I'm on medications to even out my mood, give me an attention span, prevent OkCupid babies, and control my heinous allergies.
There are, what, 4,000 erectile dysfunction drugs now?
I think there's one for a particular form of exhaustion you get from shift work.
They debated putting me on a drug that fixes ADHD and binge eating disorder, which... damn, I still want that drug.
So, really, you can't create a drug that will make me feel LESS like my period might actually kill me? One that keeps me from waking up weeping for no reason? (OK, there was a reason, but not a logical one.) Could you, like, get on that, Science? Or could I just get sent to the edge of the village or whatever?
I know there's stuff they can finagle for PMDD. I'm mostly kidding.
Related: the weather in Philly right now can kiss my dick. I checked the forecast and it just said, "Your mood is fucked until Sunday." That's what I saw, anyway. It's possible it just said it'll be cloudy and rainy.
So, hey, Creepy Guy From Another Office in my Building to Whom I've Only Ever Said 'Hi' in a Small Talky Sense...
I have not "been on a diet."
I have not "lost weight."
I DO "look good," but it's pretty gross that you said ALL that while passing me in the hall. I realize I can't get you to stop appraising my body, but it'd be SUPER great if you could stop reporting your findings aloud.
Worse, I said "Thank you," because I'm an asshole, and am now wondering what kind of goddamn hambeast I looked like before. (I look fine, it's just my dress -- sundresses are very kind to my body.)
By the way, yes, I do think I'd be this pissy if it were an attractive man who said it. Because you brought my weight AND dieting into your "compliment," implying my weight until today had been somehow suboptimal. So fuck you twice-baked.
P.S. By the way, dicknuts -- depression, anxiety, and stress can also cause weight loss. In my case, so can being on drugs that screw with your appetite and hopefully prevent you from going crazy. But hey, I'm thrilled I'm able give you your Monday lunchtime semi. I'll go find out who I speak to about adding "fluffer" to my business card.
Also, I totally hear you -- Xanax would've been great, but alas, there's some shit about ethics where they won't give it to me because I don't actually have anxiety? I KNOW, right, what the shit? This IS America, right? Family gatherings + Jesus' birthday = special dispensation. That's in the Bible: "And lo, distributed among them, there were delicious medications, and yea, they were happy. OK, well...not really HAPPY, but they didn't hit anyone, and so there was peace on earth, and sedated goodwill toward men."
P.S. I will spend today baking MANY cookies; those are almost Xanax if you eat enough of them.
P.P.S. That whiskey is not for me. That shit is like having one of those hippie honey cough drops in your drink. Ugh.
Today I saw my psychiatrist (ie, my Drug Czar, not Talky Therapist -- it takes a village, y'all). And she thinks I should start dating again, before I "get used to being alone."
Um... How 'bout "Shut up and give me my drugs?" You're not the boss of me. Talky Therapist is. (Though, um, Talky Therapist also thinks I should.)
You're shrinks. Shouldn't I be OK being alone? Shouldn't I be happy with myself before I bring in a Crazy copilot? Did you HEAR me tell you about the last times I tried dating?
"Well, you can just date casually. You don't have to sleep with them."
Well, no, I don't HAVE to. But if history is any indication, I WILL. If I kiss (and I really NEED to kiss), I will tease, and then the man will end up touching the "on" switch on my neck, then I will lose my tenuous-at-best "lady" decorum, and then suddenly we're post-coital, and he wants me to spend Christmas with him or leave a toothbrush at his place, and then I'm hyperventilating and doing The Fadeaway because I am a big fat coward.
I don't feel like dating right now. I'm not cute in the winter, all shrouded in big bulky sweaters and corduroy pants. (Though, it's supposed to be fucking 74 degrees in Philadelphia on Thursday, so I guess that's not a valid defense right now.) But generally, sundresses are more my wheelhouse.
And by the way? I LIKE being alone. I'm pretty rad. That's how I'll know when I'm ready to deal with a relationship -- if I wouldn't rather be alone than with the guy. This almost never happens. Normally it's "UGH, I have to...TALK to someone? And...shave things? This will not stand!"
*sigh*
On one hand, I don't think it's fair to potential dates that I would be comparing them at least a little to these previous relationships. But Talky Therapist tells me that's actually a good thing, because I know what I want and what I don't. Also, I do understand it's not doing me any good to sit and wallow about any man who, perhaps over-simplistically, doesn't want to be with me. So maybe it wouldn't hurt to go check out OkCupid again. (I'm not going to meet anyone in a bar, that's not my scene. I wanna get with a dude who steps to me in a Barnes & Noble -- instead of sending me a drink from across a bar, he can send his favorite book and preferably a scone.)
If nothing else, attempting to date will give me good stories here. So here's to 2016 being the year I finally get some. (And blah blah blah, true love, soulmates, rainbows -- FINE. If I happen to find that while rubbing up against people, then yay for me.)
The doctor put me on a new drug*, and told me repeatedly that if I notice a rash to contact her immediately.
Seriously, you guys, am so goddamn sexy I don't even know how y'all deal with me.
This is especially fun because there's always SOME reaction somewhere on my skin. I already had eczema (or SEXzema -- amirite, fellas?), and my skin reacts to perfumes, soaps, scented feminine products (THAT? Was a great day.), dryer sheets, certain fabrics, shaving, and men's facial hair when they kiss the BEST places**, so... really, what's one more?
*Some days I miss being on Abilify -- it was SUPER fun feeling like I was ALWAYS over-caffeinated, getting shit done LIKE A BOSS, and not giving a baker's fuck about anything, including if I slept ever again. Alas, not a sustainable lifestyle. Or so they told me.
**I almost always find this reaction worth it. Fine, whatever, I'll get psoriasis -- just keep your mouth on my neck. It will end well for us all.
