It's been a really exhausting week so far. Between being sick, the weird dreams, the stress at work and general chaos, I'm mentally and physically exhausted. And today, the people at work were making me crazy. Look, I know we are short-handed and everyone has stuff they need to do, but dammit, I am the ring leader. I am the one attempting to orchestrate the chaos and people were running amuck. By the end of the day I just felt like I needed to go to a safe place and cry for an hour. Well, as luck would have it, it's therapy Thursday.
I arrived at the therapy office dragging and feeling uninspired. I didn't really want to be there, but probably needed to be. The Rug Doctor asked me how I was doing. I told her about what was going on and that I was exhausted all the way down to my soul. My soul was so tired and spent that I had nothing left to give. We talked through a variety of things. No individual thing was more important than the other and our conversation wandered. There was no one thing that was the underlying cause of my exhaustion, just life. Often when I come to therapy, the conversation has a way of finding that thing that is really bothering me or bogging me down and we hash it out. But tonight, the conversation did not find that "trigger point." Tonight it just wandered, which is okay, but when my mind is allowed to wander, sometimes things get weird.
We talked about how frustrating it is to watch my friends struggle and how I have such great advice for them, but who am I to judge when I don't take my own advice or anyone else's? I mean, wouldn't it be easier if we could all switch bodies with someone to fix shit? Like, my friend is dating a douche bag. I know he is, she knows he is (she is less likely to admit this) and we switch bodies. I kick the dude to the curb, she inhabits my body, stops eating chocolate, works out and then BAM! She's single and ready to find Mr. Perfect and I'm skinny and ready for a mini skirt! We are both happy! Now we swap back. Why can't we do that?
This then lead to a discussion about my weight, as is normal, since it is what I obsess about. The Rug Doctor was saying how it's hard to accept why things are easy for one person and hard for another. It doesn't seem fair. Which inevitably leads to me wondering what I did in a past life to deserve this body. I mean, was I a prostitute, drug dealer, whore, criminal, animal abuser, etc.? Which lead to talking about reincarnation, which Mom says totally happens. I asked Mom recently if I had a choice about coming back next time, because I am tired and the world is going to hell in a hand basket and so why would I want to come back? Mom says Sylvia Brown says in her book that we don't have to come back and that our souls decide. I don't know WTF my soul was thinking last time around. I mean, was I sitting up there (assuming I was "up" there) and then God's intern was filling in for the day and deciding who got to go back down to earth and decided to shake things up by doing a rousing game of "Duck, Duck, Goose?" Duck (you get to be happy), Duck (you get to be skinny), Goose (you get to be the responsible one and obsess about your weight)! I got Goose, for sure. I demand a recount or at least a match in hand to hand combat to decide my fate.
Can you imaging coming back, say 50- 100 years from now? As a baby? I mean, what would we be eating? The bees will all be dead from GMO and pollution. We'll be eating cardboard and cheetos. There will only be water that someone has pissed in. We'll all have to wear gas masks and be allergic to the sun that is closer to the earth than ever before and we will all be living among an evolving breed of dinosaurs. And, don't get me started about the social media that will be so intense that people will click on that "poke" button on Facebook and something will actually reach through your computer screen and beat the shit out of you. Yeah, go ahead, "poke" me. I could be exaggerating, or I could be spot on. You decide.
I just need to become one of those people that doesn't let life upset them. If I could just be one of those people, life would be so much easier. You know, one of the "Duck" people. And that's when it hit me what I needed to do. Drugs. Not Prozac or Zoloft, no. I'm talking Meth. Here's the deal, I don't know how much longer I have, so why not get into a zone? I mean, those meth people don't care if they have open sores on their faces, if they have showered, or if they are stealing .59 cents out of the center console of your car. As long as they have their meth, that's what they care about. It's like, it solves all of their problems. And, I bet I'd lose weight as an added bonus. I would save money on hair and wardrobe, too. The Rug Doctor doesn't think I have it in me. She says that she doesn't think I can steal, that my moral compass and thought processes wouldn't allow it. So, I said to her, "so you are saying, that the voices in my head are stronger than meth? Like, you just gave my mental thought process a superhero status. Good Lord, I'm more screwed up than I thought!" She said she doesn't see meth being my path, which is unfortunate because I thought I had a plan to chill out indefinitely. I asked her, "what about pills...do you think I could do pills?" She doesn't think this is a likely scenario for me. I'm confused, I thought she was here to help me.
After all of that, I did admit that my life isn't really bad. I mean, I have a family, a husband, a job, a roof over my head, great friends, etc. But even little things like standing in line at the AM/PM last week behind a stinky lady makes me wonder, will that happen to me? I mean, when did she shower last? I can smell her from five feet away. Her clothes could have been gotten out of a dumpster...or maybe a dumpster is where she lives? I just don't know. Am I judgmental? What happened to her? Was she just like me and then one day said, "No, I'm not showering one more effing time?" Or did she lose her job and then had no place to go and then this is what became of her? That could be me. It's not likely, but it could happen. I mean I don't want it to, but what if it does? I have concerns. And this is why I need to care less and use meth. It seems like everyone's doing it. That and pot. People have it all figured out and here I am stuck in reality trying to figure out life when I could just be checking out.
It seems I have much to consider...or nothing to consider. My problem is, I'm just not sure what to consider. I'd better think about it and get back to you. Until then, no meth, no pills, no pot, but I make no promises about chocolate...or mudslides. Don't judge me. You don't know. Likely, I will shower, but I'm telling you right now, if something happens in the night and I kick it, I am not coming back in another life. Mom says I don't have to. This is it. The finale. You know, unless I get chosen as a "Duck" with a hot body that can wear a mini skirt, then, I may just brave the faux mac n cheese and pee water while running from a dinosaur.
Duck, Duck Goose...I suggest you all decide which you are, or which you want to be. I pray, for your sake, it's Duck because this Goose thing is a bitch.
I arrived at the therapy office dragging and feeling uninspired. I didn't really want to be there, but probably needed to be. The Rug Doctor asked me how I was doing. I told her about what was going on and that I was exhausted all the way down to my soul. My soul was so tired and spent that I had nothing left to give. We talked through a variety of things. No individual thing was more important than the other and our conversation wandered. There was no one thing that was the underlying cause of my exhaustion, just life. Often when I come to therapy, the conversation has a way of finding that thing that is really bothering me or bogging me down and we hash it out. But tonight, the conversation did not find that "trigger point." Tonight it just wandered, which is okay, but when my mind is allowed to wander, sometimes things get weird.
We talked about how frustrating it is to watch my friends struggle and how I have such great advice for them, but who am I to judge when I don't take my own advice or anyone else's? I mean, wouldn't it be easier if we could all switch bodies with someone to fix shit? Like, my friend is dating a douche bag. I know he is, she knows he is (she is less likely to admit this) and we switch bodies. I kick the dude to the curb, she inhabits my body, stops eating chocolate, works out and then BAM! She's single and ready to find Mr. Perfect and I'm skinny and ready for a mini skirt! We are both happy! Now we swap back. Why can't we do that?
This then lead to a discussion about my weight, as is normal, since it is what I obsess about. The Rug Doctor was saying how it's hard to accept why things are easy for one person and hard for another. It doesn't seem fair. Which inevitably leads to me wondering what I did in a past life to deserve this body. I mean, was I a prostitute, drug dealer, whore, criminal, animal abuser, etc.? Which lead to talking about reincarnation, which Mom says totally happens. I asked Mom recently if I had a choice about coming back next time, because I am tired and the world is going to hell in a hand basket and so why would I want to come back? Mom says Sylvia Brown says in her book that we don't have to come back and that our souls decide. I don't know WTF my soul was thinking last time around. I mean, was I sitting up there (assuming I was "up" there) and then God's intern was filling in for the day and deciding who got to go back down to earth and decided to shake things up by doing a rousing game of "Duck, Duck, Goose?" Duck (you get to be happy), Duck (you get to be skinny), Goose (you get to be the responsible one and obsess about your weight)! I got Goose, for sure. I demand a recount or at least a match in hand to hand combat to decide my fate.
Can you imaging coming back, say 50- 100 years from now? As a baby? I mean, what would we be eating? The bees will all be dead from GMO and pollution. We'll be eating cardboard and cheetos. There will only be water that someone has pissed in. We'll all have to wear gas masks and be allergic to the sun that is closer to the earth than ever before and we will all be living among an evolving breed of dinosaurs. And, don't get me started about the social media that will be so intense that people will click on that "poke" button on Facebook and something will actually reach through your computer screen and beat the shit out of you. Yeah, go ahead, "poke" me. I could be exaggerating, or I could be spot on. You decide.
I just need to become one of those people that doesn't let life upset them. If I could just be one of those people, life would be so much easier. You know, one of the "Duck" people. And that's when it hit me what I needed to do. Drugs. Not Prozac or Zoloft, no. I'm talking Meth. Here's the deal, I don't know how much longer I have, so why not get into a zone? I mean, those meth people don't care if they have open sores on their faces, if they have showered, or if they are stealing .59 cents out of the center console of your car. As long as they have their meth, that's what they care about. It's like, it solves all of their problems. And, I bet I'd lose weight as an added bonus. I would save money on hair and wardrobe, too. The Rug Doctor doesn't think I have it in me. She says that she doesn't think I can steal, that my moral compass and thought processes wouldn't allow it. So, I said to her, "so you are saying, that the voices in my head are stronger than meth? Like, you just gave my mental thought process a superhero status. Good Lord, I'm more screwed up than I thought!" She said she doesn't see meth being my path, which is unfortunate because I thought I had a plan to chill out indefinitely. I asked her, "what about pills...do you think I could do pills?" She doesn't think this is a likely scenario for me. I'm confused, I thought she was here to help me.
After all of that, I did admit that my life isn't really bad. I mean, I have a family, a husband, a job, a roof over my head, great friends, etc. But even little things like standing in line at the AM/PM last week behind a stinky lady makes me wonder, will that happen to me? I mean, when did she shower last? I can smell her from five feet away. Her clothes could have been gotten out of a dumpster...or maybe a dumpster is where she lives? I just don't know. Am I judgmental? What happened to her? Was she just like me and then one day said, "No, I'm not showering one more effing time?" Or did she lose her job and then had no place to go and then this is what became of her? That could be me. It's not likely, but it could happen. I mean I don't want it to, but what if it does? I have concerns. And this is why I need to care less and use meth. It seems like everyone's doing it. That and pot. People have it all figured out and here I am stuck in reality trying to figure out life when I could just be checking out.
It seems I have much to consider...or nothing to consider. My problem is, I'm just not sure what to consider. I'd better think about it and get back to you. Until then, no meth, no pills, no pot, but I make no promises about chocolate...or mudslides. Don't judge me. You don't know. Likely, I will shower, but I'm telling you right now, if something happens in the night and I kick it, I am not coming back in another life. Mom says I don't have to. This is it. The finale. You know, unless I get chosen as a "Duck" with a hot body that can wear a mini skirt, then, I may just brave the faux mac n cheese and pee water while running from a dinosaur.
Duck, Duck Goose...I suggest you all decide which you are, or which you want to be. I pray, for your sake, it's Duck because this Goose thing is a bitch.
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