Walk If You Can't Run Like Hell

I'm irritated as all fuck. OK, I'm fucking pissed off and disgusted with some of the male presence on G+. This morning, they have been posting racist shit, and stupid shit regarding the missing Malaysian plane, a rich white male creature that raped his own children, and some other stuff. I rarely see any women or girls making their opinions known, or responding to what anyone posts regarding news stories, and political news. Why is that, I wonder? Especially on a particular news item that reported on a terrible women's issue. No women but me. What the hell?

I guess you call these kind of shitheads "trolls", but I have never used that term before, as I haven't been doing this social thing for very long. I still don't know all the acronyms people use either. D'oh! So let the dicks be dicks. It's hard to just "walk away" without saying something like "you're a fucking racist cunt.", etc.

Anyway, this irritation morphed into anger, and now fucking anxiety that is at least an hour too soon to have to deal with. I took meds and hope that I can be OK to get my exercise in. It can be a crap shoot with seroquel as far as it making you tired. I think I'm too angry/hyped up for it to make me tired though.

I should be concentrating more on "Supernatural", that's been on since 9am. Speaking of, I just saw the Blue Oyster Cult symbol, and Dean mentioned he'd seen that somewhere before, and it's driving him nuts. Funny.

Usually, I do my walk on the treadmill while watching "Supernatural". It is a great escape for me, no matter how many times I have already seen the episodes, and have the DVDs, in case of  TNT doing something stupid like putting on another show, or sports. Problem is that getting motivated to get my ass up and actually moving, feeling that weird feeling of walking and getting nowhere, seems to be coming later and later. I shouldn't be putting so much pressure on myself to make it by the end of "Supernatural", but it just makes it easier to do the walk and be distracted. Lazy with the DVDs, yep. Pressure creates more anxiety, and anxiety creates more bad, and bad creates guilt, and guilt creates self-hatred, and you know what comes after that. Let's not go there today, for once.

My spouse was not in a shitty mood this morning and actually gave me a hug and told me that he would drive me to my Dr appointment tomorrow, as well as pick up my meds from the drugstore. That was good. He is hooked on the "Game of Thrones" books, so he's been up reading in bed every night, making it a bit harder for me to go to sleep. Just knowing someone is awake that's near me does that, but the seroquel kicked my ass sooner or later. He was gone for a few hours yesterday to meet up with an ex workmate, so I had some time alone!

Well, try try trying to get up on the treadmill...

Interesting how my mood has changed so much, no? Chillin' on seroquel and clonopin. I recommend it.

Calm. The. Fuck. Down.

One minute everything seems hunky dory, the next, it's funky poor-y. Fucking anxiety. It is a fact that I pretty much live thinking consciously/unconsciously that I have to do everything as fast as I possibly can, like the Energizer Bunny on wicked coke and a portable caffeine IV. I reminded myself of that as soon as I was done washing up and getting dressed in the bathroom. Then I went into the bedroom and told my spouse the same shit, and that there is absolutely no fucking reason why I should be in a rush about anything! I'm on disability! I can't work! I don't have something that needs taking care of 24/7 FFS. As soon as I was done mentioning it, I let myself cry a tear or two and walk away. I don't like to let myself cry ever, if I can help it.

Fuck this moody shit! Fuck this hormonal hell! Fuck this manic/depressed shit! Yummy is this cinnamon graham cracker!

I do have one really good thing to be giving myself a pat on the back for (or cinnamon graham cracker), and that is getting on the treadmill again! And on a Sunday, of all days, after getting a wake-up paw poke in the face from the cat at 5ish. I just need to calm my ass down and try not to overdo it on the clonopin (addictive) and Seroquel.

Ok, now I have to find something to post with this...

Bring On The Zombies

I finally saw my babygirl, but have to admit disappointment. I don't know why. Maybe she was too. Very moody and strange experience it was, but just hanging around together was a good thing. She's left town now.

I just got back from a trip to the shrink out in H Hills, the store, and Rx store. I was bored at the shrink and surprised he didn't talk to me more since I hadn't seen him in weeks due to feeling really crazy shitty anxious, etc. I just went over what happened in the past week or so, visit with babygirl and spouse's bday. Mostly things have been sucking as much as usual, but I had some kind of breakthrough yesterday, thank God, FINALLY. Bring on the zombies, I say. My shrink said I looked "tired". I said "glassy-eyed and stoned". Well, that's mostly just the good ol' seroquel talking.

After out visit that I cut short, I rode back to my neighborhood and went to the Rx store first. The fucked up my order all over the fucking place. What's fucking new? This happens at every fucking pharmacy that I go to, and it's just a matter of time before I lose my shit and get banned from the store. I had to hold it in today, and they REALLY fucked up, plus I had to pay an extra "co-pay" because the Medicare Part D insurance co won't pay for more than 30 tablets per month. Motherfuckers. I need a pill splitter, too, but of course at this huge drugstore, they had none.

My next stop after about 45 minutes of waiting around in the Rx store was the grocery store. Apparently my "club" card didn't register and I didn't notice until I got home. I had two boxes of overpriced cereal and overpriced beer imported beer (I refuse to drink American beer), so I didn't care. Fuck it. I should go back and buy some more... So we got beer for later. We shall see what happens.

I'll probably get some snotty looks and attitude from the spouse, but after seeing the shrink after so long, I don't give a fuck. This bitch is gonna roll how she sees fit, and it appears she has an independent bit of a manic thing going on, or is it the larger doses of seroquel in the morning that are setting the stage for zombie out in public? Bring on the zombie, I say.

I'm listening to a Canadian "classic rock" station. Man, I feel old. Listening to the stuff I heard and liked as a little kid. I was glad to be exposed to radio from day one. As far as the future goes, it's still day to day, and today I see the spouse coming back with a pizza after work. Hopefully, he'll bring some more beer, but at least we have a 6-pack to fight over. He can have the pizza.