Sunday, April 29, 2007

Noise violations.

I could fucking KILL MY NEIGHBORS. Who the shit hires someone to come dig up their driveway with equipment that sounds like it's too busy eating babies' souls to do anything else AT 7:30 AM ON A WEEKEND? Who?

My neighbors. MULTIPLE TIMES. Two weeks ago it was the people next to me. That shit woke me out of a sound effing slumber. Today? People across the street. Same deal. I had my window open because it's goddamn 80 degrees up in here and fresh air is nice and LOOK HOW IT REPAYS ME.

I looked some shit the fuck up. CAMPBELL HAS A NOISE ORDINANCE. Of course they do. They are nice little nanny-state community. Do you know what time is legally acceptable for power tools on the weekend?


Complaints to be filed. Fuck you, neighbors.

Also, I am TOTALLY allowed to park on the STREET in front of your house.

Friday, April 27, 2007

HMOs suck.

Because an awesome system for people seeking psychiatric care for unknown-to-the-HMO reasons is to make it absolutely impossible for them to (1) schedule an appointment or (2) talk to a human being who isn't going to treat them like they are insignificant, then follow it up with a "Wait, this isn't an emergency, right?" like it's some kind of passing question. For a MEDICAL FACILITY.

I think my mom's potential response is best: "If I say yes, will I get an appointment?"

Jesus, I'm not standing on a bridge here, but. I really hate the phone, and I know they don't know that, but the simple fact that I've actually called them twice speaks volumes to the people who know me. I'm trying. Today I was okay; tomorrow I might not be.

For realsies.

I need a productive weekend. I have onyx-tinted water-based varnish and sealer/topcoat/whatever and other assorted tools to make the pieces of my unassembled, unfinished, solid pine platform bed frame into something vaguely attractive and protected so I can stop sleeping 3" off the floor on a mattress that's continually sliding off the side of the futon frame.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

On losing my shit.

In case you hadn't noticed, there has been a severe dearth of posts here lately. Sometimes even when I have a lot to say I don't want to spit it out in so public an arena (though I'm sure most people who tried to read me "regularly" disappeared) and sometimes I just don't want those thoughts captured for posterity. The internet is here to stay, people.

So obviously a major contributor to my not-blogging has been depression, which has a long and storied history lately for me. If you can call "wants to do nothing but lie in bed, watching incresingly shittier TV and eating Ben & Jerry's fudge brownie frozen yogurt until she's sick, if she feels up to getting some at the store without feeling insanely guilty about it" storied, anyway.

Really, I only did the B&J's bit once. Well, twice. But it's low fat. And I probably didn't eat dinner at least one of those times. I KNOW, OKAY.

But this has been going on for, oh, months now. At one point I had an enlightening conversation with my friend Chris, who--I love you, Chris, but part of me had this thought that I wasn't fucked up because, hey, Chris is way more fucked up than me! And here you are, doing the work to un-fuck-up yourself. Or at least that's what you told me and then you pretty much disappeared off the face of the internet, which only sounds healthy. (P.S. please email me that you're okay and didn't jump off a bridge or something.) Anyway, I kept oscillating between really low and totally neutral post-conversation and continued having more conversations with other people about, well, myself--this depression is really killing any notions I had of myself being NOT narcissistic--and trying to figure out what is up with me.

Really, I think it boils down to these things:
-I keep telling myself I can't do things.
-I keep not doing those things and adding new things to not do.
-I hate myself for not doing those things.
-I am indiscriminately angry at myself and the world.
-I feel stuck all the time.
-I feel unable to enjoy a lot of the fun things that happen in life, even if I actually do them.
-I am totally distracted by all of the above, especially the self-loathing thought loop, pretty much all the time.

This means:
-My house is a mess.
-I have a lot of chores that are typically not getting done.
-I had not been eating as well as I should (with the start of my CSA season I've been making headway in the "getting kitchen clean enough to cook, then actually cooking" department).
-Work feels hard because I can't concentrate as well as I should and I let those "I hate my job" thoughts take over.
-I lack confidence in the Secret Number 4 whatever thing (oh, hell, it's a casual job search).
-Totally not doing anything on the "get exercise" front, obviously.
-Totally not talking to pretty much anyone except the people who make a concerted effort to talk to me, and even then, I am mostly buttoned up. Then with the other people I can't shut the fuck up and it's all about me.

I am probably going to regret posting some of those things.

So yesterday, I finally got over my phone phobia (incidentally, also worse) enough to call fucking Kaiser and try to get an appointment to see a psychiatrist. And you know what? They were "extremely busy" and would have to call me back. Every time I went to the ladies' room at work on Friday afternoon I was trying to hurry up in case they called me back just as I was taking a dump. That's just undignified. But they have until Monday at 5, apparently, to call me back, so I guess I'll be worrying all of Monday, too. Thanks, mental health services at my HMO. You know how to make a girl feel special.

(It will all be forgiven if I get an appointment and shit works out okay. Otherwise, they can eat me.)

I am going to crawl back into my hole and stew over my neighbors' hiring a motherfucking cement mixer at 7:30 am for the second weekend in a row. Thanks a lot, assholes.

Thursday, April 12, 2007


Hey, look! It is a blog entry from mental_floss about the weird word I chose to use as my domain! How fun!