As I opened my eyes this morning, looked to my left, right, up, down, I realized I was laying in a rather regal supine position, head, upright, hands clasped like Orson Wells or Winston Churchill. Holding ones' self in, as to make one appear smaller. As opposed to allowing ones arms to flail about, announcing that one's tricep muscles have been replaced by ziploc bags of skin and lard with peas in them. I clasped my $65 Target bedshread, I call it, as opposed to a bedspread. I shouldn't have to explain, but I will; my bedspread is frayed, shreaded and beginning to look worse than the kind, vacant eyed, Indian woman that wanders the streets of Albuquerque, reeking of urine and poverty. So, greeted this morning already by a bedshread, a ceiling fan that circles me in the counterclockwise position, which we all know is the correct direction for summertime, however, counterclockwise somehow unwinds me. In a bad way. There is a Feng Shui principle that if someone is negative, you circle them counterclockwise to banish their negative energy. I've been laying beneath the serial killer fan for several months now. Shouldn't I pop out of bed like a flaxen haired maiden singing about Hitler and death and the afterlife, running through the hills because they are alive with the sound of music. My hills are alive with the sound of depression, a child coughing, a rapid heartbeat and shortness of breath. And then there are my emotions, waiting to say "helllllllllo" in an annoying high pitched, Bangladesh accent.
Thinking about the upcoming mundane events of the day, which everyone else does, without a full blown, meltdown, I tell myself I will not cry today. I will not cry today. I will not cry today. As I repeat my meltdown mantra, I, of course, begin to cry.
I decide to rise, royally and take two steps and I am in my 28 square foot bathroom. Do I choose the Rembrandt which is almost gone or the Crest that is almost gone. I make a Rembrandt/Crest toothpaste cocktail. I will not cry today. I try to brush away my Ambien residue and underlying, unresolved issues. I search for a towel. Any towel. Bent shower curtain rod, formed to "add more space to your shower" Really? Yep, sure is cozy in here with the shower curtain bellowing, occassionally sticking to my saddlebag and scaring me because I think that my husband has snuck into our spacious 1/4 person shower to "be close to me". Nothing. Floor. Nothing. Hand towel holder. I almost laugh. Why would there be a towel there? Curling iron, yes. Floor. Again. I spot something that doesn't belong to me. Husbands' swim trunks/pajamas. I will not cry today. Dont I deserve a freaking towel? Even a dirty towel? Even a shred of toilet paper? A cardboard toilet paper HOLDER. I will not cry today.
I head to the kitchen to take a handful of pills. I must say it, I must say it. It's my morning Amy Winehouse cocktail. And they are all prescribed to ME. Now, I am twice Amy's size and I brush my hair biweekly, giving me a better start for the plethora of pharmaceuticals that will soon metabolize in my body, and make me function better. I will not cry today. I notice one bottle is low. Like really low. And I also notice the date it can be filled again is the 6th. Now, to me, I am stuck in December. So, what day is it? Banana. What date is it? I don't give a shit. Hopefully it's the 4th of something.
I will not cry today.
I turn on my cell phone and have numerous texts about appointments, drunk texts, messages for appointments, rambling messages about apppointments, reminders in the di gi tul auto may ted voy ss re min ding Br idget has an app oin t ment awe nn Jew lie twent ee se venth. So I am somehow closer to the 6th! "Breakfast baffle texts" with meaningless made up facts, texts to check facebook, I will not cry today. As I face the day I wonder, why don't I get a regular job?
And then I remember, the mundane, daily tasks, a boss, coworkers that may or may bring fish to lunch every day only to reheat in the shared microwave. The fact that termination is a familiar word, or one day I just quit showing up, because I am freaked out......I have never given a two week notice. Ever. Termination, nonchalant, over-qualified, expect too much, gregarious. It's all the same. They are just words, said by people who probably wake up every day with the same mantra. I will not cry today, and I wish the same, for you.
