The Other One Where I Can't Think of a Title.
I almost had a mental breakdown last night.
...Okay, I DID have a mental break down last night.
But I didn't "break" things.
Very proud of myself.
Also, very glad that the things I wanted to break were vintage Rolling Stones bottles of wine, because there is no way I would break those. And to my roommate...if you're reading this...I WOULD NEVER DO THAT.
So I didn't do that.
But I had a moment where the thought of smashing glass felt like it would be extremely fucking cathartic.
Yesterday was a bad day.
And a good day.
Movies, rain, vomit, pain.
...You know, the usual.
So...fun fact about me. I've always hated napping.
Like, when I was a kid...and FORCED to take a nap, I would "fake sleep." When I heard my mom coming in my room to check on me to make sure I was actually asleep, when I was actually reading a Nancy Drew novel under the covers...DURING THE DAY, (at least I didn't need a flashlight...then) I would have to pretend like I was asleep.
Because when I nap, I'm out.
Like...sleep through fire alarms out.
I'm not kidding. It's happened before.
And then there's a whole period of waking up where I'm a grumpy ass and I hate everything.
And that whole cliche of "I'll sleep when I'm dead" is a lot less funny now.
So...yeah. I hate naps.
But I have to nap now.
I don't really plan them. It's just kind of my body shutting down from the cancer and the not eating anything and I fall asleep.
So yesterday, I woke up.
From my nap.
I haven't eaten anything since Friday. So I'm hungry but don't have an appetite.
(I realize that makes no sense...unless it does.)
I have a pinched nerve in my neck because I slept wrong.
Bethenny Frankel isn't coming back to RHONY.
My fucking wi-fi is down, so I can't watch Schitt's Creek.
My mouth hurts because I've been throwing up so fucking much...and I literally have sores and my throat is on fire.
My spine feels like someone reached into my back and is squeezing it, while slightly twisting it.
I might as well be getting my tits pierced, because it feels like someone is shoving needles through them.
I'm waiting for my pills to kick in.
Oh. Let me hit my wax pen.
........N O P E.
..the battery on my wax pen is dead. The cats hit the charger and so it didn't fucking charge.
So. I walk into the kitchen. I live with one other person. We have LOTS of leftovers. I might as well make an attempt to eat something.
And...my cat runs in front of me and I trip.
I didn't go all the way down, thankfully I was able to catch myself on the counter.
But in doing so, I stubbed my toe.
I know. It's sounds so stupid and simple.
But on top of everything else, I have really bad burning nerve damage from chemo, I'm standing on cold tile...and I just got fucking pissed.
I open the fridge and am staring at all the food that I know I am not going to eat.
And then, I see the wine rack on the top of the fridge.
And...I can't stop fixating on it.
There is this one bottle that has a semi torn bottle top.
I mean it's very minimal.
But, I stared at the wine rack for a full 5 minutes, and it took every ounce of strength to not grab that bottle and smash it on the counter.
Desperate Housewives was always one of my favorite shows.
You would think I would identify more with Felicity Huffman's character. You know, seeing as how she is the one with cancer.
Stress level 100...I am Marcia Cross.
The one that spends an hour scrubbing one spot because you're fixated on it. The one that stress bakes. The one that wants to break things.
It was bad. I wanted to go into full adult temper tantrum mode.
Progress people. I didn't.