So. Can I order my handmaid’s uniform on Amazon?

thought about making this my FB profile pic, but nobody would get it except you, dear reader

The last time I couldn’t look away from the computer at work, the last time I cried at my desk, was January 6th.

I had hoped those days were behind me… but nope.

Welcome to Trump’s America, where the damage done is long lasting and probably won’t be repaired in my lifetime.

Спи собі сама

fuck, I love Polish…

It’s the very last RTI racery event and I have bitten off more than I can chew… but I always do.

I took yesterday and Monday off - I needed some time to myself and I’m not that busy at work. Plus, it’s the first four days of The Final Battle and I figured that I would cap the first four days.

I had the bright Idea that I would run a mile for every day that Russian has been in Ukraine and donate $1 for each mile. (117 by the end of the event.) I had it planned out perfectly: Four caps would put me at 60 days. I could then cap the final weekend as well, which would push me to 90 before I ran a single mile on a workday.

Well.

I capped yesterday and today… I have not felt like a functional human at all.

I bite my nails. I always have. All the way down to the quick and sometimes a little extra. When I’m super stressed, I always manage to rip the entire nail off one (if not both) of my pinkies.

I saw a hypnotist. I’ve talked about it in therapy. I’ve worn false ones.

And I even bought this shit that was practically guaranteed to keep my fingers out of my mouth.  (Oh. My. God. It was absolutely disgusting… But. It didn’t work.)

Several years ago, I had a great epiphany: I self-harm.

Still haven’t figured out how to get people to understand why I consider it self-harm, but the end result is the same.

Still haven’t figured out how to stop it either.

(Seriously! I saw a fucking hypnotist, I was so desperate to stop doing it. Apparently, I’m so fucked up that they couldn’t figure out a way to help.)

So anyhoo…

In 47 years on this earth, I have never seriously hurt myself. (The pain of a missing fingernail dissipates rather quickly when you’re used to it.)

Well, Thursday night I wound up in Urgent Care.

Managed to rip off my thumbnail and get an infection.

My thumb was swollen to twice it’s normal size and there was a little spot that had turned green.

It was the first time I’d ever been afraid of what I was capable of.

I suppose, in it’s own way, it’s not that much different from a blade slipping and cutting a vein or something.

Of course… in the car Friday morning on the way to the grocery store, I managed to chew off the remaining nails on that hand.

(All that to say I didn’t get in a cap today because I had a bad reaction to the antibiotic they prescribed me.)

This has been on repeat today… I’m not sure why, but it fits my mood perfectly.

 

 

І буду собі в інтернеті...дивитись на голих бабів!

1985. It took 7 years before she stopped drinking for good. *ahem*

Back in December, I talked about the Boxes of Doom!

Well. I’ve spent way too much quality weekend time going through those in that blog post and some others.

We’re painting the room we call the Person Cave and we needed to figure out a way to maximise the closet space. Last weekend, he painted the closet white and installed shelves. I’ve been trying to reorganise 40+ years of crap.

I suppose it goes without saying that I’ve spent most of the last two weekends crying.

But… I’ve actually thrown away a lot of memorabilia. Like my parent’s honeymoon photos, my mother’s UCONN scrapbook, their wedding album, my baby book. One of my rules was that I would only keep it if it didn’t piss me off to look at it. So. No pictures of people I didn’t know. No pictures of places I’ve never been. No pictures of people who are dead to me. I kept a bunch of photos of my parents, back when they were young and in love, but only because my father looked so happy in them. The one thing he kept saying during our last conversation was that he wished I knew the woman he married. The woman she used to be. I look at those pictures and I see a strange woman laughing with my father and smiling at him. The only reason I know who she is is because I look like her, and well… historical context. I mean, as far as I know, my father only married once. And if it’s not my mother in those photos than the people I’ve always thought of as my grandparents are… not.

It’s all a bit of a head fuck, to be honest.

Today’s unexpected memory landmine was a bunch of stuff from the UCONN Mens’ Ice Hockey coach, Coach Marshall. He was such a good guy and it showed in the post it notes stuck to every single ticket he left at the door for me, the random letters he’d send me as part of the fundraising bullshit he had to do, the letter of recommendation he wrote for me.  And at some point, past me decided it would be a good idea to keep the booklet from his memorial service with all that. Fuck. I’m crying just thinking about all of it. When it came to getting a job in hockey, he was my number one cheerleader. I owe that man so much. And he’s gone.

Yeah.

So… it’s been a bit of a tough day for me.

Let’s end this on a happy note, yeah?

 

This may very well be my favourite lyric of any song ever (well, as of right now):

Нині не льотна погода
Сказала мені, шоби я
Літав собі голий по хаті,
Показував дулі з вікна.
На мене багато хто скаже,
Шо я тіпа з боку смішний,
А той, хто багато говорить,
По-моєму трохи дурний.

Roughly translates to: The weather is bad today. I’m walking around the house naked, showing my bits from the window. People say I look funny, but I think people who talk too much are dumb.

Seeing how it’s been fucking raining since Thursday, I thought it fitting.