I need a lover with an alibi
Jun. 18th, 2014 01:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_siobhanIt seems like the variable functionality of my brain is basically cyclical. I go through periods where I am sincerely incapable of doing anything other than sleeping and playing video games. The dishes and bills pile up, the house starts to fill up with piles of "I'll get to that later" and people start to forget what I look like. Showering turns into a chore that I figure I can probably get away with putting off until tomorrow.
Then I kinda shake it off, break out the soap and toss the pizza boxes[1], spread the bank statements out on my desk where I can try to figure out what the hell happened there, find the yoga mat under the stacks of dirty laundry and start paying attention to what's going on around me. That's when I get all ambitious and start digging out the painting supplies, because I know it's not going to last and I want to get as much accomplished as possible before it dies again.
Given the array of bank and credit card statements spread out on my desk, I am currently on an upswing and trying to do All The Things. This is good timing, because Axel is having his annual ridiculous party of ridiculousness this weekend and so we have been busily shoveling assorted random crap off the chairs and shoving it into hidden corners in preparation.
It helps that the comics are now gone. I got fed up to here with fighting with everybody on the fucking planet over the boxes stacked in my living room and they are now sitting in a storage locker. (Thank you so much![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tristam08 for all your help hauling them.) Now I just have to pass the keys over to my nephew. Don't for one second believe anybody who tells you that money can't buy happiness, because the power to make problems Go. The Fuck. Away by virtue of throwing a credit card at it is not something that can ever be valued highly enough.
I also spent the weeks after the new kitchen sink was installed going through every single object stored in there and made a lot of crap go away. 14 plastic water bottles? History. An entire storage box of tupperware we never use? Out. It was very cathartic. You know I always joke about how I have no idea where all this stuff comes from but I'm really starting to wonder. We moved in with a lot of crap that needed to be filtered, but the sheer number of objects that neither of us can identify is starting to get a little freakin' weird.
I occasionally ask Axel how the hell other people manage to keep up with all this day-in, day-out shit. Normal human beings somehow seem to be able to manage going to doctors and laundry and feeding themselves (sometimes multiple times a day!) and having a clean house and having a job and not either dying under an avalanche of crap or else losing their fucking minds. Some people even manage to do it while engaged in the care and feeding of other humans. How is that even possible? How the fuck does everybody else do it? Do they just never sleep? I'm coming to the conclusion that I'm just incompetent at being a grownup.
I'm also feeling like work has gotten super busy in the last couple of weeks. We have a new boss and so she wants to pick apart every single thing we do and change it up. Which is good, don't get me wrong. The department desperately needs it. But it means a lot of interaction that I'm not used to, and explaining things and meetings. I'm coming to the conclusion that she is one of those people who interacts best face-to-face - she wants to sit next to me while I go over things and she asks the exact same questions I already answered in email. Since I work from home a lot when I'm dizzy, that means she spend most of her time with the cow-orker and she's starting to assume that the stuff he's showing her is all his work. We were on a conference call recently where she introduced something I built and maintain as being his creation and he didn't correct her. So the last couple of days he's been asking me where I got the data I've been using for something I've been working on and I've just refused to tell him. It's petty, I know. But I don't spend all this time in the salt mines so somebody else can take credit for my stack of pebbles.[2]
So that's where things are right now. I figure I have about a month before the next brain collapse, so let's see how much I can get done in the meantime. Maybe when it does I can figure out a way to just camp my butt in a park or something, and that will do me for "leaving the house" time until it starts to tic up again.
See some of you on Saturday.
[1]One of the things that they always look for when I'm reporting on my mental health status is changes to sleeping or eating patterns. I tell them that my appetite doesn't change at all when I'm depressed, I just tend to eat nothing but crap because I don't have the energy for doing anything else.
[2] Actually I don't spend all this time in the salt mines so I can get credit for my pebbles. Fuck credit. I do this solely for money.
Then I kinda shake it off, break out the soap and toss the pizza boxes[1], spread the bank statements out on my desk where I can try to figure out what the hell happened there, find the yoga mat under the stacks of dirty laundry and start paying attention to what's going on around me. That's when I get all ambitious and start digging out the painting supplies, because I know it's not going to last and I want to get as much accomplished as possible before it dies again.
Given the array of bank and credit card statements spread out on my desk, I am currently on an upswing and trying to do All The Things. This is good timing, because Axel is having his annual ridiculous party of ridiculousness this weekend and so we have been busily shoveling assorted random crap off the chairs and shoving it into hidden corners in preparation.
It helps that the comics are now gone. I got fed up to here with fighting with everybody on the fucking planet over the boxes stacked in my living room and they are now sitting in a storage locker. (Thank you so much
tristam08 for all your help hauling them.) Now I just have to pass the keys over to my nephew. Don't for one second believe anybody who tells you that money can't buy happiness, because the power to make problems Go. The Fuck. Away by virtue of throwing a credit card at it is not something that can ever be valued highly enough. I also spent the weeks after the new kitchen sink was installed going through every single object stored in there and made a lot of crap go away. 14 plastic water bottles? History. An entire storage box of tupperware we never use? Out. It was very cathartic. You know I always joke about how I have no idea where all this stuff comes from but I'm really starting to wonder. We moved in with a lot of crap that needed to be filtered, but the sheer number of objects that neither of us can identify is starting to get a little freakin' weird.
I occasionally ask Axel how the hell other people manage to keep up with all this day-in, day-out shit. Normal human beings somehow seem to be able to manage going to doctors and laundry and feeding themselves (sometimes multiple times a day!) and having a clean house and having a job and not either dying under an avalanche of crap or else losing their fucking minds. Some people even manage to do it while engaged in the care and feeding of other humans. How is that even possible? How the fuck does everybody else do it? Do they just never sleep? I'm coming to the conclusion that I'm just incompetent at being a grownup.
I'm also feeling like work has gotten super busy in the last couple of weeks. We have a new boss and so she wants to pick apart every single thing we do and change it up. Which is good, don't get me wrong. The department desperately needs it. But it means a lot of interaction that I'm not used to, and explaining things and meetings. I'm coming to the conclusion that she is one of those people who interacts best face-to-face - she wants to sit next to me while I go over things and she asks the exact same questions I already answered in email. Since I work from home a lot when I'm dizzy, that means she spend most of her time with the cow-orker and she's starting to assume that the stuff he's showing her is all his work. We were on a conference call recently where she introduced something I built and maintain as being his creation and he didn't correct her. So the last couple of days he's been asking me where I got the data I've been using for something I've been working on and I've just refused to tell him. It's petty, I know. But I don't spend all this time in the salt mines so somebody else can take credit for my stack of pebbles.[2]
So that's where things are right now. I figure I have about a month before the next brain collapse, so let's see how much I can get done in the meantime. Maybe when it does I can figure out a way to just camp my butt in a park or something, and that will do me for "leaving the house" time until it starts to tic up again.
See some of you on Saturday.
[1]One of the things that they always look for when I'm reporting on my mental health status is changes to sleeping or eating patterns. I tell them that my appetite doesn't change at all when I'm depressed, I just tend to eat nothing but crap because I don't have the energy for doing anything else.
[2] Actually I don't spend all this time in the salt mines so I can get credit for my pebbles. Fuck credit. I do this solely for money.