Where I Reveal Myself To You In Terrible Ways

Most of these blog entries will be a record of self-loathing or depression.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Trouble Comes to Those Who Wait

In this case, those who procrastinate. I waited all week and didnt ask for help and so the final product was crap. I'm working on another final product and that will be crap, too, come tomorrow and Thursday, and the boss is going to be pissed. (Unless someone else is working on it and I'm unaware, which I doubt (but has been known to happen).)

I opened this entry to talk about my arms, about how many things are difficult when your arms dont work right. I just went to flip off a light by reaching around a wall; maybe it was because I had to bring my arm up almost parallel, but it didn't feel healthy.

Then there's bed (where I am now). I might have mentioned that half the bed (maybe closer to one third) is covered in papers. Each morning I have to crawl past it. 

Crawling past it is not as easy when one arm doesn't feel like it should be moving. This morning I did my best to throw myself into a sitting position and then scrump around from there. It was awkward, but most mornings are.

I learned something today. I learned I was looking for a lot of attention and people didn't have time for me. I learned the cuts on my face aren't as shocking as I think they are. The first two people that saw them didn't say anything, didn't even seem to notice. Everyone else reacted with an appropriate grimace and sucking of air through the teeth, but I wasn't the center of attention I thought I was going to be. Things were too busy. A lot is going on. I should be working harder, to keep up with this firm. But I'm lousy at that. (That's a terrible thing to say, says Logical Brain. You're preventing yourself from learning or achieving by saying that. You're giving up.) Yeah, great, fuck off, says the teenager running my decision process. 

This morning I had the rare thought: I need a girlfriend. I wanted someone to cry to, someone to share all my stress with who would say "There, there; everything's going to be all right."

But that should only be said in certain cases, and only so many times. If I painted myself into this corner, do I have any right to cry? 

Others might say: this is what you want. This is the narrative you've chosen for yourself. You say you are no good, and then you act it out. You know how to be better, but you choose not to. (This is Best Friend's wife's voice. God, I hate her sometimes; especially when she makes more sense than I'd like.) 

There's the course I need to take: How to Stop Fucking Yourself. 
Based on today's thoughts, the first lesson might be: How to ask for help when you need it. 

That's a conversation I've had with Best Friend. I had it with her at the beginning of the year. Knowing how to ask for what you need. 

Uncharitable thoughts toward myself. Uncharitable thoughts toward myself. Stop thinking, stop writing, find a way to avoid.

Monday, May 25, 2015

New Ways to Feel Lucky (Punk)

My head is sweaty. Part of that is because it's still 75 degrees or hotter outside and I just walked home from the Metro carrying two bags. Part of it is because I was wearing a hat.

I wore a hat on the Metro to shield people from horror. I have a scratch/cut/bruise just above my eyebrows that looks like the mark of Cain. I've got a rather nasty cut across my nose, as well, but that might be covered by my glasses (the reason I doubt that is because I suspect it would hurt, and - so far - wearing my glasses doesn't hurt. 

I can't really raise my right arm above my armpit, and my left shoulder hurts when I raise it, and mores or when I twist it certain ways (or when I extend it across my body). 

My shoulders might be sunburnt as well, but it's hard to tell.

My lucky story starts on Sunday evening, at the pool with Successful Friend and his kids. I had walked to the part where his older daughter and younger son had come to, near the deeper end of the pool. The daughter had already jumped in, and I dove in to join her. 

I arced my body to cut deep, then swooped up like a dolphin. As I was swooping, my head and nose crashed into the floor of the pool. It was painful, but almost as painful was the shame that came thundering in: You fucking idiot, you've jumped in a too shallow spot!

I came up above the water grinning and burning, ready to confess my idiocy. I think the daughter saw immediately that something was wrong. After a few seconds, I felt the burning patch on my forehead and saw a faint trace of blood on my fingers. After a few seconds more, the blood was clear, and red.

My public shame instantly kicked in and I thought: I shouldn't be bleeding in the pool. That's unsanitary. I knew I had to get something for the blood for myself, but mostly I was thinking of lifeguards thinking of AIDS and blowing their whistles to get me out of the pool. I had just done a face plant on the bottom; I didn't need more humiliation.

I swam back over to the side and glanced at the ladder four feet to my left, beyond a divider rope. Then I decided for expediency and hauled myself up out the pool. 

I walked over to the lifeguard area (a center walkthrough between the two bathroom/shower areas) and said to the sixteen-year-old standing there "I seem to have cut myself; do you have anything for this?" The kid fumbled around in the First Aid drawer for what seemed like a full minute, picking things up and putting them down. I don't know what he was looking for, but I finally said "I'll take a paper towel if you've got one." "I can get you a paper towel from the bathroom!" he said, and fairly sprinted off. 

I don't know what I looked like. I suppose blood was just running down my face, although I don't think I was bleeding that badly. The water probably made it run a little faster. 

When I took the paper towel and started blotting my face, it filled up pretty fast; I was surprised by that. The cuts on my forehead felt like road rash, something very painful but not necessarily very bloody. What I didn't know was that I had also cut my nose, and that was bleeding pretty freely as well. 

I don't know when I damaged my shoulders. I feel like I got back in the pool in a little while and might have even pulled myself up out of to another time, but later I realized that I had pulled something in my right shoulder and it hurt to move it or try to raise it. As time went on, I just did my best not to raise the arm at all. When I was in the water that first day I swam with it a little and didn't seem to notice the pain (the water was freezing; that might have made a difference), but after we got home and for the next day, I did my best not to move it at all, except around my waist, if I could.

Part of me felt like we might have needed to go to the emergency room about my shoulder, but I don't know how it works. And I don't want to take resources for myself, or blow things out of proportion. I'm a bit hesitant about what to do this week, as Successful Friend says that visiting the doctor is probably a good idea but I hate taking time for myself or cutting out of work for any reason. Besides, I don't expect the doctor to have any appointments available. 

How is all this lucky? Well, as my sister-in-law pointed out, I could have broken my neck. As Successful Friend's neighbor pointed out, I could have knocked out my teeth (and when you've got as few as I have, that would be a big deal). Successful Friend went on and on about staph infection and the pool, so I'm lucky I don't have that (knock on wood). I'm lucky I was able to stick around and have another 24 hours of fun with Successful Friend and his kids, even if I was in pain a lot. I'm lucky I got fed good food and was well taken care of by his wife, who is a real nurturing kind (to a point). I'm lucky I'm still able to function on my own. I'm lucky I'm still alive. Considering what I thought my problems were Saturday, I'm a pretty lucky man. 

Now I just need to get some sleep.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

Fighting with Myself

I'm fighting with myself about getting up. I know I need to do this thing for work but I'm afraid of it, afraid I can't do it, and so I don't want to face it. I'm afraid it's just a colossal fuck up, like me, and I want to abandon It. 

But I told myself I would do it. I told myself that before I could enjoy myself today, I would need to do this work that I still haven't done.

That's what fucked up yesterday: I was sick all day about the work, but didn't do it. I woke up early and - I had made a rough plan the day before. 

I had contacted Successful Friend about visiting, so that was a go. I was going to this show with my brother and Best Friend, so I could go home with either of them. That way, I could take a bag into town and then go straight to Successful Friend's either last night or early today.

But then I didn't do my wash. And I wasn't working on the project. And I kept pushing it back, later and later. 
"I'll do it from 12-2, then leave." 
"I can work on it from 1-3 and then go."
"I'll do the work thing from 2:30-4:30 and then leave for the show."
In the last one, as you can see, the plan to take a bag had been chucked. I was thinking I would go to Best Friend's stash my bag, then either take it to the show and leave it in my brother's car and go home with them or go back to Best Friend's and sleep over, then take the Metro to SF's in the morning.
I continually adjusted my plan over the day:
I'll stay at Best Friend's anyway, come home real early, do some work, then leave around 11.
I'll go home and do the work after the show, then leave around 9 for SF's tomorrow.
I'll go home and go to bed and get up early, then do the work and leave around 11 for SF's.

I woke up before my alarm went off at 7:30. It's now 9:30 and I've been fucking around this whole time trying not to get up, trying not to have to deal with this thing. Chickening out. Avoiding. Making it worse.

I texted SF at 8:30 saying I had some work to do and I was going to shoot for 2-3. I thought: "9 to 12, then go." "What about 9:30?" "If I worked from 10-1, that's 3 hours, surely I can finish it in that time."
But the main problem is I don't want to start. I don't want to get up. I don't want to face it. 
Even though part of me knows that's not the answer, I can't find any voices inside to help me approach this. 
I've tried to say a few things to myself, to minimize the mountain I've built for myself. It doesnt seem to help. The panic is physical, it comes from an instinctual place of fear, that doesn't listen to reason. (I feel like there's probably a physical response of some kind, but I don't believe in that shit. Or at least I don't when I'm in the grip of fear. In the grip of fear, nothing can help. You're just going to be torn apart for your sins; that's all there is to it.)

Alarm is still going off in ten-minute increments. Ten o'clock is my deadline, as delayed as it is. I need to think of the simple steps: go downstairs. Take the computer out of the bag. Open the computer and let it turn on. Write to tech guy and ask him about writing one piece. Look at the other pieces and previous information we have. Edit together information for the other part. You can do this.
You can do this.
You can do this.
Maybe i should try the superhero pose for a bit.


Saturday, May 23, 2015

I'm A Fucking Shitbird and Everything I Do Is Wrong

Here's what went right this evening:

Myself, Brother #1 and his wife, and Best Friend and her wife, all went to dinner and then a comedy show. They all had a great time.

Here's what went wrong with this evening:
1) I was late.
2) I worried we would be late to the show because I was late to dinner.
3) I worried the crowd wouldn't respond to the opening acts for the main comedian.
4) I felt the microphone wasn't loud enough for the second comedian or the main act, and people didn't get as uproarious because they had to be quiet to hear him.
5) For this reason, the main act's closing seemed to land with a thud, and I felt bad for him.
6) On the way home I poked number 14, then put a finger in it to confirm it was bleeding and then - unbeknownst to me - dripped a small drop of blood onto my shirt.

I was unhappy all day, before dinner, during part of dinner, a bit anxious before the show started (when nothing was being said and I didn't know what to do about that and felt awkward about it), and soon after the show was over I was anxious again until I was on my own and heading home.

Mostly the anxiety is about work. There's this thing due on Tuesday that I've been working on, but not enough. There's a thing due on Thursday that I haven't even worked on and is pretty major.

I wanted to hand the first one off to the boss on Friday and say "Sorry I didn't get this to you sooner, but look at it over the weekend." 

Then I wanted to send it to him today before I left for the show and say "Sorry I didn't get this to you sooner, but look it over and let me know what you think it needs." Now I'm going to try to work on it tomorrow morning before going to Successful Friend's house, but I still don't know if I'll make any progress or be happy with it at all. In fact, I don't expect to be happy with it, because unless the boss knows about it and approves of it, I'm not happy. And I know he'd want to know about it and for it to live up to his standards and it probably doesn't and I should have said something sooner but I was afraid to because I was failing at it and now I'm a big fat fucktard and it's not done and probably what is done sucks. 

People try to be positive to me, but they dont know how much I'm fucking up and am fucked up and it's a pain to be alive when you're such a shitty person. (And part of being that shitty person is not taking the steps to change, ever.)

This morning I woke up at 8:30. I could have gotten up, put clothes in the wash and worked on the project. Instead I lay in bed and fucked around watching videos on the Internet. It didnt make me feel any better and at 4:30 when I was taking a shower I started cursing myself out for not taking the wise steps to make things better, to alleviate the problem, to tackle multiple issues on multiple fronts: clothes, work, scheduling - it all could have been so good. 
But no. I had to be afraid and cower in my room. Fucking dick.

I was talking to my sister on Friday night when I realized I really wanted to tell someone about the work thing and how I was unhappy and stressed and angry at myself about it and what I really wanted to do was cry, but there was no one to cry to and I was the asshole who got himself into this mess, so fuck you, asshole.

I don't know if being able to cry to someone about it would have helped me make better decisions today, but I sure might have felt better somewhere. Now Ive got nothing but self-loathing and more bad decision - or the consequences of my bad decisions - piling up around me.

Fuck.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

More Money Down the Drain

Ended up fucking around on Groupon and buying a bunch of DVDs for my brother who doesn't have Internet right now. He'll be incredibly grateful, unless they've gotten Internet and cable back, in which case it's superfluous. 

In the larger scheme of things, it's less than $100, but still: it's $100 I didn't have to spend. Not on that, anyway. And I could have gotten them another 40 hours of TV for $20 or less on Amazon, buying follow up TV seasons to ones I've sent them already.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Late

I don't know why I'm staying up - almost defiantly so - but I am. I don't have any good reason for it, and I've wasted enough time on Facebook tonight (instead of cleaning my room like I told myself I'd do), but for some reason I went up and got my charger, then came back down to the kitchen and plugged in.

We've started to get ants in the kitchen. It's amazing how something that's basically a nuisance can freak a person out so bad. The sight of them swarming makes me anxious; I find one or two on the counter and then suddenly there are more and more and more... Now my head itches and I think: "Are they in my hair??!" It's a creepy feeling. (As the tablet is plugged in and I understand they gravitate toward electricity, I'm a bit worried about them crawling up along the cord.
But I should try to think good thoughts.

I sprayed some oxy clean at the bottom of the wall where they seem to be marching from the front of the house. I'm hoping it'll be strong enough to destroy the scent trail, but I don't know if anything is. It doesn't appear to have affected the edge of the counter where I sprayed it vertically along the cabinets where they were climbing up. I know there's some powder you can use (Boron? No, that's an element) but I don't know what it does.

The first place I saw ants this year was at my brother's house, and it reinforced the idea that they are living in some miserable poverty. His wife didn't seem motivated to do anything about it, but I don't know if that was because she was depressed, tired or broke (or all three). I cleaned the stove one day and the dining room table another; I didn't get to the microwave. (I thought of sending a $10 bill and having them say they'd pay it to the child who would clean it. Thinking about it now, I don't know if that would even work; he's trained them so hard to not want for money, there's not much in the way of incentive.)

I worry about the ants spreading. I'm not good about cleaning and I've got soda cans and bottles in my room (that I'm saving for recycling!)(said the hoarder). My nightmare is that they show up in my room and I'm so dirty I can't get rid of them. Next thought: I should just burn everything I own.

I had a good time today: work was all right, I learned something and responded to some (minor) crises well, then after work I went out with LH and her friend and we got something to eat plus I spent some money and bought a book I didn't need but that will be like candy when I read it. (Never mind the fact that I bought six or so books at a yard sale this weekend.)

Sorry, I need to go look up "erase ant trails" now.

=
Continuing. (I looked it up; it said something about cleaners with orange; I used OxyClean with Orange power; it's probably fake orange and won't work, but oh well.)

The thing abut ants is that they point up the futility of trying to beat nature at its own game. Houses are always full of crevices and cracks (behind a small set of cubbyholes next to the counter, there's a huge gap between the wall and the floor) and you can never quite fill them all. Look up how flat a mouse can squeeze itself to get through a hole; there's probably video. It's horrifying.

There was a movie segment in the 80s that addressed this idea a little - or may have been inspired by it. It was part of a film called "Creepshow," which I'm sure looks rather cheesy now in terms of the special effects. The segment I mentioned was described to me by someone who had seen the film, so it took on an incredible realism the way only the mind can do it. In it, a man lives in what appears to be a hermetically sealed apartment. At the beginning, he spots a cockroach, and he takes a wall vacuum (or something) and sucks it up. Then there are more and more and then they're on his face and coming out of his mouth and then his chest explodes and they come pouring out. It's a nightmare. 

This is how I start to feel when I see a lot of ants in the kitchen. "Soon they'll be everywhere," my mind whispers. "Crawling on the walls, crawling on the ceilings - crawling on you." I get twitchy.

I need to think about it logically. What do they want, and what can I do to stop them? One thing is interrupt their trail, another is take shit they want out of areas I don't want them (i.e., my bedroom).

Life. Such a fucking hassle.

Monday, May 18, 2015

More Waste

My housemate got home at close to 11 (in the pouring rain) after having worked a double shift starting at 530am, for which he got up at 430am. And tomorrow he will do it all over again.

I spent my evening fucking around on Facebook (and talking to LH, I must admit) and chatting with with a few people through it, rather than writing the three entries for here I was going to do.

Off topic: I think one of the most physically intimate but non-sexual things one person can do for another is scratch their back. The satisfaction is almost sexual, but it seems entirely mental.

Weekend Feedback: What's Grosser Than Gross?

Well, I finally washed my pillowcases, after nine months. Still haven't done my sheets, as that would require clearing off my bed somehow, and that's too much of a hassle for me to manage.

Of course, the way the temperature is tonight, I'll probably end up sweating all over them anyway. The pillows themselves aren't clean, anyway; the truth is I should check them and buy new ones (and new sheets), but I would want the same kind and who knows what that's going to cost?

I had a pretty good weekend, all things considered. I was a little annoyed when Nurse Friend said "When should I pick you up?" Saturday morning, just assuming I had already said yes to us hanging out. It ended up being fun anyway, aside from the nagging fear in the back of my mind that she's in love with me and how I can't reciprocate that. Part of it is self-centeredness, but I have a hard time around "accessible" single women who like me because I'm afraid they're going to want more from me, and I'm too shallow to have a relationship that's 70% based on appearance. The truth is I got really lucky with my first two "girlfriends" (the first one was a neighbor that was more like a hook up) because they were both good looking and incredibly smart, too. Now those women are married or have higher standards than I can meet. 

In any case, I had a good time with Nurse Friend aside from that. (She just gushes so positively about everything I do that I makes me uncomfortable, esp since I know I'm exactly the type of guy she'd like to be with: smart, funny, and creative.) 

That afternoon I came home and ate something and then fell asleep for three or four hours, then I don't know what I did; I think I listened to a podcast, watched a different podcast in the same series, and then surfed around Facebook and the Internet for a while. Safari crashed twice this weekend and reset. It doesn't keep my browsing history, so I lose everything when that happens. I'm thinking I need to start putting everything on my Reading List, just to have it later. Or some crazy bookmark file.

I watched SNL before I went to bed.

This morning I was going to go to church with LH and her two grandsons (who came over last night) but I got the time mixed up and missed it. I took a shower and went down to the kitchen planning to do work when they showed up. The kids instantly got on computers and started playing games, one of them using my tablet. After a while we started playing some action games; they found some cardboard "sticks" and we were sword fighting and I was chasing them around the house. I worked up a little bit of a sweat; it was fun.

After they left, LH and I went to MEW's work and picked up some items we picked out the other day, paying for them now that she had a co-worker there and we could use her discount (someone else needs to approve it)*. We stopped by a restaurant and 7-11 on the way home and then sat in the kitchen for a little bit together. Then she went down to her room to watch TV and I messed around on the Internet a little and then watched 60 Minutes, part of the Simpsons, talked to my brother when he called (#2, the one I have issues with) and then watched my Danish detective show that I enjoy. (It was in going to look up the lead actor that I discovered my browser had reset. Dammit.

Other topics I'm too tired to write about (and it's too late any way): air circulation systems and nearly four thousand dollars.

*She told us to.