The Bloody Doors Off

It’s not like I needed an alarm clock the p;at couple of days. My internal timepiece is running fast, and waking me up at least 30 minutes early.

Today’s gonna be a coffee-infusion kind of day.

Got out of work at 10:30pm.

Have to be up at 6:20am for a doctor’s appointment.

Someone knock me out so I can sleep.

Today was as jumbled as any other.

I don’t even bother trying to sleep in on the weekend; it’s not gonna happen no matter how hard I try. And before 11:30 I’d completed the job from my client and moving towards a shower and laundry.

(Had time for 2 cups of coffee too. Luxury.)

Had tried to get in touch with my mum for Mother’s Day. Turns out she was in Tillsonburg attending a funeral.

Got a ton of laundry done, including the new bed sheets. It feels odd to think that I’m excited to crawl into bed tonight. And then it was 2:30 and I was on a bus to Fairview Mall to get my jeans and ended up picking up a few things at Sears. Then down to the neighbourhood for groceries; get all that shit unloaded at home and then up to Square Boy for take-out. ‘Cuz after the day I had, I damn well deserved some rotisserie chicken.

And they said the roaster wouldn’t be done for 30 minutes.

The day was proving that it wouldn’t sync to my schedule.

So I did the oddest thing.

I adjusted to it.

Ordered a beer and sat on their patio. For 30 minutes, I did nothing but hit my e-cigarette, sip a beer, and basked in the sunshine.

What I don’t know is, was it my idea to finally stop and breathe, or did God or the universe step in and touch me on the shoulder, with a whisper: do nothing; it’s okay.

Either way. Does it matter?

I’m going batty.

The work keeps coming. Not complaining about that. Because it means I’m employed and I can put money away.

It’s the expectations that’s hurting. They wanted me to come in Sunday. But I’ve already got work from another client to get done. Plus laundry. And a few groceries. And it could be the only time in the next 6 days I get to just breathe, perhaps stroll in the sunshine.

They also hoped I’d have stayed later tonight.

Today I could’ve either made a hearty breakfast, or made a lunch to taken in. I chose breakfast. Don’t even ask about dinner. I didn’t eat lunch until almost 6pm. That’ll give you an idea of how crazy busy it is.

So many invitations I’ve had to turn down this week. My life is quickly becoming: wake up, go to work, come home, do paperwork, go to bed. Rinse, lather, repeat.

I don’t need an intern. I need to be cloned.

It’s spring. And my hormonal match is lit.

Everywhere today. Call it pheremones, that we finally had an amazing spring day, whatever. It’s kicked into gear today.

And I know there’s nothing I can do about it. Between the contract hours and extra work coming in, I barely have enough time for the basics, let alone date.

I need to compartmentalize.

This doesn’t help.

Or this.

Maybe I should read a book.

Being serious. It’d be hit or miss, anyway. Type 2 diabetic and minor bypolar 2 with depressive anxiety, the pharmaceutical cocktail to keep that in check doesn’t exactly guarantee other things won’t go, uh, soft.

With the hours, I can’t socialize as much as I’d like. It cuts in on going to the parties at Subspace. And if I wanna put on a movie, well, you never know when the roommate is coming back. Or maybe he hadn’t left. And I got a thing about being alone for that. Performance anxiety.

And that anxiety avalanche I got slammed with last weekend?

Right. Better stop this train of thought now before I completely derail.

And that name was, goddamn I’m tired. I got home from work tonight to do more work.

I think I need an intern.

Seriously.

Had to reschedule my psych appointment from tomorrow to Tuesday because my client will want edits before 11am when I go to the contract job. And I can’t get to the alterations place to pick up my denim pants until Sunday (yep, bought blue jeans this week, I’m fuckin’ proud of that).

I never stop running until I take my pills to help me crash.

One day off this weekend, back for another 5 days until the long weekend. And that Saturday is my nephew Jason’s wedding reception.

Gotta admit, I’m not feeling too good about not being able to go to Cuba for the wedding itself. I know. My life hasn’t been easy. And I thought I was okay with not being able to go. But it’s hitting tonight.

Too many feels tonight. Hard to separate them.

If I start screaming, I won’t stop.

My mouse hand is acting up. I can feel stiffness in my fingers. Coupled with a big ol’ fuck-up on the job today, mentally and physically I’m not feeling so great.

A thousand things to do, and I’ve got time for half of them. No time to write.

I need to see the light at the end of the tunnel. So far, just more shadows.

Anyone got a light? A candle would suffice, as long as it’s extra-flamey.

Today was one of those rocking with my… out. Work-wise, I was on fire; I got shit done, 3 bits of work from another client waiting for me when I got home. And while I was worried I wouldn’t get everything done, I knew I would. And when I needed to find pieces for it, it was like I was psychic; nothing could hide.

And now I’m done, and I know part of it was fueled by mania. The ol’ chemicals in my brain caught fire and the synapses moved at lightning speed. But now it’s time to come down.

Here’s hoping it’s a soft fall.

It’s only 1:30pm and I’ve got shit done. The duvet has been run through the wash and high capacity dryer, I’ve got chicken breast in the oven for dinners this week. I’m caught up on DVR’d television. And I’m taking myself out to see Spider-Man this afternoon because dammit, I deserve it.

I’m also telling myself not to expect to be as productive every day. It’s my day off, and I sometimes have trouble sitting still. But today is okay. Better than yesterday.

I’ve been switched off my Divalproex (1 pill, 4 times a day) for Abilify (1 pill, once a day).

It’s been a bit of a bitch so far. Headaches yesterday, which I attribute to withdrawal. A massive anxiety attack last night at Subspace, while I was on shift. If it weren’t for Y, who asked a really simple question and got me out of my head, I fear I would’ve run screaming. I slipped out after the door was done regardless. But at least that was a quiet, unassuming exit.

Then this morning I got myself embroiled in an online flame war. It took far to long to realize they didn’t deserve my attention, or any other part of me.

And the wheels came off my cart while doing groceries. If that isn’t a metaphor for how I’m feeling, I don’t know what is.