Sep. 29: The crazy is making me crazy

Y’know how sometimes people look kinda crazy (not crazy like “funny” but crazy like “off their rocker”) and you immediately know that you shouldn’t take anything they say seriously because they’re obviously off the medication that allows them to function like a normal person?

I sometimes think I should accompany each of my blog posts with a photo of myself taken at the time the post was written so you can see how sane (or otherwise) I look. This way you might have a better understanding of why some most posts have no point. Because until someone develops a computer in which buttons that post to public forums can sense insanity in the person attached to the clicking finger—and until I get one of those computers—we as an Internet public are subject to all sorts o’ batshit crazy. For instance:

• I started out my day having slept just a few hours. I woke up repeatedly throughout the night with pain shooting up one leg and one side of my back, and nothing I did and no words I yelled made any difference.
• I turned on my computer this morning to find an e-mail containing distressing news from a dear friend. I feel helpless and am trying to decide the best response to let this friend know how much I care.
• Either our cable line or both of our TiVos are farked up and the TV picture occasionally freezes or scrambles, even when I’m not watching the naughty stations. Neighbors out there, please tell me yours is doing the same thing. IT IS TOTALLY PISSING ME OFF. I was hoping it might be because of all the digging going on in our neighborhood right now but that’s probably just wishful thinking.
• There’s no school tomorrow. I don’t know why schools have to have teacher in-service days. My guess is that the teachers are tired of trying to keep our kids busy, so they’re turning it back on us so WE have to figure out what to do with them for a day in the middle of the week. Wow. Teachers be smart.
• Every day that I’ve taken a walk has evolved into me waking in the middle of the night with intense pain. My professional opinion is that even small amounts of exercise are bad for me right now. I shall drown my sorrows in many, many Advil, because Vicodin stopped doing any good a long time ago, and the small amount of rum I poured in my Coke the other day ended up giving me a huge headache. Is it possible I just needed more? Hm. So Advil or rum, either way… And now pretty soon I’m gonna need new kidneys. Little help?
• Tonight Jack told me that he wants to start showering in the mornings so he can wake up faster. I told him about how my dad used to throw a cup of water to wake me up when he thought I’d slept enough, and Jack thought that story was awesome. Funny, because Kathy’s and my memories of Dad doing that are anything but awesome. Anyway, as Jack wandered off to bed, he said, “If Grandpa Curt was alive I would ask him if he remembers that and if he thought it was funny and if he would do it to me.” And I burst into tears the second he walked out of the room because I hate that Jack doesn’t remember Grandpa Curt, only that he should.

See what I mean? I’m a mess. Physical pain can do a real number on us, and combined with miscellaneous (and sometimes stupid) frustrations, can cause totally unexpected emotions to surface, huh? Yikes. I need to stay off the computer, keep my finger away from “post” buttons, all that. But I’ve never been one to make good decisions. Instead, I acted like an idiot over on Facebook all day. Seriously—if you’re my friend and you can see the shit I wrote everywhere, you’ll go SHE WAS SOOOO NOT KIDDING!

Alright, so here’s the picture that best describes my state of mind right now. Notice I have no lipstick on. I couldn’t wear eye makeup for months after I fell last summer, but you won’t catch me dead leaving the house without lipstick. The only stronger indicator that something isn’t quite right with me is if I have lipstick smeared all over my mouth and teeth. That kinda means that for anyone, though.

My hair’s half ponytailed, half frizzy—no one’s best look. My just-off-center cowlick is doing its best to uglify my hairline. Any eye makeup you see is left over from yesterday, and lodged/smeared in the bags under my eyes. The dent in my chin is from the fall before that other fall. I know, you’re probably thinking “Girlfriend needs an old priest and a young priest!”

And let’s just say Princess Jen will be the “I’m alright” post photo:

So, is it a deal? Pictures speak a thousand words, right? Just think how much time you’ll save, not having to read a bunch of crap to find a purpose where there almost never is one. You’ll see the photo at the top and immediately know if you want to read the words under it.

Oh, you don’t have to thank me.

That horrified look on your face is thanks enough.