Archive for September, 2011

So I didn’t take the kitten. Willpower. It’s what’s for breakfast.

Before all of you jump on my shit and start screaming “Mean Mom! Mean Mom!”, just allow me to remind you that we currently have four, count them, four felines currently in residence at Casa Trance; and I truly don’t want to wind up on Animal Planet on that show with the fucking cat hoarders.

The J-Man actually didn’t even ask for the kitten. I think he knew that the answer was going to be a big fat No.

I did want it though. It was cute to an absolutely sick degree.

So. There have been migraines. I have been having at least four per week for oh, let’s say FOREVER now, and I’m about fed up. Tomorrow I have a neurologist appointment, and I plan to stretch myself across his desk and cry until he offers up some sort of viable solution.

What else? There is my old boyfriend, the prom date. Things are becoming rather intense on that front and honestly, I don’t know what to think. There are a lot of phone calls and texting and most of it is very deep and passionate and it’s extremely heady stuff. We see each other again this weekend and I’m just a raw ball of nerves, but it’s a good raw ball of nerves, if that makes any sense.

He makes me feel things that I haven’t felt in a long, long, long damned time. He’s an extremely intelligent, sensitive man; and he challenges me, and it’s refreshing on so many levels.

So, there’s that.

There’s also this: I have a therapist appointment today.

Now let it be known that I fucking loathe therapy. I’ve been seeing a shrink for years and years, but almost never an actual therapist, because I think they’re largely full of shit. If I want to talk to someone about a problem, I call a friend, and more often than not I get much better advice than stupid shit like “Feelings aren’t facts.”, “How does that make you feel?”, or (and I swear to God a therapist actually said this to me when I was in the terrible throes of bulimia), “You could just eat vegetables with salsa. Salsa has very few calories.”

Seriously.

However, the shrink has mandated that I begin seeing a therapist, so off to therapy I go. I’m not happy about it, I’m not going into it with a stellar attitude, and I don’t trust this woman any further than I can throw her, but I am going to attempt to give it a go.

If she mentions salsa, though, she’s toast.

In other news, I have decided that I can no longer watch the news. Jesus God in heaven, it’s fucking depressing. Generally I read the local paper (which is something of a joke in Indianny) and watch the news as well as read it on the internet daily, but my God, does it bring me down. I’m not naive. I do understand that into this world a lot of shit must fall, but watching story after story about murder after murder and political corruption after political corruption and just the absolute dregs of human nature? It seriously makes me sad.

I already have a tendency to be sad. I just don’t need the news to exacerbate it.

Does that sounds shallow and as if I prefer to live in my own little bubble?

So sue me.

I probably won’t be able to stay away from the news for long, anyway. I feel compelled to know what’s going on.

In other news, the J-Man has been off of his anxiety meds for about two weeks now, thank God, and is doing great. (knock on wood) No vomiting before school, no freaking out. I’m pretty proud of the boy these days. His grades are excellent, he’s having a pretty good time of it in school, he auditioned for a garage band (YES), he loves choir, he’s lost over 20 pounds through healthy eating, and he’s been damned pleasant to be around.

The dreaded teenaged hormones must be on the upswing these days.

Whatever it is, I’m enjoying it immensely.

In still other news, I am obsessed with watching reruns of season 7 of So You Think You Can Dance. Love the bag, love the shoes, LOVE IT.

If I could be anything, I would be a kick-ass dancer. I’d just have to lose about six inches of height and about fifty pounds…

Happy Wednesday.

The family down the street from us has a cute little black kitten they’re trying to get rid of, and the mom has been Facebooking me about it.

I don’t want it, but it’s so cute and fluffy and tiny, and ooh it would fit in so perfectly with the two black cats I already have, and man, it’s so teeny and cute, and GOD I WANT IT.

I am an adult with some modicum of self-control, though, so I answered her, “Sorry. It’s adorable, but no thank you.”

Then she said something I did not expect. “Didn’t the J-Man lose his cat fairly recently? I’ll bet he would just love a kitten.”

AW MAN WHY YOU GOTTA DO ME LIKE THAT AND GO AND HIT ME SQUARE IN THE MOM?

That was fucking dirty pool, lady.

So I will bet you a whole dollar that the J-Man winds up at their house this week, and I will bet you another whole dollar that he will be on my doorstep clutching a beautiful black kitten, both of them with eyes as big as saucers, whimpering, “MOM CAN WE KEEEEEEP HERRRR?”

And I will cave. Because that is me. And then I will have to have a six-hour fight with my mother and Jim.

Damned kittens.

In other news, you all know that I loathe the Demon Med Effexor and would no more use it or discontinue it again than I would eat my own liver (with some fava beans and a nice Chianti).

So what did I do years later but start another SNRI, Cymbalta, which has pretty much the same effect and the same gnarly discontinuation syndrome?

I live a very cyclical life. I just repeat all the same mistakes over and over and over again. As a matter of fact, if you look up “idiot” in your Webster’s dictionary, you will find me grinning back at you.

I tapered slowly down off of the Cymbalta just like the shrink told me to while starting the Viibryd, believing with all my hopeful little heart that this would make all the difference.

See also: Idiot.

I am having brain zaps like a motherfucker. I feel like someone is taking a taser to my occipital lobe. It’s insane.

If you’re not familiar with SNRI or SSRI discontinuation syndrome, Google it sometime. It’s interesting stuff that they certainly don’t tell you about when they hand out anti-depressants like fucking Smarties on Halloween.

I can’t even drink coffee for fear of hurling my lungs up. No coffee? Why live?

Hopefully this won’t last long, and I feel so good from the Viibryd that it’s worth going through a little shit getting off of the Cymbalta.

In other news, the J-Man’s grades are STELLAR so far this year. I could not be more pleased.

Just don’t tell me to get him a kitten as a reward or I’ll send you all my leftover Cymbalta.

Happy Wednesday.

First. Notre Dame won their game against Michigan State even though they played for shit and had four, count them, four, turnovers.

I believe we are now leading the world in turnovers. Would you like a turnover? Apple or cherry? They’re piping hot.

So, there’s that. I am happy about the win, I’m happy we’re not 3 and 0 like I thought we’d be, but I’m unhappy about the defense, the turnovers, and the general state of the union.

Secondly, I went out with B., my ghost of Christmases past, my prom date, my boyfriend of my formative years, and God, was it heady stuff.

He rang the doorbell and honestly, all could do was stare for a moment. He looks older, to be sure (file that one under “duh”), but in so many ways he looks exactly the same – smooth-skinned, massively green-eyed, and intense as all get-out, that I had to catch my breath.

We held each other for a few minutes, and it felt like coming home.

(I am well aware that the previous sentence sounds like some cheesy fucking shit from a Danielle Steel novel. I cringed, too.)

Anyway, it was a great night, really fucking special and deep and kind of romantic, and we’re going out again tonight.

I feel comfortable. It’s nice. Who knows if anything will come of it, but for now, it’s really nice.

Thirdly, I must go and watch the Bears, which is always a crapshoot. More tomorrow.

Happy Sunday.

My shrink would say that I had a Major Depressive Event or Episode or some such shit.

All I know is that it sucked and I cried (that one was for all you Dooce [trademark] fans), and that I’m glad to be snapping out of it a little.

I’ve been on a new anti-depressant for a few weeks now. To say that it saved my ass would be putting it lightly. Three times a week I was having conversations like this one:

“Jenny-fahr, I want you to check into the hospital.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t wanna.”
“I am worried you’re going to harm yourself.”
“No.”

So what if I was only showering once a week and sleeping seventeen hours a day? I was FINE, damn it.

Gah.

Another thing that seemed to really save my ass was the treadmill. I don’t know what happened – call it divine intervention, call it what you will, but one day I looked at that bitch and said, “Enough sleeping.”

I started to run, and that week I broke a twelve-minute mile.

I know that exercise isn’t for everyone, but damned if it didn’t help to get this girl out of this funk.

The new med, which has only been out on the market since July or so, has been pretty wondrous so far. I’m only sleeping seven hours per night. I’m eating like a normal person. I don’t feel completely asexual. I don’t feel nauseous or weak.

As much as I hate to quote Charlie Sheen, Winning.

So, there’s that.

In other news, I sometimes talk to my high school/post-high school boyfriend, B. He’s been living in California for years, and while we haven’t actually laid eyes on each other in about 16 years, we’ve remained relatively close. I can’t even begin to stress how important a person this guy was in my life. We were joined at the hip for years.

I got a Facebook message this week that said, “I’m back in the area, call me.”

After a few long phone calls, we’ve decided to go out tomorrow night. What’s weird is that I still feel as comfortable talking to him as I ever did, and the rhythms of our conversations flow as easily as they did 20 years ago. It’s pretty wild.

Should be interesting.

I have a prom photo of us somewhere, I’ll have to post it when I find it.

In still other news, today is haircut day, always an exciting day, always a fun day, and I think I’m going to switch it up a bit, go short, do something different, something.

I wasn’t gone for long, but it felt like a fucking eternity over on this end. I’m glad to be back.

Happy Tuesday.

Taking a little hiatus to get my head on straight.

Please don’t trip.

XOXO

Jen