Tag: anxiety

It’s been a week.

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on It’s been a week.

Hi. I need to get some shit off my chest. And it’s a raw shit dump. I haven’t talked to anyone about this. That includes my friends and my husband. But I’ve been awakened by panic attacks for two days in a row now and I need to get it out. Don’t worry, I will totally talk to Mr C about it — but he’s currently asleep and then he’s got D&D later so that might not happen till tomorrow. Eh, even then it’s his birthday so maybe not then. He’ll read this. (Hi, my love!) And I’m going to go to my friends house to talk and pet their dogs. I’m like dressed and everything.

So the fact that I haven’t had this shit dump to an actual human yet is 100% on me, OK? I’ve talked to K on the phone extensively — hell, I saw her all three days of the trial. And Mr C and I even watched the Glass Onion last night (It’s the sequel to Knives Out — and holy shit, they are both incredible movies — must see). The problem is, sometimes I don’t realize what I’m feeling. I guess I’m not in touch enough some times. So I have my very logical side and my very emotional side. And right now my logical side is having a fucking millennium New Year’s party while my emotional side is crying in bed and therefore waking me up in panic attacks to try to get some attention.

It’s been a rough week, yall. So this was the last week at my shit show job, the week of my court case/trial, and also our HVAC needs repair.

So let’s start with the elephant — the court case. This has been 3 years over due. The car accident which caused a concussion which led to post concussion syndrome and me losing my job and being out of work from October to August — that happened back in mid October of 2019. Obviously, settling is ideal. However, State Farm only offered me 7k. To cover 10 months of not working. However, I’m not that stingy, I only asked for the 7 months because I was released by my doctor to work PART TIME in May. It took until August before I actually got put on another contract and took a 20k pay cut. But we’re only arguing for when I technically was allowed to go back to work. But yeah, 7k aint gonna cover it. So I had to get a lawyer.

So we get a lawyer and sue. Some fun facts: the police report is inadmissible in court because it’s hearsay — they didn’t witness the accident. Also you cannot even MENTION insurance in court. Probably because if the jury knew insurance were the assholes and the ones paying up, everyone would logically go “no shit, that’s what insurance is for” and you’d always win. That’s my theory on that rule. So it’s not me suing insurance, it’s me suing the 16 year old kid that hit me in his daddy’s car. And the opposing lawyer is representing the kid, but the kid didn’t hire that lawyer — insurance did. This is all pomp and show of insurance using the kid as an avatar. The kid will never pay a penny ’cause… THAT’S WHAT INSURANCE IS FOR. But it doesn’t change the fact that I am suing that young kid over there sitting with his mommy and daddy for comfort. Do I get anyone for comfort? No. Cause Mr C has a job, I guess? I’m too self conscious to ask him to be there for me? Maybe I didn’t think I needed it because strong independent woman? I don’t know. He had offered and I was like no, there’s no point in you missing work for this BS. So anyway, I was alone. It was my own fault, but my point is — I made an error in judgment and so I had to go through this alone. </SCENE>

So I spent three days getting ripped apart in court. Because I’m the plaintiff, and the kid is the defense. So the other side didn’t even bring any witnesses. They admitted 100% fault in the accident. Their argument was that I’m a big fat liar about the illness that caused me to miss work and lose my job and wreck my face. He even quoted the TV Lawyers’ pitch “In a wreck, get a check!” But like, we’re arguing this to a jury so the main case is she’s a big fat liar. But we gotta lather it on — so we’re also gonna throw in she’s crazy (it’s documented since 2003). And then for the cherry on the cake — how is this bitch worth a six figure salary? Also somehow we’re gonna throw in that she has a lot of medical problems – let’s discuss all of that. Somehow maybe it’s just the thyroid or anemia that’s been well under control for 15 years.

So OK, I know I’m not a liar. So that’s really just an anger issue. But every time I complain about this piece of shit scumbag lawyer whose job is to drag my reputation through the mud in the dirtiest most exploitative ways — every time I mention wanting this fucker to die, everyone — even my husband, just say’s “That’s his job.” “He’s just doing his job.” You know what, I don’t give a fuck. Hit Men are just doing their jobs too. They got nothing personal against the people they’re paid to kill. Maybe he chose an asshole job? Maybe he has no ethics because he’s a piece of shit? I mean he sleeps just fine at night. That makes him a fucking asshole. He said a lot of bad things about me and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t get off because it’s his fucking job. Why is everyone just DISMISSING my anger? I’m fucking allowed to be angry.

So then let’s discuss my mental health. Cause it’s not like a sensitive subject or anything. Why are you crazy? Why do you require two antidepressants and take valium 3 times a day just to leave your house? Let’s talk about it. You take a lot of medication (Not like that’s something of a touchy subject like when my MIL snooped on my first trip up there and commented to my fiance that “she takes a LOT of medications.)” Do you think maybe you just didn’t wanna go to work? Even you doctor says he thinks underlying psychological conditions are probably contributing to your condition — sounds like he doesn’t believe you either. How do you feel about that? Do you think you’re crazy? You wanna cry about it cause you’re a big fat baby?

Also, why should you get paid this much? Like, you kinda suck. And you have a fuck ton of medical issues. Perhaps you just don’t wanna work? ‘Cause you’re lazy. Which I am. I am lazy, yall. Maybe you’re just trying to get a big payout. And it’s true that I’m heavily money driven, yall. That’s why I wanted my missed wages back. It’s also very true that I had to wake up early every day so K could come over on her way to work (GOD BLESS GOOD FRIENDS) and spray paint my hair brown. Cause as I am, I do not deserve that much money. I only deserve that much money if I present myself as better. With brown hair and makeup and better clothes and confidence. Cause normal Mrs C is a crazy wreck who doesn’t deserve her good life. Only prettier people deserve nice things. That’s never been a sore spot for me.

And yall, I’ve suppressed a lot of shit these past three years. Like this wreck FUCKED ME OVER. I’m over here getting headaches and motion sick all the time. I can’t travel. But it could be worse. I’ve mostly recovered! I’m so lucky! Yay me! You’re not allowed to be sad cause other people have it worse. And my career took a reset. Major pay cut. Lost the job I liked and was super proud of. Was gonna be a SME — the pinnacle goal of my software engineer career — on a very important and prestigious contract. Now, after having not been able to do math for a few months and not having worked on complex software for three years, I don’t anymore. I decided to step back from development cause I’m not sure I’m good enough anymore. Not like imposter syndrome is a thing anyway. Let’s talk about it in front of 20 – 30 people.

And to finish off this fun time — let’s interrogate you in front of everyone. Because that’s what it it is. An interrogation. When you testify, you don’t just get to tell a lovely story — you just answer questions. About EVERYTHING. Remember everything your lawyer told you to say. Your dates better be right and your numbers gotta be right and you better remember everything exactly that happened three fucking years ago cause it better match up completely with what you said in your deposition almost two years ago. And don’t talk to much — only answer the question asked. And don’t nervous laugh — stop that!

So yeah. That case ripped my fucking face off. It was a highly traumatizing experience. It opened old wounds. It made me super self conscious about pretty much everything. But it’s over. It’s totally over. And we “won.” My lawyer is handling the shit ton of people I now I owe money to (gotta pay back everything BCBS paid for my medical — gotta pay back everything short term disability gave me. The doctor’s depositions come out of my part of the winnings. And the lawyer gets 40% before any of that). So the jury awarded me my lost wages for the 7 months, plus a very small bit for medical and pain and suffering. After everyone gets their cuts, I get like 3 months missed wages.

So it sounds like it wasn’t worth it. Cause I only got 3 months when I missed 10. Yes, again — I got fucked by this wreck. Life isn’t fair. I got a ton more than the 7k insurance offered before I got a lawyer. And while I will not see a third of it — State Farm had to pay into 6 figures for this case after the verdict, the trial, the failed arbitration, and putting me though bullshit by dragging this on for three years. So making them pay is part of the win. Fuck them.

So that’s over — I should be shitting rainbows! Instead, I’m looking around like a fucking mac truck just hit me. What the fuck just happened? Why is that allowed to happen? I really over estimated my mental fortitude. I shouldn’t have just asked Mr C to come, I should have asked K and K2 to come too! I got killed even though I won.

And listen, I’m petty. So like I know that when I married Mr C, I agreed to be a financial squirrel. We want to retire. And he doesn’t believe in any debt — even good debt. So our number one priority is to own this house ASAP. We can’t even buy new furniture for the house until we own it. So this money will all be put directly to the house. I acknowledge that. And that’s fair. He was 100% the sole breadwinner when I was out of work and it cost us our savings. Do I agree with his view that even mortgage debt is bad debt? No, I don’t. It’s OK to have a mortgage in my opinion. And K’s about to get a new car and I don’t like driving my tiny car cause I want a bigger car that wins in the car accident rather than gives you a brain injury. So were I single, I’d be buying a new car. But I’m not. So I asked if I could keep just a tiny bit to pay for a bit of my sleeve tattoo and Mr Cs first gut reaction was to question why I needed it when I was supposed to be saving for my tattoo. That hurt. I mean he’s letting me have it, that was just like his gut instinct cause Mr C’s gut instinct with money is that he is a squirrel and it must all be saved. NO TOUCH.

Also, my laptop, which is my only computer, is freaking out something major this week so DON’T DIE, PLEASE.

Anyway — my last week with the shit show. This should make me happy. I should have just been able to coast through it flipping middle fingers to everyone, but shit show is a shit show. I went directly from court verdict on Wednesday to work. Had anything that needed to be done get done? Nope. I have spent the past two weeks requesting an inventory of the classified items in my possession. I have requested multiple times that a witness inventory them and sign for them. I got nothing. So I had to stay late on Wednesday and I sent a really bitchy email to everyone. I stated that I tried to get these items inventoried and signed over. And I took and made my own inventory of all of my assets. As my contract was terminating, I could not be held responsible for these assets and anything missing is not my fault because security has refused to give me their inventory.

That’s terrifying. Because shit show IS A SHIT SHOW. They lost 11 pieces of government property JUST THIS WEEK. So you think they’re not gonna lose my shit? The classified shit that was last signed for by ME? Making ME RESPONSIBLE FOR IT. They could just accuse me of stealing it if they want. So I printed out my bitchy email and attached the 9 emails to security and supervisors requesting that this shit be taken care. And I told them I’d be keeping it in my own records in case you ever wanna blame any of this on me.

So that was extremely stressful. Thankfully, two hours before I left for good, they inventoried my shit and at least verified that they saw it. Thank you.

What else? Well, there’s something wrong with the HVAC. We had it fixed up and repaired last summer but towards the very end of summer the downstairs stopped cooling. I didn’t care to pay someone to fix it as winter was coming and we had just been through this. Then two weeks ago after the crazy winter storm, my kitchen starts smelling like spray paint chemicals. It wasn’t the refrigerator or tankless hot water heater. So I correctly (it turns out) surmised it was the HVAC unit leaking chemicals.

So, did you catch the part where Mr C has lordship over the money? I have lordship over the practical shit. No offense to my actual rocket scientist, genius husband, but he’s worthless with that shit. I wanted to put it off cause I got enough on my plate but Mr C is afraid of dying from toxic fumes so I had to get someone out to look at it. Now, our AC people are not in our city. So to pay them to just come look at the unit is $175 for travel. And they’re honest guys so they’re the first ones to tell me to get someone local to do it. So I figured, just for diagnostics, lets get a local company out to diagnose if it’s leaking chemicals. They’d be $109. They did correctly figure out that our coil had a total blow out, all the chemicals are gone and told Mr C it’d be $3,100 to replace the coil but they’d just replace the unit. As I had told him to do, he told them to fuck off. I mean, he doesn’t curse but whatever.

BTW, the internet says a replaced coil with labor should be between $800 and $2000 dollars. The highest price estimate I could find was $2500. Also note, our coil is aluminum, not copper so it should be cheaper. Why are the trades people allowed to just rip you the fuck off? They’re allowed to just pull a number out of their ass and expect you to pay it. WTF?

So then I call our guy. I tell him the problem we think we have. Luckily his minion is already in town on another call so he’ll pop over. Awesome. So I met with him. I love this guy because he always teaches me so much. He explains everything and how it works and whats what. Anyway, the other people were right. He said personally, he’d just replace the coil. However, we want to know the numbers on the coil vs the unit and calculate whats cheapest in the long run since our units are 7 years old. So his boss is gonna figure that out for us. Oh, and the coil was like totaled so all the chemicals spilled out at once. And yeah, we’d have smelled that. But like there’s no more even left to spill out.

That was Thursday evening. That night, it got kinda fucking cold. It was 60 degrees downstairs. The heater had been fine, the AC was the problem. I had tried flipping the breakers off and back on but nothing was happening. So when my fingers started needing gloves while I watched youtube, I decided to text the minion and ask if like maybe he did something to it? Thankfully, minion calls me immediately and profusely apologizes. He thinks he disconnected the unit and forgot to hook it back up. But he’s willing to walk me through getting it back on. Sweet.

So I grab some shoes and venture out into the freezing cold darkness to wade through giant japonica bushes to get to the HVACs God forbid we have lights over there so I’ve got this guy on speaker phone and am using the flashlight function of my smart phone. He tells me what to do, it’s pretty easy and he tells me what to check for. Sweet, it’s running. So I return to the much warmer 60 degrees of my house with him on speaker phone and ask him about those estimates. He hasn’t talked to his boss yet so he doesn’t know if he priced the coil or bought one or what. Cool, we’ll figure it out next week.

So Mr C heard and comes down to get the gist of whats going on. I explained it and hes all twenty fucking questions about HVACs and what they guy said and estimates and did they buy the coil even though we haven’t even told them if that’s what we wanna do? We don’t know, no ones talked to the boss. Well are they gonna buy the coil without asking us? I DON’T KNOW. I don’t even care. We haven’t committed to buying it so even if they did order it, it does not concern us!

Jesus H *****, can I get a thank you? I just fucking fixed the heater. If it had been up to him, he’d have frozen all night and paid them to come back out and hook it back up themselves! I’M HANDLING IT. He won’t ask contractors a thing buy he’ll play twenty fucking questions with me about it. I was kinda angry.

However, I’m not the silent type so a little later I pointed out he hadn’t thanked me for fixing the heater. Because if I know what I need, I ask for it or at least hint at it. So yes, he totally thanked me for fixing the heater. And pointed out how great I did this week handling all this bullshit and he was very sweet. He’s a good husband so I keep him.

What I didn’t know, was like how fucking upset I was about all of this bullshit. I apparently need more than some pats on the back to recover from this — whatever the fuck this was. So yeah, I’m waking up to panic attacks. And because the office (his lair) is right above the living room (my lair), I hear everything. And last night he was telling his friends about he trial and we this and we that and we’re doing this. Which I get that we are a unit. I also get that when you’re talking to your friends you are the point of reference these people have. But my bitter ass just kinda had a guttural reaction of “WE aint doing shit. I’M DOING IT.” Not that I said anything — cause when I’m angry it’s best if I just go to bed. But then I woke up with another fucking panic attack.

Jesus, one day I’m gonna have a heart attack and just ignore it thinking it’s a panic attack.

So yeah. That’s where I am. So it’s Sunday of my four day weekend before I start my new job. The new job that terrifying because what if it sucks? Or I can’t do it? You know, normal new job feels. So uh yeah. I should be relieved cause the trials over and I’m done with the shit show _

PAUSE

There was another thing. Friday at like 4:50PM I got an email for monies owed from the Shit Show. They are saying that I have to pay back my sign on bonus. I do not. And I replied that they better reply ASAP that they’ve figured out their problem or they need to send me paperwork stating why the original terms of my contract have changed and I need to give them to a lawyer. But it’s a 4 day weekend so I won’t hear back until Tuesday. So surely this was an error and they will fix it. But as it stands they have now said that not only do I not get my final paycheck, but I OWE THEM MONEY on top of that.

Yay, that’s not stressful at all. Not because Mr C freaks the fuck out about every dollar and now we’re talking about me taking a muli-thousand dollar hit.

So, Mrs C, why aren’t you like just so happy to be done with the trial and done with the shit shit show? It’s a four day weekend — and no job stress cause you’re between jobs! Why are you having panic attacks? WTF?

I THINK I FIGURED IT OUT.

I’m still sitting a bloody mess on the side road after being hit by a mac truck going “what the fuck was THAT?” This week was the “THAT.”

I miss my Jack Jack

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on I miss my Jack Jack

I miss my Jack Jack. This past few days have been a new wave of sadness. I suppose it started with one day this week when I got home. You know how, when you get a new pet, you realize all the stuff you have to change? No more toilets left up, no open doors, no leaving food out — stuff like that. Well, I’m trained for Jack. So I came home and was careful not to swing open the door because he’s always right there waiting for me to open it. But… he’s not anymore. Like for that little minute I forgot he died and expected him to be behind the door.

Then, I had to read all the “The Loving Reaper” comics. Link here on WEBTOON. They’re PSA comics that are beautifully drawn and depressing AS FUCK. And a lot of them involve pets and terrible human beings, and obviously, death. So that didn’t help. I know.

Then, I went saving off old photos. This wasn’t related to Jack. We did our annual gingerbread tradition and I wanted to look at past gingerbread parties. I’ll get into it in another post — but it led me to going through all of Facebook and even back to Flickr for photos. So I also took the time to download all of these old photos (yes, you can request a zip file of every photo you’ve ever uploaded to Facebook). I saved them to my google photos for good future keeping.

LOOK AT MY SWEET BABY! Look how little he was! Those cheeks!

And here, he’s being all curious and adorable.

And I miss his little foot prints.

I just miss him so much. He loved when I’d come home and scoop him up like a baby and rub his belly and talk to him. He’d turn on that fake hamming-it up purr that sounded like a motor while I rubbed his “polka dots” (belly) and stuck my finger between his toe beans so he could squeeze it. He was such a good boy. He loved me so much. I really miss him a lot.

The past few nights (maybe 4ish?) I’ve been getting terrible anxiety at bed time. I’ll get anxiety tummy and then a tight chest.

I also started following this local cat place on Facebook and so that’s had adopting another cat on my mind. I think it’s just upsetting me though. I want JACK. I want Jack back. I want my biggun’

I’ll hide that cat page for now. I’m just upset all over again. Now I’m getting anxiety attacks every night. Ugh.

Attack of the Anxieties

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on Attack of the Anxieties

I’ve been known to have anxiety and panic attacks. I take medication for it. Valium, to be specific. One of my friends was amazed at how much valium I take, but I used to be agoraphobic, okay? I’m basically brought to you by psychiatric drugs.

Anyway, today I had a total anxiety attack. It started at work and I knew it was coming on hard so I peaced the fuck out. I teared up a bit in the car and came home to give my sweet husband the hug I needed. He asked what was wrong and I was like I just needed to hug you and the cat. And when I started blabbering the huge amalgamation of what was wrong, one thing stood out more than the rest: mom.

Last night we discussed Mr C’s work trip coming up. Well, mom always visited when Mr C went on work trips. Mom always felt like she was going to be a burden so she was insanely careful not to step on toes. However, when Mr C went away for work, she knew she would be doing me a favor by visiting. I get to spend time with her, she cooks me delicious dinners that Mr C doesn’t like (hello, meatloaf and hamburger steak and canned corned beef sandwiches), and there’s no way she could be bothering Mr C. So she always came up for his work trips. And he’s going on a work trip. And moms not coming.

Of course, Mr C told his sobbing wife that he could cancel. However, him going on a trip isn’t a problem. And of course I could ask a friend (especially K) to come stay with me — but it’s not about having to stay by myself. It’s not him being gone or me being lonely, it’s mom not being here. He’s going to go away and It’ll just be… me. Without momma. We always loved hanging out together when it was just us. Like a little vacation. No more mom. No more little vacations while Mr C is gone. No more momma.

And to make things even more awkward — the day Mr C comes back is the day his parents will be coming to spend the night — on my sweet mommas birthday. Her first birthday when she’s not here. And when I feel like I should be mourning not having my mom — or maybe making a special treat in honor of mom (hello pumpkin cream cheese muffins), I’m going to be celebrating my in laws. It’s going to feel a bit blasphemous. So is Christmas. Christmas in any form will feel blasphemous. She died on Christmas Day. This year is Christmas with the in laws. Ugh. But at some point I’m going to have to suck it up and embrace Christmas again. Just wish it wouldn’t be so soon. Mom LOVED some holidays. So not going all out for the holidays would be a disgrace to her memory.

That said, I did put up Norbert the dragon for Halloween, but I won’t be decorating the inside. I just don’t feel it. I doubt I’ll feel Christmas either.

*sigh* (again, I actually took a deep sign before I typed that).

I do have a lot of anxieties going on right now. Everything running the gauntlet of petty: what if I can’t take the pain of my tattoo and I wuss out? To what if I can’t take the stomach surgery? What if it gets infected or I get botched or I DIE? I’m interviewing for new jobs — two interviews this week. Mr C’s in a hole of despair hating his own job. Work sucks, obviously, for both of us. The lawsuit from my injury is finally coming up and we calculated that if we win the MAXIMUM we can ask, we won’t make enough to cover one of the plastic surgeries — much less a small fraction of what I lost in wages. Not even the gap in the pay cut I took for this new contract. We are not making it out well, and that’s if we win the max. Thank God the lawyer only gets paid by how much we win. And I’ve got a house guest. So I’m anxious about is the house clean enough — does the bedding smell bad? Am I too in her face? I don’t wanna be invasive.

Oh and one of the new friends that had best friend potential — yeah turns out not so much. She supports some things I just can’t look past. I’m so damn judgemental. This is why I only have three true friend peeps.

Anyway, I got out before I cried at work. I came home and hugged my sweetie (the husband, not the cat) and bawled about mom — or more accurately, the lack of mom. Then I took a nap with my cat. Now I’m cathartically writing it all out. Then I’m going to the circus. Yep. But the people kind, not the animal kind. Cheers!

Melancholy

Posted on | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment on Melancholy

I left work early again today. I just feel so sad. Melancholy. Sorrowful. It’s not all mom. Of course part of it is mom. I miss her dearly. I have so much anxiety and worries running through my head and I need her calmness. I need her “It will work it all out.” I need her to calm me down and say she’ll pray about it.

Monday was a holiday. It was a lazy day. The kind of day where her an I would have lazily floated in the pool. I miss that so much. That time was perfect. Of course I never realized it was perfect but it was. It was a time with just us chatting and relaxing. Telling each other secrets and gossip. And I was providing for her. Be it a day or the weekend, I was providing for her. And I was giving her this private pool to enjoy as much as she wanted. And believe me, she did enjoy it. I’d find her out there on the stairs having coffee when I woke up. If she hadn’t already got on a bathing suit and moved into the tanning ledge or a float.

I miss you, momma. So so much. To say it hurts is superlative.

I do have things im looking forward to. That’s something that leaves me in a depression — when I don’t have things to look forward to. But this time I have a few things to look forward to — but they’re all tainted somehow. Or I fear they won’t come to pass at all.

I’m looking forward to plastic surgery. I might be pretty smokin’ with some tightened up arms and belly and bigger boobs. I’ll be an hourglass for sure — even if it is still an extra large one. The fact that my husband is letting me pay for this and take the time off to do it is amazing! But rather than being grateful, I worry. What if my recent weight gain takes that off the table? How will my recovery be? Will my husband be able to step up to help me enough? With pain meds, bringing me drinks and food, helping me get up and around, washing my hair for me, taking care of the cat. How can I take care of Jack right after ive been gutted? Momma always always took care of me in recoveries. Even since I’ve been married. She’d just come up here to stay. It’s hard for me to trust. I worry.

I’m looking forward to Florida. The family trip my side of the family always takes. However, this one is obvious. Florida is MOMS THING. It’s what she loved. Sitting on the beach all day with the waves of the gulf washing over her feet. Lazily dripping sand into elaborate spires next to her chair. Having coffee at 6am on the balcony listening to the crashing waves. This year we’ll all be going at least one last time all together. For mom. She wanted some of her ashes spread there. In the ocean. And she’d want us to go. She always wanted us to go. Even when I felt like I ruined it. I turn into such a bitch around my sisters. It’s the codependent family structure. I fall right back into it when I’m with them. Then we all bitch to mom and she screams that she cant take it anymore. And I feel like they’d have a better vacation without me there. So yeah, cloud over that one. But I have to go. For mom.

October. This one’s odd. So it’s the year to spend Thanksgiving with my family. However, Mr C’s parent’s are celebrating in October — so sweet, we can do both families, right? Well. Mr C’s parents, in a fashion so very typical of them, just assumed none of us “kids” were coming. So I was chatting with my mother-in-law the other day (remember, I was all sad about mom and no one would return my calls? You know none of my family has yet to return any of the calls, BTW). Yeah I was talking to her and she mentioned that they’d be stopping by our house on their great road trip right before heading up to the thanksgiving festivities. So I confirmed that we’d be leaving to follow them. This was news to her! She thought we weren’t coming! She was super excited that we were. She informed me that Thanksgiving dinner with the N’s was canceled and gave me the run down of the new plans.

So after talking with her, I called Mr C’s brother. He has legitimately no excuse in the world to miss Thanksgiving. So I called to see why he wasn’t coming. That was news to him. He thought he WAS coming. Mr C’s sister — same thing! We were all planning on going but the parents just assumed we weren’t for some weird reason they’re calling a miscommunication but I’m calling bullshit. So since no “kids” were coming, the adults scrapped thanksgiving dinner at the N’s for a fall trip. Now they’re going to North Carolina to ride a train through the mountains. Sounds nice enough. So we conspired and decided we’d join. Then I did more research.

The parents are staying in a very overpriced lodge. Thats cool, cause my sister-in-law found us a cheap air BnB less than a mile away. Awesome! So I looked into this “dinner or lunch train.” Well, one: there’s no dinner or lunch. It’s just a 4.5 hour train ride. You can get a boxed lunch of a sandwich and chips. But I’m keto, I can’t eat the sandwich or the chips! Oh and those sweet antique steam dinner train vibes — nope. Only available in November and December. We’re riding a plain old commuter style train. It’s not even steam! So now I’m riding a foodless amtrak to nowhere as the main part of my trip. AWESOME. We’re only driving 4.5 hours hours both way for this privilege. Buy hey, good meals with family are worth it, right? Well, on the train we won’t all be together. Because it’s not a dining train. And dinners? there’s no where to eat dinner in the town we’re staying in or the town with the train! They’re shit towns, I looked! Fuck me, this trip sounds terrible. We’re all pretty mad they canceled dinner and games at the N’s but we didn’t realize the extent of this thing.

Then there’s my sweet tattoo. I can’t get it if I don’t get my arms done so there’s one worry. Also all the good artists are in LA or New York! I can’t get anyone to reply to my inquiries. And if I travel to one of these artists, can we do it in one go? Don’t they have to do it in stages? I can’t travel to New York 3 times! And who’s gonna take care of my precious Jack? That goes for all of these trips (except Florida when K is gonna house sit. Thats why K’s getting the sweet ass home warming present. Not the Dragon of Scams, though. He’s currently a deflating trophy in the garage). But it might not matter, because none of the artists have replied to my inquiries.

So. Yeah. I’m whiny. I told you I was melancholy. But I don’t really have anyone to whine to, so I’m doing it here. My blog, my therapist. I find myself lonely. I miss mom so much.

Weight Anxiety

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I’ve been having a lot more anxiety and panic lately. I think I’ve narrowed a part of it down the the upcoming appointment with the plastic surgeon. Am I excited? Fuck yes, I am! However, I’m freaking out about my weight gain.

Since mom died. I gained some weight. That threw off my thyroid and made me super hypothyroid. Depression combined with hypothyroidism gang banged each other into over 30lbs. I’m already afraid the doctor won’t accept doing elective surgery on someone of my size (which I would like to get down to 220lbs even though I had been lower — also remember, friend – Mrs C used to be pushing 400lbs so this is a great weight).

I wasn’t extremely worried about the weight gain. I haven’t changed clothes sizes. My doctor caught the thyroid labs being off and we fixed them. I’ve dropped about 7lbs since then. I’ve remained keto throughout. So I know that, eventually, I’ll drop the excess and get back to where I want to be. I wasn’t worried about it. Now, with what feels like a deadline, I’m worried about it.

It’s also “that time of the month.” That combined with seeing a bad photo of myself has my self esteem in the negative numbers. We’re talking shit hole here. Bad. Hence the panic attacks.

I think identifying the root cause has helped a small amount. I talked to Mr C about it. And it’s just a consultation. Maybe he says he’ll do it when I drop the 17lbs to get back to 220. I’m still really excited about boobs and tattoos! Boobs and tattoos! A 3/4 sleeve, a portrait of my beloved Jack, and now I want a little goomba on my foot/ankle. I’m already getting more tattoos and I haven’t even started. YAY!

Looking down.

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So this morning at work I was consulting the Senior Scientist.  Yes, that’s his real title, I’m jealous.  My goal is to become a SME (Subject Matter Expert) which is basically what he is, but I’ve never heard them called “Senior Scientists” before this job.  It sounds so fancy.  Now I want to be one even more.

SMEs are basically the unfirable people the company can’t live without.  They can curse out the customer and not get a slap on the wrist.  They’re just too valuable because they know everything about that thing and no one else does.  I know of a one-degree-of-separation-from-me SME that was on a customer call and started ranting and cursing.  The customer being fucking NASA.  Management’s response?  Let’s not tell him when we have customer calls anymore.  I worked with a SME, Rich, and he was like 75 and already maxed out his payscale but he was too invaluable to the company to lose.  I personally witnessed him in a meeting tell the presenter “there’s no fucking way that’s gonna work and LAUGH.”  He was right, of course.  And no one said a thing.  Because it was Rich and Rich is like the guru go-to for that piece of software that no one else can figure out.  He could do something in 2 hours that would take someone else a month to figure out.  Rich knows more than you ever will.  And he can retire any minute he pleases so you don’t say shit to Rich.  SME life is where it’s at.  I just wanna be so valuable to a company for knowing everything about this one niche piece of legacy software that I can curse at whomever I please without repercussion.  It’s my only career goal besides retirement. 

It sounds like you have to be a genius to be a SME.  You don’t.  You just work on a piece of software long enough and you end up knowing everything about how it works by nature.  You just become the person everyone comes to to ask questions.  You know where this new code needs to go because you worked on that piece two years ago and you were at the initial design meetings where it was discussed.  The other engineers would need to work all that out, but you just remember it.  You have become the SME simply by staying in one place for so long.

Anyway, SME discussion aside, I was talking to our “Senior Scientist”/SME this morning.  This is one of my two favorite people at my job.  You know, the job I despise with everything I have?  Yeah, well there are a few people I like there that aren’t DeBitch.  I’d love to be outside-of-work-friends with two of these people.  And Mr Senior Scientist here is one of them.  So he’s discussing the shit I asked him about and he’s like “do you understand what I’m taking about”  — yes, I do.  And then he’s like “you seem so down.”  Well, yeah.  I’m at work.  I’m down at work.  Also it’s a Monday.    

However, I also had a panic attack this morning.  I didn’t mention that.  I might later if he mentions my spirits again.  I’m still heavily grieving my mother and you don’t realize you’re still so upset until a little thing just hits you.  I didn’t even realize I’d been hit.  Today when I got up and got ready, I went for my cat on my way downstairs – as always.  He’s either downstairs on the couch (can be verified easily as it’s visible as you pass the stairs) or in moms room.  He was in moms room curled up on the bed next to the tray with her glasses and ashes and some photos.  She’d have liked him curled up on her bed. “Look at him!”

I sat down beside him to love on him.  I’ve been careful to not rush past him in the mornings like I usually would.  I hate my job and my precious only has a short time left with me.  So I want to give him as much love as possible.  I can spare a few minutes.  So I sat beside him and started stroking his fur while looking at the photos of mom.  I thought of the conversation I had with my brother’s wife last night.  Two of my siblings are in complete despair.  I didn’t realize it was so bad for my brother.  He’s been having so much anxiety that he hasn’t spent the night in his own bed since she died.  He’s been sleeping on the couch.  Hearing that crushed me.  I adore my brother.  He was my father figure growing up. 

So for a brief moment I remembered their despair and wondered if I’m cold.  Should I be in more grief than I am?  The moment didn’t last long – a passing thought in my mind.  I didn’t marinate on the thought at all – it fluttered through.  I picked up the cat and carried him downstairs to shove a pill down his throat.  He still resists those fucking pills with everything he has in him.  Give me a break, fuzzy fuzzy!  I’m doing this FOR YOU. 

And then my chest tightened.  A panic attack.  The burning knot behind my sternum.  The absolute feeling of existential dread.  The elevated heart rate.  What the fuck?  I started beating on my chest to try and relax the muscles.  Trying to talk myself down in my head.  Relax relax relax.  Focus on your breathing.  Focus on the cold granite of the counter top you’re now leaning on to try to ease the pain.  The smoothness of the stone. The quarter bevel edge you chose – good choice, you.  Full round is tacky.  Look at the plants in the window.  Ground yourself.  Don’t lose it.  Don’t give in.  Beat on your chest some more because damn I’m having a heart attack now.  At least it’s before work and not after.  If I’m going down, take me down before my ass has to go to work.  Relax relax relax.  It’s ok.  You got this. Damn that hurts.  It’s okay. It’s okay.  Pound on your chest.  Deep rub the muscles.  You’re good.  Work is gonna be good cause you didn’t slack off Friday.   

Stand up and get going.  The world doesn’t stop for you.  The world doesn’t give a shit about your feelings.  You have a meeting in 30 minutes. 

So I grabbed my stuff.  Feed my good boy his stinky food.  He gets it twice a day after discovering he lost an entire pound between vet visits for his kidney workups.  Grab my keys and lock the door behind me as Mr C is still sleeping.  Beat on my chest as I walk to the car.  And now Chucks telling me I look “down.”  I am down, Chuck.  I’m real down.

I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Then the check engine light came on.

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I has been a week. Let me tell ya. Monday I was so anxious and overwhelmed that I skipped work. I had watched 90 Day Fiance which was me and moms show. We both call each other to remind each other it is coming on and then talk about how crazy everyone is. And Natalie be CRAZY. Mom will never see how crazy she is and we cant talk about it. Who’s watching our show with me now? Just me and the cat, I guess. And he doesn’t care how crazy Natalie is, which she really is.

I’ve been hyper focused on the cat as a bit of a break from the far heavier death of mom. So of course I’m upset that even with all the changes, he’s still only got a life expectancy of 1 – 2 years. I assume that includes a lot of decline towards the end as well. So it’s difficult. I just gave him his fluids via stabby needle an hour or so ago. He’s resting in his bed next to me. With a big lump of fluid on his side. Poor guy.

Also, I’m anxious about starting vestibular physical therapy. With not having to drive much thanks to Covid, I had kinda of convinced myself I was all better. This is fine. Ya know? And acknowledging that I still get really sick driving is a hard pill to swallow. I certainly don’t want to go back to last January when I had to do my physical therapy exercises twice a day and got nausea and vertigo every time. It was miserable. So I don’t wanna. That’s basically what it boils down to. I don’t wanna.

Work’s been… bad, I guess? Honestly, I haven’t been working. I’ve been just getting though my days. I’m sorry, I’m just trying to not break down, yall. Like I said, Monday I didn’t even make it in to work. So my not-very-important task has been halted half done. But this is the last week of the sprint so my favorite coworker was assigned to help me with it. Of course DeBitch made a snarky asshole remark. DeBitch was one of the main reasons I didn’t go in Monday. I just didn’t want to deal with that shit. And of course I feel terrible.

It’s a team carry. I’m the teammate down and my team is carrying me over the finish line. It’s embarrassing and …well… embarrassing. I’m ashamed of myself. But then I also need the carry. So I’m grateful but also want to crawl up in a hole and die. Mostly the latter.

So I’ve got a lot going on that’s stressing me out. A lot. And then the check engine light in my car comes on yesterday on the way to work. God dammit, are you serious? So I have a scanner to read the codes — it’s some faulty circuit in the temperature sensor. But still, kick me when I’m down, will ya?

I just want to crawl up in a hole and die. Or to retire and crawl up on the couch and never leave the house again. That’s fine too.