Any morning you walk out to your truck and you find bird shit on your door handle, turn around, go back in the house and go back to bed. There is no purpose for you leaving your residence on such a day. The Sparrow of Discontent tried to warn me. I did not heed the glob of sliding shit on my door handle. I will not make this mistake again.
Today was supposed to be a fresh start kind of day. Last night I asked Shark Bait to hide the bathroom scale. I was going to stop obsessing and just try to be healthy. I was going back to the gym at work and I was going to make better choices. I was going to try and even-out the mood swings and stay calm. This was the plan.
Everything started out okay. I did not miss weighing myself. In, fact, it felt a little freeing. I made my morning protein shake, I made a reasonable lunch and proceeded upstairs to wardrobe. This is kind of where things started to piss me off. I went through several wardrobe changes, only to revert back to the first thing I had put on in the first place. I think my parting words to myself in the mirror were, "Fuck it, who cares, just own it." Inspiring words, indeed. I should find a picture of a little girl playing in a stream, add that caption on there and pin it on Pinterest.
I already told you about the birdshit of warning on my truck and the drive in was pretty uneventful, minus the car on fire on the side of the road and that one guy seriously pissing me off (yep, just one today). As I walked in to the Glass Palace, I could feel the anger welling up inside of me. I wasn't even there yet and I was angry. Valerina comes over to say good morning and I am in a full fledged rage over someone pinging me. And then, I turned on her. NO ONE was safe. I think one tangent went something like this, "I am so sick of people asking me how I am or how it's going or how my weekend was! I'm SICK OF IT. I don't want to talk about my weekend. Why do I have to talk about it? Why do I have to be asked Every Fucking Day? It's so much pressure. My hips hurt, my shoulders hurt, I can't fucking sleep, that's how I am, but no one wants to hear THAT story. Why do they ask?" Valerina retreated to the safety of her area. I continued to yell at the words my screen. Cross Fit came out to say good morning. "How was your weekend?" Fine. "How are you today?" Fine. "How are you feeling? Still having pain?" Everything hurts. It was one of those feel good conversations.
I managed not to take any prisoners and mustered up the courage to go back to the gym after almost two full weeks of not going. I suited up and went out to work on the elliptical machine. Ass Kicker came over to ask how I was doing. I went over all my injuries and he replayed in his head all we had done. I could see it was wearing on him that he felt guilty. It isn't his fault my body is a mess. We were taking my body places it hadn't seen before. I was getting strong. Yeah, it hurt, but I was proud of my accomplishments. I was like his prize pupil and I was trying so hard and he was working me harder and harder. It was good. I managed to eek out about 15 minutes on the elliptical and my hips were starting to ache. I went in the cardio room and stretched out as Ass Kicker greeted his other project, Fresh Meat. Fresh Meat was a lot healthier than me. Her body has a lot more ability than mine. I instantly felt sad. I felt like a race horse put out to pasture.
I finished and went into the locker room, trying not to cry. What a pathetic workout. I only sweated a little. I was a warrior. Now, I am a broken warrior. I sat on the bench with plenty of time to spare before the Gym Barbies came in. I wanted to just cry. Cry so hard about my disability. Cry so hard about failure once again. The tears were right there, but I refused to let them out. I just kept moving. Got my nylons on without incident, got dressed. Hardly had to fix my hair and make-up. I left feeling a sense of sadness. This place that had become so important to me now felt like when you visit your high school the year after you graduate. You used to own it, but now you are an outsider. I walked down the long hallway and headed back to work. I would not cry. I could not allow myself to cry. If I started, I would not stop.
All afternoon I felt the rage inside building. I had to keep reigning myself in. At one point Cross Fit and friends were having a discussion about what we should call the morale committee. It should have a catchy name, like Sunshine Committee, he said. I whipped my head around and said, "Oh my God, I hate it. You are not naming it that. I am so sick of crap like that. Stop trying to blow sunshine up my ass." They laughed and said, "There's the Cassondra we love." Seriously, they should not encourage my behavior, because I had much more to say about it. I did, however, manage to control myself.
I finally left work and attempted to leave the parking lot. I'm trying to make a right turn out of the lot, seems easy, but there is a stop light just up the street a short distance and people come flying around it. I finally get my opening and go and this mother trucking Honda comes around the corner with some fucking battle axe of a hag with her rug rat in the back seat and they come flying up on me. I was already committed, I had to go. She pulls up on me and hits her little toy horn, "meep, meep." Fuck off, Battle Axe. I don't need this. I then make it to the on-ramp of the freeway. It's one of those merge lanes where you are tyring to get on the freeway and people on the freeway are trying to get into your lane so they can get off at the next exit. They are literally merging on top of me before it is even legal to get over. I finally take a chance and move over and the toe-jamb-licking-mother-trucking-roadkill-eating-asshat decides to also merge over right in front of me going the speed of a snail navigating through a salt field. I'm screaming, "Fucking DRIVE Asshole!" I can't get over to the next lane because traffic is going too fast and I am basically coasting. He has an open lane ahead of him. He should accelerate and then he will be able to move over. BUT NO, he can't see past his sideways fucking ball cap. I have lost my mind at this point. I'm sure I had a crazed look in my eyes. I don't have time to wait for unborn children to be born and grow up before I get to move over into the middle fucking lane. I see an opening. It's gonna piss the upcoming traffic off, but I don't care. I have nothing to lose. I romped on that gas pedal harder than a housewife romps on the washing machine while reading 50 Shades of Grey. I don't even know how many RPM's were coursing through that little Dodge Dakota's engine, but it was making a sound I know I had never heard before. It was race day and I was freaking Dale Jr. I reached over with my right hand, trying to find a gear to shift, because this bitch was going to go zero to 60 right fucking now. I'm sure that little truck felt raped. I pounded her hard. I was in my lane and I shot past the mouth breather. If he thought I was paving the way for him, he was wrong. I took one lane, and then I took another. My chest was pounding and I could feel fury in my veins. I needed an open road. I had the need...the need for speed. Alas, that was not to be as we came to a standstill at the next bend.
As I slowed down, I thought to myself, I need to calm down. I need to breathe. Sadly, I couldn't breathe thanks to my new Yankee Candle air freshener that sat in a warm truck all day. Sandy Beaches my ass, this was some sort of chemicals going straight to my lungs and into my guts. I was probably going to die on the way home. And for a moment, I thought, "oh well."
I was able to get my breathing back to normal, and did make it safely home. As I sit here, I am calm, but for how long? It's almost time for bed. Time to fight with my hips, my shoulders, breathing and weird dreams. I did make an appointment with a new doctor today to talk about anti-depressants again, but I don't see him until the 20th. What is the liklihood I will not commit a crime or injure myself or others? I don't want to suggest gambling, but if you work at the Glass Palace, you might start a pool.
It probably didn't help that I saw this movie outtakes clip the other day and I can't stop watching it and I can't stop fantasizing about re-enacting this in real life. I leave you with this, if you have not already seen it. If you have seen it, watch it again, it shows a glimpse into my soul.
Don't even think about slow blinking with me...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TrRS0hIOwrM
Today was supposed to be a fresh start kind of day. Last night I asked Shark Bait to hide the bathroom scale. I was going to stop obsessing and just try to be healthy. I was going back to the gym at work and I was going to make better choices. I was going to try and even-out the mood swings and stay calm. This was the plan.
Everything started out okay. I did not miss weighing myself. In, fact, it felt a little freeing. I made my morning protein shake, I made a reasonable lunch and proceeded upstairs to wardrobe. This is kind of where things started to piss me off. I went through several wardrobe changes, only to revert back to the first thing I had put on in the first place. I think my parting words to myself in the mirror were, "Fuck it, who cares, just own it." Inspiring words, indeed. I should find a picture of a little girl playing in a stream, add that caption on there and pin it on Pinterest.
I already told you about the birdshit of warning on my truck and the drive in was pretty uneventful, minus the car on fire on the side of the road and that one guy seriously pissing me off (yep, just one today). As I walked in to the Glass Palace, I could feel the anger welling up inside of me. I wasn't even there yet and I was angry. Valerina comes over to say good morning and I am in a full fledged rage over someone pinging me. And then, I turned on her. NO ONE was safe. I think one tangent went something like this, "I am so sick of people asking me how I am or how it's going or how my weekend was! I'm SICK OF IT. I don't want to talk about my weekend. Why do I have to talk about it? Why do I have to be asked Every Fucking Day? It's so much pressure. My hips hurt, my shoulders hurt, I can't fucking sleep, that's how I am, but no one wants to hear THAT story. Why do they ask?" Valerina retreated to the safety of her area. I continued to yell at the words my screen. Cross Fit came out to say good morning. "How was your weekend?" Fine. "How are you today?" Fine. "How are you feeling? Still having pain?" Everything hurts. It was one of those feel good conversations.
I managed not to take any prisoners and mustered up the courage to go back to the gym after almost two full weeks of not going. I suited up and went out to work on the elliptical machine. Ass Kicker came over to ask how I was doing. I went over all my injuries and he replayed in his head all we had done. I could see it was wearing on him that he felt guilty. It isn't his fault my body is a mess. We were taking my body places it hadn't seen before. I was getting strong. Yeah, it hurt, but I was proud of my accomplishments. I was like his prize pupil and I was trying so hard and he was working me harder and harder. It was good. I managed to eek out about 15 minutes on the elliptical and my hips were starting to ache. I went in the cardio room and stretched out as Ass Kicker greeted his other project, Fresh Meat. Fresh Meat was a lot healthier than me. Her body has a lot more ability than mine. I instantly felt sad. I felt like a race horse put out to pasture.
I finished and went into the locker room, trying not to cry. What a pathetic workout. I only sweated a little. I was a warrior. Now, I am a broken warrior. I sat on the bench with plenty of time to spare before the Gym Barbies came in. I wanted to just cry. Cry so hard about my disability. Cry so hard about failure once again. The tears were right there, but I refused to let them out. I just kept moving. Got my nylons on without incident, got dressed. Hardly had to fix my hair and make-up. I left feeling a sense of sadness. This place that had become so important to me now felt like when you visit your high school the year after you graduate. You used to own it, but now you are an outsider. I walked down the long hallway and headed back to work. I would not cry. I could not allow myself to cry. If I started, I would not stop.
All afternoon I felt the rage inside building. I had to keep reigning myself in. At one point Cross Fit and friends were having a discussion about what we should call the morale committee. It should have a catchy name, like Sunshine Committee, he said. I whipped my head around and said, "Oh my God, I hate it. You are not naming it that. I am so sick of crap like that. Stop trying to blow sunshine up my ass." They laughed and said, "There's the Cassondra we love." Seriously, they should not encourage my behavior, because I had much more to say about it. I did, however, manage to control myself.
I finally left work and attempted to leave the parking lot. I'm trying to make a right turn out of the lot, seems easy, but there is a stop light just up the street a short distance and people come flying around it. I finally get my opening and go and this mother trucking Honda comes around the corner with some fucking battle axe of a hag with her rug rat in the back seat and they come flying up on me. I was already committed, I had to go. She pulls up on me and hits her little toy horn, "meep, meep." Fuck off, Battle Axe. I don't need this. I then make it to the on-ramp of the freeway. It's one of those merge lanes where you are tyring to get on the freeway and people on the freeway are trying to get into your lane so they can get off at the next exit. They are literally merging on top of me before it is even legal to get over. I finally take a chance and move over and the toe-jamb-licking-mother-trucking-roadkill-eating-asshat decides to also merge over right in front of me going the speed of a snail navigating through a salt field. I'm screaming, "Fucking DRIVE Asshole!" I can't get over to the next lane because traffic is going too fast and I am basically coasting. He has an open lane ahead of him. He should accelerate and then he will be able to move over. BUT NO, he can't see past his sideways fucking ball cap. I have lost my mind at this point. I'm sure I had a crazed look in my eyes. I don't have time to wait for unborn children to be born and grow up before I get to move over into the middle fucking lane. I see an opening. It's gonna piss the upcoming traffic off, but I don't care. I have nothing to lose. I romped on that gas pedal harder than a housewife romps on the washing machine while reading 50 Shades of Grey. I don't even know how many RPM's were coursing through that little Dodge Dakota's engine, but it was making a sound I know I had never heard before. It was race day and I was freaking Dale Jr. I reached over with my right hand, trying to find a gear to shift, because this bitch was going to go zero to 60 right fucking now. I'm sure that little truck felt raped. I pounded her hard. I was in my lane and I shot past the mouth breather. If he thought I was paving the way for him, he was wrong. I took one lane, and then I took another. My chest was pounding and I could feel fury in my veins. I needed an open road. I had the need...the need for speed. Alas, that was not to be as we came to a standstill at the next bend.
As I slowed down, I thought to myself, I need to calm down. I need to breathe. Sadly, I couldn't breathe thanks to my new Yankee Candle air freshener that sat in a warm truck all day. Sandy Beaches my ass, this was some sort of chemicals going straight to my lungs and into my guts. I was probably going to die on the way home. And for a moment, I thought, "oh well."
I was able to get my breathing back to normal, and did make it safely home. As I sit here, I am calm, but for how long? It's almost time for bed. Time to fight with my hips, my shoulders, breathing and weird dreams. I did make an appointment with a new doctor today to talk about anti-depressants again, but I don't see him until the 20th. What is the liklihood I will not commit a crime or injure myself or others? I don't want to suggest gambling, but if you work at the Glass Palace, you might start a pool.
It probably didn't help that I saw this movie outtakes clip the other day and I can't stop watching it and I can't stop fantasizing about re-enacting this in real life. I leave you with this, if you have not already seen it. If you have seen it, watch it again, it shows a glimpse into my soul.
Don't even think about slow blinking with me...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TrRS0hIOwrM
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