Cantankerous Times

Will someone please get me off this fucking yo yo? I feel like I’ve been eating from a vat of crazy. I’m fine, I’m not, I have breakthroughs, those dissolve, I’m happy, I’m mad. Jesus. How much emotional flip flopping can one person take?

I got all salty yesterday after reading through a bunch of old posts (okay, like all of them starting with last summer) and realizing they all sound exactly the same: confused, unsure, sad and heartbroken. And I HATE sounding like that. So I got all mad about everything, which culminated in me crying on the commute home over why Elton John had to butcher Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds? I mean, when does that song ever come on the radio and I was excited to hear it because it’s cute and cheery, and it’s fucking Elton with some goddamn crappy seventies interpretation.


And then I started to pick apart the what happened with Phil for the 100 zillionth time because what else is there to do when you’re mad and sitting in traffic?

And I laughed.

I laughed because I remembered that our third date was him doing laundry at my house while watching a basketball game. I don’t even think I was there for most of it. Of course it was my idea, because I just wanted him around and any chance to hang out….but, for serious…who does that?

Me. I do that. (Okay, it wasn’t our third date. But it was way too early on to ever even consider that kind of behavior. I’m embarrassed. It was desperate. I don’t want to be that way.)

Hopefully this yo-yoing will end soon. It’s only fair. I cut the dating cord, I shouldn’t have to deal with unregulated emotions. (It doesn’t help that I ran out of my Chinese herbs that quell the anxiety and such. I did some headstands in my office yesterday to calm down. These help. Or maybe they just take the focus off anger and out it on how much my head hurts.)

In the meantime, I’m going to take out my frustration on the mean lady who sent me a nasty email. I interviewed her for an article that was just published and she felt as if her company didn’t get enough attention. You know what? Neither do I. Screw her.

In happier news, I heard back about the painting class and I start in a week. It’s gonna be just like art with Mrs. Hall in elementary school with smocks and easels and all the acrylic paint I could ever want!


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