Tuesday, March 24, 2015

As time (and hormones) would have it...

I'm again sitting at a computer tasked with updating my blog whilst under the influence of brain chemistry that is (and has been for over a week now) causing, but is not limited to:

*not sweating when I am so hot I could DIE (usually in the middle of the night)
*acne of the volcanic variety
*a pervasive hatred of every one and every thing in my path
*pinched nerves? I don't know...there's this exciting new aspect to my extreme PMS that is presenting itself as a neck injury. It very well might BE a poorly-timed neck injury.
*overall confusion and inability to perform basic tasks

The fun thing about hormones is that one really never knows when the dragon-breath of fiery hell will descend upon thee or for how long or WHYYYYYYYY. Sometimes I don't even realize my period is about to arrive until it's herrrrre(!!) and I'm curled in a ball on the floor hoping I don't die. And I need a change of pants. Sometimes I'm an emotional wrecking ball for two weeks beforehand and the period itself is like a shot of dopamine and cupcakes. Sometimes the whole thing is uneventful. Sometimes the



beforeduringandafter is a torment I feel I will never emerge from.

That's been my month. The really exciting part is that I will probably finally start the damn flow of blood and tissue from my lady-parts sometime tomorrow as I work among small children in the library (small children that squeal and squeak and cry and frequently scream like pterodactyls) from 9am-4pm. As soon as I get off work we're due for thunderstorms all evening. great. just. fucking. fantastic.

I only have like 4 beers in my house. No WAY is that enough sedation-aids to make it through this week.

P.S.-- I'm sick of not being allowed to talk about period stuff. I usually do to a degree anyway, but this is officially me no longer holding back. I have what could be diagnosed as PMDD (Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder) which basically means that I have extreme susceptibility to hormone fluctuations and really intense PMS. I think women should speak up about it more because it's something that effects us. We are hardcore for enduring it. Most women can endure it without others having any idea they are, unlike me. ;)

P.S.S.-- You don't need to be concerned about me. It's my body and everything works itself out. I could be completely fine tomorrow and the entire week after that. I'm venting. I have to do it...it's like a compulsion.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

* anxiety *

is an acquaintance I'd like to unfriend...that sounded cooler in my head.

Having one of those general malaise days. One of those occasions in which you know FOR SURE that you're the biggest loser in the entire world and why would anyone like you and will you ever get the things in life you want probably not why even try, etc etc.

Everything I think today is a thought the most emo of emos would think is ridiculous. And I KNOW it is ridiculous to find myself the WORST person ever. Surely, someone sucks more than me. And yet I am on the precipice of panic all day anyway. Great fun. Good times. Noodle salad.

I know I need to post a blog 'cause I said I'd post one every Saturday and it's Tuesday. This is the result of me forcing myself to blog. And typing might just calm me. Haven't taken a Valium yet...

The older I get the more I realize that I'm just not meant for noise, people, or stimuli of any kind. Earlier as I was working at the children's desk a child was screaming in that special hell way that kids scream and he sustained it for about 45 minutes. I went mad after the first five minutes. The mother was immune.

Also am experiencing a particularly high level of my particular form of what I am convinced is dyspraxia (aka Developmental Coordination Disorder: in which one has "trouble manipulating objects in the physical universe", has poor working memory, and cannot remember steps in sequence, etc). This makes me not want to move, like at ALL. This makes me drop everything. This makes me fall down. This makes my anxiety at not being able to do normal things that other people can do easily even MORE pronounced. I know I know, poor disabled Stephanie. Boo-fucking-hoo!

People have a tendency to ask why you're anxious when you claim you are. This is a question like "why are you depressed?" The whole reason why it sucks so bad and that you cannot logic yourself out of it is that there is no reason! Brain chemistry, maybe? Perhaps hormones? That's brain chemistry too though, right?

The rabbit-hole of a reason I'm cooking up this time is that I feel like I have no skills in this life. No people skills. No crafting skills. No art skills. Anything that requires me to work with my hands is intensely difficult for me. The only thing I find mostly easy is typing. I don't like to drive cars or ride a bike or run because of that whole "manipulating objects in the physical universe" thing. I don't drive in front of others especially.

When I'm alone I can kind of function. I still drop things and fall, but I don't have to know that anyone else knows. I can just be. I can dance and run into doorways without being comedy. Most of the time I'm ok with being comedy, if someone is a nice person they can laugh at me. It's when they're TRYING to be nice by not laughing that makes me self-conscious. What am I even talking about anymore?

I hate everything and everyone...not really, I love YOU of course.

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Princess Bride.

You know what sucks? Princess Bride doesn't pass the Bechdel Test and it's really not girl-friendly movie at all. I've always genuinely enjoyed it but there's NO ONE of color in that movie and TWO chicks in the entire thing. Three if you count the dream sequence hag, and I don't.

I watched it tonight with the teens for a Quote-Along program and it just disappointed me to watch a movie I've seen a dozen times in my life (if not more) not uphold any of my values at all as an adult. Buttercup wasn't even a "helpful damsel" really. She was completely helpless. She did nothing forcefully or assertively but profess her love.

And there was the dream sequence with the hag and then Carol Kane as "wife of Billy Crystal"-whatever. I keep thinking about that award speech Julianne Moore gave recently wherein she talked about how amazing each of her fellow nominees were and that as a woman she doesn't get to act with other women often and how sad that is.

I'm so over this nonsense. A demographic that is 50% of the human population shouldn't be 5% of an ensemble movie cast.


I hate that I can't enjoy Princess !fucking! Bride anymore because of my pervasive feminism. But it is as it should be. I'm done falling into lightning sand and standing still screaming while the fire pits consume me.

Monday, March 2, 2015


I believe we all have something within the labyrinth of our minds that no one else can offer, but that doesn't mean I know what the something is that I bring to the table.

I've built a mythology around my life and my past and who I think I am, but that doesn't mean anyone else will ever recognize that structure. Maybe no one else is meant to see inside the worlds in our heads. When people become famous it's because someone has recognized their brains. It means they've seen inside your grey matter and they recognize themselves in there somewhere. But when you see that they've seen you, how do you come back from that? Fame destroys everything it touches, doesn't it? How can you remain real when everyone thinks they know you?

The tiny thought that I might be a career librarian passed through a couple of weeks ago, but that Master's degree has already whispered into someone else's ears. I'm far too disabled to ever hold down a full time job and that's not insecurity...it's fact. I won't effect change in this life beyond my tiny circle of family and friends. Few among us really do.

I spend my days working, reading, watching TV, playing Animal Crossing, writing blogs, broadcasting radio, maybe I work out, maybe I eat some Pad Thai. At worst I'm ineffectual. At best I'm barely noticed. I know there's some kind of art inside my brain, but I don't know the circumstances that will bring it out of me, and onto you.

I'm writing in journals again. I've made it 32 years in this world without psychotropic medication, though far more sane than I benefit from it. Is holding out noble? Do I really want to feel everything?

I have a husband that tolerates all aspects of my crazy with grace and kindness. I didn't die in 2011. I have three wonderful animals that follow me around the house as if I'm their Snow White. I survived multiple abusive and/or controlling men. I have a great job. TWO great jobs. My mother continues to take care of me way beyond the reasonable time period in which she was charged. My grandparents are two of the most amazing people in the entire universe. I love my family. I have a best friend that has continually forgiven me for being the worst. Everyone is kind to me. But I give so little in return because I have so little to give.

I always thought of myself as an accepting person that loves everyone, but I'm starting to realize I dislike more people than I like. Though I somehow still believe my requirements for trusting someone are reasonable, I trust VERY few people. All I want in a companion is acceptance and authenticity. I want the self they show to be the real one. I want to surround myself with people that aren't racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, etc. That's truly it. But so few people seem to be themselves.

We all wear masks so often we don't know who we are anymore. I can't wear the mask for long. I couldn't wear it 8 hours a day. I distrust those motivated by power or the need to be liked.

I push everyone away because I don't know how to connect. It will all find its way in time.