaining that when a person is under stress (read: life) and more stress is added on top of that (read: effing mall at christmas), person’s brain has a chemical meltdown. He didn’t say meltdown because he’s professional but you get the drift. The result is an anxiety attack. Finally,he gave me a questionnaire from a big stack of questionnaires  – isn’t it nice to know you aren’t the only one? That like, an entire stack of people need help.

I answered as honestly as I could and he very patiently discussed options with me.

Doctor: You know yourself and this is your body.

Me: So what should I do????

Doctor: I can only give you the information to make a decision. I can’t make the decision for you.

Me: This is making me really anxious. Do these options come in direct injections? Also, I’ll need a monkey to inject me because I don’t like needles. They make me very nervous. God, this is, just…hard. Are injection monkeys covered by insurance?

Doctor: No.

In the end, I decided to go with lorazepam to treat the occasions of overwhelming anxiety. I chose this over daily medication for several reasons. Mainly, I take measures that I find effective to control the daily stuff in my own way, ways like exercise and water and other tricks (I’ll elaborate in comments if you want me to). I assured the doctor that, since lorazepam is addictive, if I find myself needing it more than every couple weeks or so I would call him.

I will if I need to. The great thing about hard conversations is that once you have them, it’s easier to have the next one.

What conversation have you had with your doctor or someone else that was incredibly hard but that you were happy you had it? If you haven’t had that conversation, what do you think is holding you back? Also, feel free to list your current medications. Or if you have questions about lorezepam, I’ll try to answer them from a patient point of view. OR leave stories of the time when lorezepam was used so you could spend less money at the bar and still get really really drunk. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.

Yes. Remember when I used to post here? And remember when it was pretty often? Then not so often? Then not at all? Remember that?

I feel like I’ve had this conversation with you before.

Well you can blame the silence on my mother. For real. Not in the hee hee joke it’s the mother’s fault way but the real she put the fear of Jeebus in me way. Because she was all, ‘Sadie don’t you think you might get your ass fired for putting up pictures of naked unicorn men? or Sadie don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate to admit to stalking satan disquised as sexy politician? or Sadie aren’t you worried that someone will see this and your family will be out on the street?’

Uhhh, well now I am.

Also, she doesn’t really talk like that.

I’m a little nervous posting this. Anxiety ratcheting up at the thought of the someone noticing me…

but what can you do?

Stop posting I guess. No. Yes. No.  – you see the struggle? I’m in a pissing contest with my rational self and my fantasy self. So you tell me, is it concerning having a blog and working?  I don’t know.

But today, I’m just going to let it fly. I’m going to try to get back in that fancy horse saddle and eat a dick.

Sorry mom.

Sorry boss.

Thank you doctor who is all, ‘you know they have medication for your problems?’

I will try to post more and stuff.

The other problem was that I forgot my password. But, clearly, I remembered it today – I think that’s a sign.

No pictures with this post. Laaaazzzzyyy.

Step 1: Don’t have ridiculously long post titles.

Fuck. Me.

Ok well you know what, who cares because no one reads post titles. I could be all, ‘Hey this post is about monkey’s getting tattoos of breasts so they can be more human looking and sexy’ and no one would even notice. Moving on…

This monkey here - cute or sad?

Step 2: Use the Plinky question of the day to combat writer’s block

Hmm, interesting…I do like questions. Today’s questions is

If you could enact one new law, what would it be?

Wow.

This just made writer’s block worse. Because I didn’t even have writer’s block before – I was going to write about the state of monkey sexuality and maybe there should be a law about that? No, no that’s a waste of my single lawmaking magical ability that is fiction and for fun but I’m suddenly taking really really seriously.

It’s the genie conundrum.

I’ve always said to myself, “Self you need to avoid the shit out of genies. Because genies are baaaaad mojo. They look like they give wishes but what the really give are lessons in humanity. And if there’s one thing I hate more than a monkey paw/ability to turn things into gold with a touch/suddenly being ruler of the world it’s a lesson.  Also, humanity. In general, all of that.”

Bratz + Genies + Internet Marketing = Evil Trifecta

There’s so many possibilities. And how far should I take this law thing. So, ok, I make the law and then do I have to come up with the punishment in case some one breaks the law? And when would this fictious, inevitably self-serving law go into effect?

This is….so….much….pressure.

I can’t do it. I can’t.

I must.

I feel like I should take the fancy highroad and enact some law that requires people to take their fashion advice from the Bills.

But that seems like it would come with all kinds of regulation issues.

or what about doing something that would benefit everyone? Like maybe improving vacation time for all people whose first name begins with the letter S and is me? Like that?

I don’t know. What law would you enact? If you could be a better blogger.

I just spent a good minute typing ‘wikipedia’ and being confused as to why I couldn’t log into my blog. Which just goes to prove that I’m at my most pointless on friday afternoons.  You know what else is pointless?

If you guessed douching ads then….

Brrrnn – you are WRONG. Surveys is the correct answer. Surveys are more pointless than douching ads because douching ads serve to educate and surveys serve to survey. Let’s get started shall we?

1. Do you watch little kid shows on channels like PBS and Qubo? What the hell is Qubo? Someone please tell me.

2. Do you like laws that require restaurants to list the calories for each item directly on their main menu? Do I? Hell yes, I more than like them. I looooove them, I want to take those calorie laws to the beach and put my arm around them and maybe splash a little in the sand but not too much because I don’t want to mess up my hair and then I want to lay those calorie laws down….

3. Should abstinence-only sex education be taught to cats and dogs as a more affordable alternative to spaying and neutering? aahahahahahahahahahaha

4. Would you rather meet the author of your favorite book/story, or one of the characters? Let’s see…I read Japanese homoerotic comics so….I’m going to go with characters. Plural. Mmmmmmmm.

5. Would you get a pet rat? Pet Rat is an oxymoron. Anyone who owns a rat and calls it ‘pet’ is a moron. Rats are morons.

6. Who would you rather date: Daniel Radcliffe OR Robert Pattinson? I don’t want to date either of these ladies.

TANGENT – speaking of ladies, I’m seriously disappointed that no one on my facebook reached out in my time of need concerning this. I was very upset and beside myself – LOOK AT HOW PUDGY EDS IS! He needs an intervention otherwise we could be looking at an Elvis level situation here. Oh and not paying child support and doing drugs is bad too.

Now I’m distracted from my survey from googling Eddie. It’s leading me down a dark path. A pudgy, slighly assholic, dark path.

The coolest thing that comes up when you search windows images for "clip art" - I was wanting it to be a little more meta but this will do.

Not to be all cliche about it, but what a difference a day makes. Yesterday ended pretty awesome. Danny sold the Saturn *sniff*! Then we went to pick up the boys from daycare. Which is always sort of nerve racking since you never know what’s happened in the 8 hours where the boys are unleashed on other unsuspecting children.

Do you think Fox went potty?

Do you think Leo will have an incident report?

Do you think they’ll let them play together like they did on Monday? Wasn’t it weird how all the other kids completely avoided them like they are trouble or something?

Do you think, do you think, do you think

And usually the answers to those questions aren’t good.

Look, I don’t want to give the wrong impression. Fox and Leo are not the worst kids there. That prize went to the little tigergirl who attacked everyone in the toddler class. Fox and Leo aren’t vicious just…you know, kids? I guess.

Anyway, we get there and of course Fox is in time out, I mean, that one’s a given. But it was only for markering on his face instead of paper. Danny and I shrugged it off because, a.) stupid rule and b.) washable marker.

Then the big news – Leo didn’t take down any of his “little friends”! Bless! We were super excited to not have to read about biting/pinching/pulling/hitting on his sheet. Oh and “little friends” is how daycare refers to the other children. It’s both cute and cloying and I’m never entirely sure how I feel about it but I find myself repeating it, even at home. Like, ‘Leo you need to quit pinching the shit out of your little friends, ok?’

What happened was they bumped him up for a couple hours. Which means he was in the toddler class with the cool older kids instead of lame class with the almost toddlers – they call that class “transition”. It’s like the halfway house for babies. Transition.

So the only reasonable conclusion to draw is that Leo is way to awesome to hang with the lames in transition. He needs to be with the bad asses in Toddler Room. Toddler Room teacher even said she had fun with him in the class! I know! I was pretty sure the answer would be something like this but I didn’t want to brag. I need to keep it humble you know.

Kind of like douching then acting like you don’t.

Speaking of….

What else can you think of that’s soooo much easier coming from your mom?

Post in comments or the facebook page!

Just a heads up – this is a parenting post. I know. Those suck balls. I’m so so sorry. But I told you right off the bat so if you are childess you can go back to wondering if you should screw your no-really-he’s-just-my-best-friend roommate or the hot Asian guy in Starbucks. I wish I had your problems.

Also, if you are considering spawning, you should probably skip this post.

The truth is, sometimes children are miraculous little butterflies that flit around your face and you love them and you think ridiculous thoughts like, ‘my children are the greatest, most beautiful, most effervescent, most minty (holler Steph!) things on earth. No, in the UNIVERSE!’ This is a great batch of feelings. It comes complete with hugs and elevated self esteem <—-because they must be so awesome thanks to me.

And then, then, they like….flip their shit. Always both at the same time. Two weeks ago I was riding high on kick ass kiddiesness. Then, Fox, who up to this point was kind of cruising along in underwear ok, minus the whole poop thing (oh god I hate when people talk about that on their blogs – ergo I hate myself) Anyway, daycare handles that aspect. Then, last night, he just up and pees on the carpet. It seriously sent me over the swing set. Past annoyed, past angry and right on over to hilarious. I swing on some fucked up mental playgrounds. Clearly.

So I’m laughing and dying inside because potty training is the worst thing to ever exist.  I have serious doubts that this child even knows what planet he’s on half the time and so how do I reach him? I mean, he pulled down his underwear and just…let it fly. WTF <—-the f stands for FUUUUUUCCCCKKK

Navigating to Mars. His real home.

Then later he peed in the pants and took them off, carefully put them in the dirty clothes pile and stated, “I handled it.” So now I get to say F to You internet message board which told me if a child pees to make them ‘handle it’ and they will hate dealing with ickyness and they will want to use the potty. For Fox, it’s an out.

I’m just so frustrated. To make things worse, I have underwear eyes. You know when you are wanting to be pregnant, you see preggos every where you go? Or when you want a Kia Soul suddenly there are 50 thousand of them on the road? Like that. Only with cute children in their cute underwear and their goddamn cute smiling pee free parents.

And don’t even get me started on Leo. He’s about to get his ass straight kicked out of daycare. I’m not even kidding about that. That’s another post.

This is what it looks like two seconds before he pulls his shirt off and slaps you to the ground.

So I’m tired and stressed and exhausted and waaaaaaaahhhhh. This Saturday Danny is going to UFO Field Investigators training all day, leaving me with his children. It makes me want to sob, on the floor – except I can’t – because it has pee on it.

…..

I also realize when I write statements like, “Danny is going to UFO Field Investigators training all day” without even thinking about it, that maybe there’s a reason my children are kind of strange and alien.

Ok, I’m just going to get this out of the way. I have no Soul. Not a Black Soul. Or a lime green Soul. I am Soul-less.

A moment to cry.

Moment over.  Here’s the thing – the new Kia Soul is like $17,000+. +!

There’s no way. Buying really new cars also seems skeevy. Like, new cars are the sort of thing Tipper and Al do, back when they were Tipper and Al. I’m more of a used lady.

So, you think, why not just buy a used Kia Soul, a Soul that’s had some mileage, some character, some story? Well, I’ll tell you this. The only used Souls within a 50 mile radius of my ass was at Carmax.

Carmax is real shady people. If you went to the desert, you would probably want to bring a Carmax with you. Since I’m a smart consumer, I let the internet fill me in on all the weird horrible that is this Carmax place. And decided that I couldn’t, in good conscience, get a Soul there.

So, instead I got a used Honda Civic…

HYBRID!

Try not to get jealous as I slowly accelerate past you on the highway.

Hell yeah. I’m going to slap an apple sticker on that bitch, load up my son named Fox and head on down to Barnes’ and Noble to get a free smoothie with my new Nook and see how many people flip me off.

Before you get all sad about the Kia and all wha? about the civic you should breath. Civics are cool and hybrids are Tipper. It’ll be ok. I haven’t given up on the Soul. Maybe that will be the next car…in 12 years.

2011!

I feel like I should be cheery about that. Even though New Year’s means nothing to me. I’m still weirdly stuck on academic time and thinking, blah here comes the spring semester.

But I know to many of you, the new year is a time for reflection and optimism and resolutions.

Resolutions are bullshit.

Or are they?

I go back and forth on this. On the one hand, the bad hand, the hand that is always balled in a fist – I think resolutions come from a straight lame place of self loathing. It’s taking stock of how much you suck and all the work it’s going to take to fix that giant ball of suck. Oh, I know, we all try to put a happy spin on it, calling it a resolution and acting like the world gets a shiny new coat of paint every January 1st and if the world can do it by god so can I said the little blue engine that could.

Resolution #1: Find a better place for my face.

But, the problem is, when that little blue engine’s motivation is to change the terrible thing that is his/her/its fat boiler because that boiler is disgusting then the resolve wears off quickly.

Because self loathing, like fear, is a worthless motivator. Eventually, the self loathing gets the best of you, or the worst, I guess. Anyway, it means dropping out of the gym, letting your schedule get overwrought and yelling Thomas the Tank Engine based obscenities at your kids.

Fizziling Fireboxes!

Which you hate, you hate that you do this. Ergo you hate you. ERGO nothing can be done because it’s all a pile of hate. Scrapped bitches. Onto 2012 AM I RIGHT?

Of course I am.

Or maybe not.

Because on the hand that I leave open and reaching, I think maybe resolutions aren’t about self loathing but about the promise of a goal. I like goals. Goals are things you score in soccer. Soccer is about winning and wearing uniforms.

Awesome.

So I think, maybe if the resolution comes from a place of cheering fans and David Beckham, you might be onto something. So how to get from scrapped tank engines to winners?

First, ditch the self loathing. Make your New Years Resolutions about a measured goal. Not about how much weight to lose but how many minutes you can do on the treadmill.

Only don’t get on a treadmill, get on the track. It’s better. Or the street.

Anyway, those minutes are about you doing something, not you hating yourself.

With that in mind, I give you my New Years Resolutions.

1. Tickle the boys, every day. Tickling is an easy thing to do and children laugh when you do it. Win/win.

2. Text my sister and mom every once in a while. Phone calls are for 2002.

3. Stop trying to download illegal Japanese erotica. It’s killed the computer – sorry Danny. Still I’m sure  it was you trying to marry Mac and Abobe that really did it in. My stuff was just the scantily clad nail in the coffin.

What about you, you Super Awesome Crew, what are your resolutions? Or do you skip them all together?

I’m at home sick today. You know you’re probably going to have to end up calling in sick when you dream about a horde of zombies running up a field and the only place to hide is in some hot boiler room, where you sit and sweat and try to think of a way out of the situation but only land on throwing Care Bears out the window.

Halloween Clipart Images

Zombies are adorable

The idea of calling in sick, makes me a little sick. Probably because in my last job, calling in sick was tantamount to feeding your baby to the zombies. The only thing worse, in their eyes, than feeding your baby to the zombies was having it in the first place. I was the first person there who I knew to get pregnant and it was not well received. Heartless.

In the end, I was so afraid of that place that I told them I was leaving the day before I moved.

Plus, I don’t want to look like a loser who can’t hang so sometimes I drag myself in and sit miserably.

But that’s some zombie shit. I’m a human so I make the call.

How do you feel about zombies? Do you get nightmares and wake up sick? I’ve also been dreaming a lot about feet lately. I will have to consult my all-knowing phone for that one.

First, an update: It is still sub-zero but thanks to several layers, heavy pants, socks and Wuggs – I’m doing ok.  thanks for asking.

Now onward to the new thing that’s making my life helllll.

Car trouble.

ukla;goafhgio0al ngfofjdlksajf lzsd goddamn CAR TROUBLE

Ladies, am I right?  Sorry, that was sexist.

It turns out my beloved 1999 Saturn is terminal. This is really really sad and I am really really sad about it. It’s  complete news to me because I thought she was purring along just fine. The following conversations led to the diagnosis:

Danny: Your car is leaking something.

Me: It is? I hadn’t noticed. Whatever.

Danny: No, leaking is bad.

Me: In people. Leaking is bad, in people. In cars it’s just like…condensation.

To save you the boring end result which included a fight over mechanics aka car doctors aka pain in my ASS – leaking is bad in people and cars. So we were both right. I’m very rarely completely wrong – except in this conversation:

Danny: Your check engine light is on.

Me: Yeah it does that. I like it, it’s pretty.  And don’t worry, check engine lights don’t mean anything.

Check engine lights do mean things. Terrible things. Things like expiration date and no point in taking any other measures and the worst thing of all

Danny: We need a new car.

ajlfa ndfklaj klfha lkfd l;fhd aljsd

Have you ever seen those creepy dustbowl era apple dolls? That’s how I feel when I think about new cars. Like a shriveled dusty assugly apple doll. Everything about buying a new car is trouble. There’s so many decisions and all I care about is safety. Because. Duh.

So it’s back and forth with Danny going on about some sink thing that I’m still unclear about and me going on about IIHS and how marginal is not ok, marginal might be ok when talking about a one night stand or a catered office party but is is NOT OK when talking about car safety.

Then, out of the madness, a whisper

Kia

What’s that you say?

Kia

Isn’t that Korean? nothati’mracistkoreaiscool

Kia

Specifically, the Kia Soul. Ah, Soul. Kia Soul.

So safe.

So affordable.

So fugs.

I kind of love it.

Kia Soul - hairless cat of the car world.

And Danny kind of agrees. Only he doesn’t want lime green. I know, it doesn’t register with me either. It’s like, if you have the choice of lime green, why the why wouldn’t you take it?

While I’m imagining myself cruising around in my lime green Kia Awesome, towing my beloved purple Saturn behind me for nostalgia, Danny keeps sending me links. So I guess I’ll take it to you guys, what car would you recommend? Fantasy land so throw whatever you want out.

This is all dependent on us getting a loan of course. Which will never happen. Thanks much grad school you expensive bitch.

And now, to close out the post-

Actual hairless cat, ironically resting on a hairy rug.

Oh, and did you notice that you can now post these gems to your facebook? or the twitspace or whatever? You can even email them! Doesn’t your mother need some Free Therapy? You know she does.

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