God tempers all the winds for the new-shorn lambs
Am not dead. Lessee.
Since September, I made it through three and a half weddings, one strip club (bachelor party), one stripper at a hotel (bachelorette party, same wedding), a tremendous regular NHL season, an absolutely agonizing NHL playoff season, and have two pregnancies (not mine) in progress. I hit a deer and had to buy a new car. I turned a year older. I dyed my hair. The house flooded in May, which is basically something it does every year, and I've almost got my response to it down pat. My dad has serious cardiac surgery ahead of him, and I had to put my beloved dog to sleep, and both of these things still make me burst randomly into tears a lot.
Trying to make it through the remainder of NHL season, and watching a team of undeserving shitbags like the Penguins inch ever closer to the Cup is like swallowing pig-flavored glass, but life is inherently cruel and unfair, and I've simply concluded that a lot of the time, you will just feel like you're getting punched in the junk and there is very little you can do about it.
Today is Louise's birthday; she would have been 33. I miss her. She would have put up with me crying a lot about the dog thing.
This was originally meant to be a sort of breezy, upbeat post. I truly meant to do that; I even dug up the recap I started writing months ago of what it's like to hang out in a Baltimore strip club, but now I don't have the energy for creating that illusion. I don't have the energy for pretty much anything except making myself get up every morning and spitefully take on the day! Anger and spite are the main things making me go; along with a dose of not disappointing my family too much, I guess. I feel used or disregarded by a fair number of friends, though I also attribute that to my being a total fucking downer and general jerkass, so it's probably a fair evening out in the long run. I certainly wouldn't want to be around me; I don't blame them for keeping their distance.
I was out with a friend a couple weeks ago, and it was funny-- much as I tell stories about various drunken exploits, I'm not a particularly regular drinker. You would not think this if you saw my liquor cabinet or my wine cellar, but, I mean, the fact that I have so much of it is basically because I go through it so slowly. I generally don't drink alone (and, well, the sad fact of my life is that I am often alone!) and I'll occasionally go hard for certain social events, like the incredible number of weddings I had this past year. But alcoholism runs on both sides of my family, and Louise gave me an entirely different set of issues about drinking, so it's something I take a reasonable amount of care with.
But while I was out with this one friend, I hit The Spot while drinking, that absolute best period of time when I was drunk enough not to care about everything awful that had happened lately, but still in possession of my motor skills and general thinking processes and, man. I can totally see how trying to hit The Spot is a thing that breeds alcoholism, or using drugs. If I could just stay in that nice, warm emotionally distant spot, cripes. (I recall later in the evening, when I was out of The Spot and into the Just Kinda Drunk area, having a very serious conversation with myself about how PotC Davy Jones knew what he was doing when he stuck his heart in that chest, dammit, and why can't I do something like that. Then I sat on the floor of the shower and concentrated very hard on not cutting my legs while I shaved them.)
In conclusion: my life is kinda depressing, I am definitely kinda depressed, but at least we're headed towards summer so I don't have to worry about seasonal disorder. If this was happening in, like, February, I'd probably be much crazier. Also, I am still powered by anger; when that runs out, we will see what I do but in the mean time it is at least getting me to work and all that. Also, there is the Olympics coming. That usually gets a rise out of me.
Here are pictures of my dog being a doofus and/or cute. I would have posted pictures of Louise for her birthday, but I'm pretty sure she would have voted dog pics too.
eramundo was just here on a visit, and was as usual, a delightful and industrious doozer. She hung, like, seven pictures for me, fixed my television, fixed my lamp wiring, made breakfast every morning, and very graciously put up with me nearly causing at least two major traffic accidents while driving her both to and from the airport. Everyone needs a Lunar in their life, basically. If I could lure her and twigcollins down to Maryland, I would. Unfortunately, they both keep seeing right through all the pit-traps I prepare.
Since September, I made it through three and a half weddings, one strip club (bachelor party), one stripper at a hotel (bachelorette party, same wedding), a tremendous regular NHL season, an absolutely agonizing NHL playoff season, and have two pregnancies (not mine) in progress. I hit a deer and had to buy a new car. I turned a year older. I dyed my hair. The house flooded in May, which is basically something it does every year, and I've almost got my response to it down pat. My dad has serious cardiac surgery ahead of him, and I had to put my beloved dog to sleep, and both of these things still make me burst randomly into tears a lot.
Trying to make it through the remainder of NHL season, and watching a team of undeserving shitbags like the Penguins inch ever closer to the Cup is like swallowing pig-flavored glass, but life is inherently cruel and unfair, and I've simply concluded that a lot of the time, you will just feel like you're getting punched in the junk and there is very little you can do about it.
Today is Louise's birthday; she would have been 33. I miss her. She would have put up with me crying a lot about the dog thing.
This was originally meant to be a sort of breezy, upbeat post. I truly meant to do that; I even dug up the recap I started writing months ago of what it's like to hang out in a Baltimore strip club, but now I don't have the energy for creating that illusion. I don't have the energy for pretty much anything except making myself get up every morning and spitefully take on the day! Anger and spite are the main things making me go; along with a dose of not disappointing my family too much, I guess. I feel used or disregarded by a fair number of friends, though I also attribute that to my being a total fucking downer and general jerkass, so it's probably a fair evening out in the long run. I certainly wouldn't want to be around me; I don't blame them for keeping their distance.
I was out with a friend a couple weeks ago, and it was funny-- much as I tell stories about various drunken exploits, I'm not a particularly regular drinker. You would not think this if you saw my liquor cabinet or my wine cellar, but, I mean, the fact that I have so much of it is basically because I go through it so slowly. I generally don't drink alone (and, well, the sad fact of my life is that I am often alone!) and I'll occasionally go hard for certain social events, like the incredible number of weddings I had this past year. But alcoholism runs on both sides of my family, and Louise gave me an entirely different set of issues about drinking, so it's something I take a reasonable amount of care with.
But while I was out with this one friend, I hit The Spot while drinking, that absolute best period of time when I was drunk enough not to care about everything awful that had happened lately, but still in possession of my motor skills and general thinking processes and, man. I can totally see how trying to hit The Spot is a thing that breeds alcoholism, or using drugs. If I could just stay in that nice, warm emotionally distant spot, cripes. (I recall later in the evening, when I was out of The Spot and into the Just Kinda Drunk area, having a very serious conversation with myself about how PotC Davy Jones knew what he was doing when he stuck his heart in that chest, dammit, and why can't I do something like that. Then I sat on the floor of the shower and concentrated very hard on not cutting my legs while I shaved them.)
In conclusion: my life is kinda depressing, I am definitely kinda depressed, but at least we're headed towards summer so I don't have to worry about seasonal disorder. If this was happening in, like, February, I'd probably be much crazier. Also, I am still powered by anger; when that runs out, we will see what I do but in the mean time it is at least getting me to work and all that. Also, there is the Olympics coming. That usually gets a rise out of me.
Here are pictures of my dog being a doofus and/or cute. I would have posted pictures of Louise for her birthday, but I'm pretty sure she would have voted dog pics too.
eramundo was just here on a visit, and was as usual, a delightful and industrious doozer. She hung, like, seven pictures for me, fixed my television, fixed my lamp wiring, made breakfast every morning, and very graciously put up with me nearly causing at least two major traffic accidents while driving her both to and from the airport. Everyone needs a Lunar in their life, basically. If I could lure her and twigcollins down to Maryland, I would. Unfortunately, they both keep seeing right through all the pit-traps I prepare.