I make crocheted zombies. Enough said.
Sometimes I seriously believe that my life is really like "The Truman Show," but instead of giving me the perfect life it's more like a game show where they keep throwing crap at me and wait to see how long I can last before I just totally lose it and start pelting people in the head with water balloons filled with old cat food.
I bought an expensive-ass phone (because I convinced myself that I might need it for when [if] my Etsy store [ever] picks up) even though I am losing my job and it's very confusing and won't hold a charge and I feel like the government is watching and judging me with every new email I get, and it seems like my battery gets used most when it is in "idle" mode, but seriously, what am I supposed to do, turn it off? and I feel like I am missing important calls because sometimes when Jesse calls it doesn't go through and then I start to wonder, "What if it's ADT calling to tell me that my alarm is going off and there's probably someone in my house right now stealing my cat and my underwear and I missed it because my building has crappy reception (you'd think being on the 24th floor and having a brand new 'state of the art' phone, it would work properly, but no)," and then I start to think about coming home to a completely empty house because we were robbed, again, and then having Jesse yell at me for buying the really expensive phone (even though I already feel guilty) when I didn't need it and he got the crappier phone that hangs up when we try to talk to each other even though we are on the same plan but still works better than my phone, and he yells for having to pay an extra $10 since I went over on my plan because I don't know how to work my new phone- technology scares and confuses me, leading me to believe that I was born in the wrong century and wishing I could go back in time when all people did was needlework all day long and not have to worry about money and losing their house and husband because they are unemployed (and REALLLLLLY don't want to have to get another crappy receptionist position or work for anyone else EVER again), went over on their phone plan, and kept asking for a baby when the husband clearly doesn't want that responsibility and then having to move back into their mother's basement because they are unemployed, childless and 30 -see, back then 30 was really old and by those standards I'd probably be retired and ready to die by now - but I keep telling myself "Don't worry. Etsy will pick up, it just takes awhile", "buck up little camper," and "look on the bright side," until I want to punch myself in the face because I have a problem with people, even myself, trying to cheer me up and I really don't believe myself anyway, and then start to worry that maybe I am doing this whole "life" thing wrong and I should just start over, but then I realize that I am almost 30 and it's too late and then I get depressed and start looking up my etsy page on my new phone to see if I have any new transactions but alas, no, and in the process have wasted another $5 looking stuff up on my phone. Sigh.
I write really long run-on sentences.
I have a problem with people trying to cheer me up when I don't want to be or with people telling me what they think I should do. I don't know why. When bad things happen and I feel terrible, I just want to vent and pout and generally feel sorry for myself. Encouraging words and phrases just tend to make me want to stick my face in the garbage disposal. I think it's my inner child, refusing to clean up her room, but instead of room, it's "life." I have a co-worker who is a nice enough guy, but is CONSTANTLY telling what he thinks I should do. I wear hair ties around my wrist. So what? He comes up to me one day out of the blue, looks at the hair tie on my wrist and exclaims, "You do that too? Aw, you shouldn't do that! It cuts off the circulation in your wrist. My daughter used to do that and I quickly made her stop." Ok psycho, have you seen the size of my wrists? They're miniscule. The only thing getting the circulation cut off from is your brain. Now mind your own damn business.
I feel really bad for my husband sometimes. If he moves something a tiny bit or puts something out of place, I freak out. I think I have OCD. If the kitchen canisters aren't all facing the same way, or if a cabinet door isn't shut all the way, or if one of his socks are invading my side of the bed, then holy crap the world is going to end! Sometimes he puts tools on the kitchen table or counters and I...well, actually that is gross. We eat off of those. I think I am justified in getting annoyed on that one. But little things like that get under my skin. I worked hard organizing everything so that they all face the same direction (you know, just in case the bigger canister was having an argument with the second largest canister and didn't want to have to look at each other the whole night. I'm trying to be considerate of my inanimate objects. Don't judge me). But then again, he's known me for 11 years and still wanted to marry me. It's his own fault.
I have a hard time asking for help or anything else for that matter. When at a store, I will search the entire store from top to bottom fifty times before I will ask one of the employees for help. Yes, I realize it is their job, but I prefer to not talk to strangers if humanly possible. Or maybe I just really need to find that book on making everyday household items out of old shoes all by myself so I can feel like a big girl. It's probably a little of both.
I don't like to get on an elevator with strangers if I can help it. Same goes for public restrooms.
That's probably enough for now, assuming I haven't lost you. If you kept on reading, then I will reward you with a handmade oven mitt made out of Jesse's old "yardwork" shoes. Enjoy!
