• Kathryn Wright

Stop acting like a disgruntled pelican.

So, I'm back.

This is super embarrassing, but I decided to be all boujie and get my nails done for my 10 year high school reunion (WHAT HOW WHY WHERE HAS TIME GONE) and it was legitimately too hard to type.

(The reunion was fantastic though, I ended the night drunk in the back of a truck shoving taco bell in my mouth. And yes, for once...I was in the back of a truck with food in my mouth. Not...well...yeah. #sorrymom)

And then I went in to get a fill and decided to not have them filed down so they were super long and then I DEF couldn't type.

And then today I decided I wanted to type and took them off.

So yeah, I'm back.


So, after my fiance died...I swore off marriage.

Which I was kind of upset about, because I always wanted a black wedding dress.

I think this was partial rebellion, but I'm obsessed with that aesthetic to this day. But I said I couldn't do it.

Wouldn't do it.

Won't do it.

But...I'm in love.

Head over heels.

"That can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars over the fence, world series kind of love."'s still not going to happen. Because...I don't think you're allowed to marry a TV show.

BUT. If I could, I would marry Schitt's Creek.

I am committed to Schitt's Creek.


This is going to sound super weird if you don't know what this is.

It's a TV show.

The TV show.

*THE* TV show.

Honestly, aside from Cory Booker's theatrics during democratic debates...comedy should just give up at this point, because nothing will ever be funnier than this show. I'm not kidding.

My panic attacks have gotten really bad, and at this point...Schitt's creek is the only thing that can distract me enough to pull me out of them (aside from the pot oil incident...which I will explain soon). David and Moira make me laugh so hard I can't breathe...which is rather ironic, considering my panic attacks occur because I think I can't breathe.

But at least the Rose family helps distract myself from the fact that I'm not thinking about the not breathing thing.

Speaking of not breathing...funny story. The pot oil story.

Well, it's funny now. Hindsight is always 20/20...right?

So last week, I got pot oil.

I have a wax pen, but I figured I would try the oil.

This is straight up like smoking a joint, but you drink it. Just a tablespoon or 2.

I was slightly skeptical until I tried it.

I was bent over in a ball in so much pain I couldn't even stand up...I HATE taking pills, so I said fuck it.

Less than a minute later, I was giggling on the couch like a fucking idiot...pain free. I'm not kidding.

(So FYI...pull the stick out of your ass if you don't believe in the power of medicinal MJ. Because it works.)

So two days later, I start having major pain, and I decide to have some pot oil.

...Two days later.

AKA this was over 48 hours where I hadn't eaten.


I'm on the phone with my best friend, and my head starts feeling weird.

And then my tongue feels weird.

I'm alone in my house.

I get off the phone, and after I Web MD myself, (as someone who has horrible panic attacks now....FML) and I'm now convinced I'm having a stroke.

Guess what happens next?

YUP. I called 911 on myself.


So...I'm sitting in my living room, with these 2 guys...taking my blood pressure, turning away cats because any time there is a new person here...they all magically appear.

And then I realized I was just having a really bad panic attack...

Like, the kind you 911 YOURSELF on.

I didn't tell my roommate about this for a while.

Once I did...he goes "Well did you eat?"





"Um...not for a few days, no."


And then I felt like an idiot.

So yeah. I'm the cancer girl with half a head of hair that literally called 911 on herself because I'm the idiot that doesn't eat and drinks pot oil and thinks she's stroking out.

I'm a disgruntled pelican...what can I say.

I'm just thankful I'm going to croak before I have to pay for an ambulance that I didn't actually use.

Does that make me a bad person? Probably. we are.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

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