You know what?  Fuck this shit.  I’M FINE.  I just needed a minute.  Shit, who wouldn’t?  I’m thirty friggin’ three and I sat in my kids preschool parking lot and got slapped across the face with a burlap sac filled with tacks.  That’s right I said tacks.  Put that image in your head.  I was stabbed in the face by a billion tiny tacks filled with potentially shit news and I coupled that with some CRAZY shit I will absolutely NOT talk about on here (I only talk about me, it’s why it’s called a blog) and I flipped out okay?  Yesterday I was unable to turn on my computer or really even lift my phone.  It was so bad even my daddy had to give me a call.

My poor neighbors.  Every day after school if it’s nice everyone sits outside and the kids play.  All the chicks get chairs out and sit around while the kids run around but I always stick to myself.  Shocking, right?  Unless I’m at a bar, social function created for or by me or anywhere but my neighborhood I’m a loner.  They sit and chat and I stick to the side because I’m weird.  There’s nothing wrong with them, they’re all totally cool and I could sit there, I just am WAY too liberal and I’m the one who pipes up “I sleep naked” when they’re talking about sleeping in boxers and tube socks and it’s the only place I don’t like creating uncomfortable silences.

Yesterday was different.  Yesterday I told Facebook (that’s where I live my life) that I was going rogue.  Following that I couldn’t speak.  I literally could not say a word.  I sat with the TV on in a haze of “What the fuck?”.  Not because I believe that there’s anything genuinely wrong but what the fuck people!  I’m THIRTY THREE!  Enough already.

So I see it’s just about three and I walk to the bus stop.  One of my neighbors (she rules, she’s read me) later told me she was afraid to even talk to me from the look on my face.  I couldn’t make eye contact, I simply looked down while we waited.  She asked how I was doing and without looking up I just gave a thumbs down signal and she said “Aw, that’s too bad.” because what the hell else is she supposed to say at that point?

The bus comes a few minutes later and I grab my kid and start heading back to the house and even he stopped on our walk back to ask if I was okay.  My five year old kid.  I gave him a thumbs up and sent him off to play with all the kids that were starting to gather and as I walked toward my house one of the ladies outside asked me if I was okay.  At this point I was holding my breath.  I put one finger in the air, went in the house and came out the garage with a chair of my own.

Awkwardly heading in their direction, I placed my chair down and felt like I was about to switch lunch tables in the cafeteria.  It took every ounce of energy I had to ask if I could sit with them and they said of course and once again asked me if I was okay.

Oh, these poor women.  I lost my shit.  I didn’t actually poop on them but I broke right the fuck down.  Tears just started flowing, my nose was running and I’m fairly sure I tossed in the deep breath lip quiver.

I’m glad I did.  I had planned on seeing some of my girlfriends later on that evening for a night of “Let’s spoil Julie for an actual reason tonight” but I’m very grateful to my neighbors for letting me snot all over their driveways.  Had I bottled it up until later on my makeup would have gotten all fucked up and my face would have been all red.  I looked AWESOME last night.

I don’t know, that’s about it.  I stayed a healthy level of miserable into the evening, just enough to have about thirty people ask me why I wasn’t all smiley.  I smiled and told them exactly why.  Every single person who asked me how I was or what was wrong I told my story to.  I went out at seven and people stopped asking around ten so I’m assuming a round of “Don’t talk to the loco one over there” spread throughout the bar.

I didn’t even want to sing last night.  I sang one song and I made TRY sing with me.  I only sang it to be a bitch, too.

I must say before I close, it’s kind of fun being a bitch.  I am never mean to people.  Never.  I put up with a lot of shit, that’s why I’m great with the public.  Very few things offend me and I’m used to being pawed at and I’m great at the smooth blow off but last night some tool would not stop humping my leg (I looked awesome) and I truly enjoyed repeatedly telling him off as the night grew longer.  I didn’t want to stay out as late as I did but my friends were there to support me and they kept me distracted and it was fun (except now.  This part sucks.  You know, morning. Ugh) and this dude just kept coming back for more. It got to be so much fun degrading this guy that I started to actually look forward to his advances.  I finally put a stop to it when he tried an ass graze walk by.  Hell no.  I tossed an elbow up, caught his ribs and twisted around and punched him in the arm.  I went all Bruce Willis on his ass.  Take that, beeotch.

I just noticed this counts how many words I type.  I really could have used WordPress in high school.

Oh, fuck.  So anyway I’m FINE.  I wasn’t going to write today but I realized I’d only be punishing myself.  It’s okay if I’m not funny.  It’s okay if I’m pissed off and it’s okay if you stop reading me because of it*.  I write for ME and I feel better having done so.  I was thinking about a comment I read the other day where someone said they read me as though I’m standing right in front of them telling my story and I decided I have to sit and tell you my life.  It’s what I do.  My world revolves around ME and if I don’t write it, how are you going to live it?

I’m fine.  It’s fine.  The phone calls are going to be rolling in over the next few weeks telling me what I can or can’t do about what ails me and we’ll all deal with this together.  Not writing ends up being more work anyway.  I got about 50 messages yesterday once I said I was going offline and they were mostly from people I care about so I had to repeat myself 50 times.  One person didn’t even know I was upset so when I got a text and sent a less than enthusiastic reply (I didn’t put a smiley on the end of it.  Dead giveaway), I just directed him to Tuesday’s post because I didn’t have it in me to text it.

Blither.  I blither.  I put an * up there.  I’ve  never used one of those.  It meant I was completely full of shit.  If you stop reading me because I’m not making you shit yourself with laughter every day you’re a total douche.  I’m human (mostly).  When I’m funny it’s because funny rolls off my hands.  When I’m stressed I’m going to repeatedly apologize as I tell you how miserable I am and when I’m ill, you’re going to have to ride that roller coaster right along with me.  If you’re only here for a laugh you might want to stop back in a week or two after the stress of me not knowing if I’m getting this job is over.  I’m pretty sure the unknown is what’s making me punch my blog in the face.

I just typed 1400 words. Proofing it took it to 1381 so I have to add this bit on to get it back to 1400.

Neato.

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