Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

So the results of my spinal MRI came back, and they’re not too pretty.

I went from having two slipped discs a year ago to having three, all at the very bottom of my spine, and one of the discs is torn. I guess they’re pushing on my spinal cord, too. There is also some arthritis. The report also says that my back muscles are particularly rigid, probably because I’m in fucking pain all the time.

I’m going to see a orthopedic surgeon, just to check out my options. I’m still pretty anti-surgery, but I obviously can’t live in pain for the rest of my life.

My main issue with surgery is this: All of these injuries have been sustained falling during seizures. Who’s to say I won’t injure myself further (or worse) while recovering from surgery, or after healing from surgery?? I can’t live in a plastic bubble. I really don’t want to spend thousands of dollars out of pocket just to fuck myself up again.

It’s a conundrum.

In other news, the J-Man is enjoying life with the Lutherans to an astonishing degree. The other night he looked at me and said, “Mom, you know, I just might be popular.”

I’m no sap, but it made my eyes well up a little.

We went to the Lutheran high school’s open house on Sunday and were able to tour the place, and I like it a lot. It’s a very, very small school – 65 students in the whole place – and consequently a lot of individual attention is given. Their forte is academics and not sports, which I like, and there are a shitload of honors classes offered.

The J-Man was horrified to find out that in Honors Anatomy, the class dissects cats.

Yeah, cats.

I don’t think the J-Man will be signing up for Honors Anatomy.

The choir director seems to be fantastic, the drama club looks great, and – if all of this were not enough – they have in place a gaming club in which the kids get together for a few hours every Friday night and eat pizza and compete on the XBox.

I thought my kid’s eyes would pop out of his head upon hearing this information. They invited him to come and check it out this coming Friday, and he will be there with bells on.

In other news, I’m on the Atkins diet, which consists primarily of meat, eggs, and cheeses. It’s going rather well – I’ve lost eleven pounds since the beginning of the month.

It’s restrictive, and I miss the hell out of bread, but I can deal. Obviously I have no problems snorkeling down bacon at every given opportunity, but sometimes I long for something really crunchy.

Now nuts don’t have many carbs, so yesterday I perused the nut aisle at Target, looking for something that would satisfy my crunch jones.

What I found was a big jar of peanuts drenched in chili powder.

Let it be known that I love spicy food – the spicier the better. Mexican, Indian, you name it, bring on the heat. I bought two jars of said spicy peanuts, brought them home, and eagerly cracked open a jar.

I think the peanuts have something like 5 grams of carbs for 40 or so nuts, and my carb count for the day was pretty low, so I went white girl crazy on those damned things.

God, they were delicious. They were mouth-burning, satisfying, crunchtastic perfection.

I ate roughly a quarter of the jar, feeling more satisfied than I had in weeks of sucking down chicken breasts and tuna with mayo.

A couple hours later, I went to bed.

About two hours later, I was awakened by what I can best described by the worst possible sort of gastrointestinal distress.

From the sounds of my intestines, there was about to be a serious problem.

I leaped out of bed like a gazelle (if said gazelle had two broken legs and was smoking crack cocaine) and scrambled toward the john, where I would spend the next four hours doubled over in agony and regret.

The moral of the story? You can have too much of a good thing, especially if that good thing is coated in chili powder.

Was it worth it??

YES.

I also bought some benign-looking cocoa-coated almonds, which I sincerely hope will not yield similar results.

Another thing I’m spoiling myself with is coffee with heavy cream and sugar-free vanilla syrup. I make the J-Man a version that is three-quarters milk with a little coffee and syrup in the morning sometimes, too, so that he can feel very cosmopolitan with his latte.

Beats paying for Starbucks.

In still other news, it’s as cold as balls outside, and since I am a basement-dwelling troll, I have no heat. My bedroom is the coldest room in the house, and in order to actually sleep without growing icicles in my nasal passages, I have to crank my electric blanket up to 11 and utilize a small space heater.

This unfortunately attracts cats. If you’re the type that likes to eat/stuff/dissect cats, then I highly suggest this method of trapping.

I wake up at least nine times per night due to cats shifting positions, cats snuggling up to me for warmth, cats making disgusting sucking noises whilst licking their privates, cats attempting to sleep on my ass.

Would you like a cat? If it fits, it ships!

Happy Tuesday.

So I wasn’t going to blog about all of this, but I’m pissed off, so I am.

Today marks the last day of the J-Man’s public education, because the school system here in Indianny can kiss my sizable, cornfed ass.

The J-Man has dealt with the taunts, the bullying. We have tried to cope with this using counseling, working together as a family, and even (much to my displeasure) psychiatric medication to quell his anxiety.

Much of this is largely because I have had absolutely no help from the school administration. From the vice-principal to the superintendent, everyone has passed the buck and has been unbelievably callous and unhelpful. I feel that had just one person shown the slightest bit of interest in my son’s pain or had just one person been willing to actually discipline the students involved, things could have turned out very differently.

Instead, I have a hugely anxious child who is very, very angry; a child with poor grades who used to have stellar grades, a child with a sullen attitude who used to have a great one, and a child who no longer trusts most people.

The straw that broke this camel’s back was this particular incident: The J-Man was being pushed and shoved into lockers by one boy – let’s call him ASSHOLE – on a very regular basis. He didn’t tell me about it for a while, but when he finally gave up ASSHOLE’s name, I immediately called the vice principal, because I was concerned for his safety.

The man assured me that this issue would be dealt with swiftly and harshly, and despite my better judgment, I believed him.

Then J. came home from school and told me that the VP called him into the office and told him to let him know if it happened again. He would then deal with it.

I was livid. I still am.

I made the decision there and then to pull him out of school and send him back to the Lutherans. The Lutherans might be a little snobby, and they might be a little anal, but they’re not violent, and they’re not uncaring.

I have had it with these jerks at the public school.

I know I’m not the only one. My son comes home with reports of knifes being pulled, kids having sex in the bathrooms, and all sorts of other bullshit. I simply can’t believe this sort of crap is happening in a junior high and nobody is doing anything about it.

So I’m going, but I’m not going quietly.

I’m writing letters to everyone I can think of – vitriolic letters that fully express my displeasure regarding the way my son has been treated and the way I have been treated.

School should be a safe environment. No child should have to walk the halls worrying about being bullied, pushed, beat up, or God forbid, knifed.

I’m just thankful I’m getting my son out in time.

I wish I had never pulled him out of the Lutheran school – a lot of it had to do with finances – but hindsight is always 20/20, even for this blind-ass girl.

I’m also not too jazzed about the idea of having to attend church again, but I would pretty much at glass to make sure that my kid has a safe and happy education.

He was not without problems at the Lutheran school, to be sure, but said problems were nothing compared to what he went through at the public school. Nothing.

In still other news, there is pain, and it is constant, throbbing, stabbing, vicious, everyday, all-day pain. I don’t know whether my slipped discs have gotten worse, or perhaps multiplied from falling due to seizures, but my back is in agony, and for some reason so are my thighs. My Fentanyl dosage has been doubled, and that only seemed to help for a few days.

I don’t talk about it much. It seems pointless to whine about it. I am too afraid to get the surgery I’m supposed to have on my back and neck, and I suppose that means I’m fairly fucked. (To the five commenters about to tell me that the surgery is not that bad, and that I’m being a big weenie – save your breath – I can’t be laid up for that long anyway – who the hell is going to take care of me??)

The thing about being in pain all of the time (and also about being on a constant flow of pain meds) is that it makes you pretty tired. So tired. Add to that a fair amount of seizures and a double dose of daily migraines, and you have an awful lot of tired. I feel like I could sleep forever.

I’m having some testing done, though – spinal MRIs and x-rays on my legs and some tests to figure out why I’m having so many damned migraines.

Here we go again.

It never ends.

I’m glad I have B., who is there for me on an amazing level, partially because he is going through similar shit himself. Sad that we’re both neurologically fucked, but sort of comforting at the same time, because we each understand where the other is coming from.

Between the two of us, I think we have enough fucking medication to stock your average pharmacy.

Aside from that, he’s wonderful. I feel very well-loved, and it’s refreshing. I have to admit, I love the hell out of this man.

Winter 2012

Happy Thursday. My stress could be less, but at least I have a handsome boy.

There was no wild partying for me this New Year’s Eve, I’m afraid, unless you count one mudslide at dinner.

Yeah, a mudslide. I saw someone else order one, and it looked so damned good with its whipped cream and chocolate syrup, I had to have it.

The rest of the evening was spent at B.’s watching Daniel Craig (that sexy beast) kick some ass in Cowboys and Aliens and staying up extraordinarily late sifting through other Netflix films online.

Truly I am old.

New Year’s resolutions? Well, I have one. In order to remove the ten pounds I packed on from quitting smoking, I have started the Atkins diet.

I know this comes as quite a shock to all of you, as I never discuss my weight, food, or my hatred of both.

So far I am eating a lot of bacon and eggs, and life is good. You really can’t mess with bacon. I could probably eat nothing but bacon for the rest of my life and be totally cool with that.

My cholesterol level, however, would probably protest.

The J-Man returned to school today, and there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth. It’s a good thing, though, because I think his XBox was about ready to melt from overuse.

Speaking of the J-Man, he’s been hanging out with a Very Pretty Girl.

About two weeks ago, they went out for lunch at a local Mexican joint and then came back here to play video games (yes, she’s a gamer – therefore she could not be more perfect), and I am not kidding you when I tell you that she’s one of the cutest girls I have ever seen.

She came over on New Year’s Eve for a while, too, and stayed for dinner. She was extremely polite, complimenting both the food and my eyeshadow (worming her way into my heart), and was generally a sweet kid.

I am so proud of my little pimp daddy that I don’t have the words. He’s certainly had his popularity problems throughout junior high, but this is a major coup.

Here’s hoping it goes well.

I’m sad to say that lately I am completely neurologically screwed. I’m having seizures right and left, shaking like a leaf, and having a lot of neuropathy and pain. I’m not sure what’s going on – whether the cold weather is messing with me, or whether I’m just going through a random bad spell – but I have a neurologist appointment on Thursday, so hopefully I can get some testing done and some meds switched up or something and this can be nipped in the bud.

Until then, it’s muscle relaxers and Vicodin cocktails galore. I loathe taking all of these damned drugs, but if I don’t I’m a long string of misery.

Jen Trance, coming to you live and high.

In still other news, yesterday we took the Christmas trees down and put away all of the assorted Christmas Crap, and while I was on a roll, I decided to clean out my dresser drawers and closet.

People, I had no idea I was hoarding so much shit. I wound up with four huge black garbage bags of stuff for Amvets. Shoes, clothes, crappy handbags, stuff that people could still get use out of but that is not quite worth eBaying.

I did come up with quite a few things I am going to sell on eBay, too, though. I have some winter coats I don’t wear and some boots that can go.

Once I’m no longer largely couch-bound, I’m going to get on it.

If I’m up to it today, I’m going to go blonde, because once again I have the itch.

I have a sickness.

Happy Tuesday, and Happy New Year.

I sincerely hope that all of you crazy people had happy holidays and got ridiculously drunk in the safety and privacy of your homes, ate obscene amounts of Christmas cookies and other savory foods, got all sorts of lovely presents, and celebrated with wonderful family and friends.

Unfortunately leading up to Christmas there was a string of deaths in my life and the lives of my loved ones. My cousin passed away, my best friend’s mom, and my other best friend’s little baby, so there definitely was something of a shadow cast on our holidays, but we did our best to try to relax and enjoy as best as we could.

If you could keep my family and friends in your thoughts, that would be great.

I kept having seizures the day before and the day of Christmas, which I thought were due to stress, as my cousin passed away on Christmas Eve. However, last night I realized that one of my primary seizure medications was sitting on my dresser and that I hadn’t been taking it with my other pills (which I keep in a box) for about four days, which was when I had it refilled.

D’oh.

Seizures be damned, I had to fill the rather sizable shoes of my Ukrainian grandmother and fry up a giant mess of pirogi for the masses.

How well I remember Grandma, beer in one hand, spatula in the other, screaming, “You DEM kids, get out of my kitchen!” as we tried to steal the little pockets of potato and cheese goodness.

The only difference between her and I is that she made them from scratch and I buy the frozen ones from a Chicago deli, a fact that probably horrifies her into rolling feverishly in her grave.

I’m also betting that Grandma never burned the shit out of her arm by stupidly tossing a stick of butter in the pan while the burner was on high.

Hey, I never claimed to be Marta Stewartska.

After a big dinner with my mom, stepdad, the J-Man, my sister and her kids, and my brother and his son (who just got accepted to Notre Dame – whoot!) and some furious present-opening, it was off to B.’s for ANOTHER Christmas dinner and MORE present-opening.

B.’s mom is a ridiculous cook. She whipped up a huge German feast and made bread with bacon in it. Bacon. And Swiss cheese. I mean, come on.

She also made at least ten different kinds of cookies, one of which were miniature pecan pies. I was in gluttonous heaven.

I never made cookies, by the way. I suck.

B.’s family was incredibly generous with J. and I. I was touched, as always, by how incredibly welcoming they are and by how much they give to us.

Everyone seemed to really enjoy having us there and really liked the gifts that we got them, too.

J. blends right in with the cousins, which is nice. They were running around like freaks and making YouTube videos and cooking crack or whatever it is young teenagers do these days.

Afterwards B. came over and we watched my DVRed American Horror Story episodes, which – if you haven’t seen the show – Oh. My. God. Incredible. Jessica Lange? Ridiculous.

The next day I slept until noon and then cleaned like a psycho.

Today I am looking into the Lutheran high school for the J-Man, because I have come to the conclusion that he is pretty much never going to survive public high school. I was wishing and hoping, but the public high school out here is enormous and overcrowded and serves five towns, and I think he’d be swallowed up like shark bait.

The Lutheran high school (always, always I am plagued by the Lutherans) is tiny and kind and great academically with all sorts of wonderful extracurricular activities, and the woman that’s been e-mailing back and forth with me bestows God’s blessings upon me every time she signs off, which is a hoot. Is she a direct representative of God? Has God appointed her an Almighty Blessing-Giver, or is she just arbitrarily handing out God’s blessing because she feels like it? That seems awfully presumptuous to me.

Tomorrow is my thirty-eighth birthday. Christ, I’m old.

Happy Tuesday.

Heeeeeey.

I didn’t close comments to be a snot, by the way. Comments just automatically close on entries older than fourteen days.

So where have I been? Touring Europe? Spending a little time on Martha’s Vineyard? Fiji, maybe?

No. I have instead been one of those sad, pathetic women who gets into a serious relationship and goes directly into a cocoon.

I don’t even know myself anymore.

We’re not going to talk about that, though; because it’s disgusting – I have become part of a disgusting couple that is so ridiculously in love it’s nauseating – so instead let’s talk school.

Whilst in college, I: A) worked two jobs, B) was starving myself to a truly alarming degree and living on diet pills and caffeine, and C) was off of my meds.

This made for a pretty decent GPA during my first two years of school, because I was hyper-focused (I did, however, flunk Micro-Economics in a stellar manner because it was an early class that I never attended), but by the time junior year rolled around I was completely manic and burned out. I dropped several classes.

Upon logging into Purdue’s website today, I found a notice that as of 1996, I was deemed ineligible for financial aid due to all this class-dropping and fucking around. Now I don’t know whether this is still going to hold true this year or not, but I hope to God not, or I’m screwed.

I’m really excited about the prospect of returning to school, and it would suck quite mightily if it all went up in smoke due to a lack of financial aid.

I cannot be off of my meds, ever. The world just goes to shit without my little sanity pills, and the universe has proven this to me time and time again since I’ve been fifteen years old.

I would do well to remember this.

In other news, B. likes to try interestingly-flavored nicotine solutions for the e-cigarette, or as I call it, the “smokey box”.

I like the chocolate mint. I like the ultra-mint. I do not, however, like the clove, the coffee, or the strawberry, which as far as I’m concerned tastes like Strawberry Ass.

Recently he ordered French vanilla, and I reluctantly loaded up my little smokey box to give it a try.

He looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

I coughed. “It’s like smoking a scented candle. A fucking Yankee candle.”

I’m sticking to the mint.

I don’t know whether you’ve seen the movie Velvet Goldmine, which is sort of a mock-umentary of the glam rock era, focusing particularly on characters based upon David Bowie and Iggy Pop, but I highly recommend it.

I think I liked it primarily because it led to conversations like this:

“Johnathan Rhys Meyers is way too pretty to be a guy.”
“That’s why Iggy Pop is in bed with him.”
“Well, I think we know who’s the butch and who’s the bitch in that relationship.”
“Yeah, I think I see Iggy as more of a giver than a taker.”
“Yeah, but look! He likes to spoon! Iggy is sweet.”

Regardless, it’s a good flick.

I would also like you all to know that I have purchased exactly one Christmas gift. One.

Santa: 10,367,298,102. Jen: 1.

I also have not baked a single cookie.

How is your Christmas coming along?

Happy Monday.

Today marks my eleventh smoke-free day, and I feel pretty good. I notice that I’m not as short of breath, particularly on the treadmill.

Go figure.

In other news, I am having the sort of ridiculous romantic feelings that make my brain want to implode. I’m really kind of reticent and stoic and have a stick really far up my butt when it comes to any sort of emotion, so this has me pretty spun.

I can’t get enough of B. I really can’t. I feel like I’m eighteen again, when I literally wanted to crawl inside of his body, I wanted to be so close to him. We sit on the couch and hold each other so tightly that I lose my breath, and for once, I know that it isn’t the cigarettes.

I am on the phone all the time, talking, texting. We see each other at least three times per week. I can’t stop looking into his eyes, for the love of God, what is going on with me? There is all this emotion and passion and bullshit, and it’s really just too damned much. I can hardly sleep.

I love it, though. I fucking love it, God help me.

Obviously aliens have taken over my body. Please excuse me.

Ahem.

In other news, the big news here in northwest Indianny is that a local teen who was being bullied for quite some time had the living crap kicked out of him by star football and baseball players. This happened at the high school the J-Man is to attend next year.

Apparently the students involved were not disciplined in the slightest, except for the victim – a kid of middle Eastern descent, hence the bullying – who was suspended for ten days for throwing one punch in order to try to defend himself.

The kid has actual brain damage from the beating. He is suffering visual disturbances and balance problems.

This enrages me.

The victim’s family is suing, and I hope they win, but I’m sure it will be of little comfort to the boy.

This is the sort of stuff that scares me shitless, particularly since my son is bullied on a regular basis. I just don’t have the words.

I don’t understand kids today. I don’t understand whether they act this way because they are being raised in a culture of violence, because they’re mentally ill, because their parents are complete and utter douchebags, or a combination of all those factors.

I wish I knew the answers, and I wish children could feel safe in school.

I wish I didn’t feel that I’m going to have to send my kid to high school with pepper spray and a bulletproof vest.

In still other news, if I got time to lean, I got time to clean. Sigh.

Happy Tuesday.

I am actually breathing today, which is a good sign, and I haven’t smoked yet, despite my rather insane stress level.

Good times.

I have, however, eaten my weight in M&Ms. In fact, I would like to personally thank the Mars/M&M company for getting me through this difficult time. Your addictive little candy-coated choco-pellets have been my saving grace and have prevented me from both smoking and choking the crap out of people who desperately deserve it.

I’m the Human Zit, but oh, well. Sacrifices must be made.

Yes, my stepdad is a douche, and yes, this situation sucketh mightily, and yes, I need to move; but realistically, I can’t right now. I don’t have the cash flow yet, I don’t have transportation, and I can’t pull J. out of school again. I just can’t. The kid, as much as he is not down with my stepdad, honestly likes his friends here and would be freaking traumatized if we had to move again. And I just can’t afford this area on my own.

It’s unspeakably lame, it sucks, and it’s going to be a bitch, but I’m going to have to suck it up and deal with it for the time being.

I don’t really have much of a choice.

My mother did speak to him about everything he said and he apparently retracted ninety percent of it under duress, claiming that B. is always welcome here and that so are the J-Man’s friends (ha). He’s also being extremely and uncharacteristically nice to me, so m mother must have guilt-tripped him pretty badly.

I don’t care, really. The damage was done.

Chalk this up to more emotional bullshit I can stuff deep down inside and repress only to bring up later through some sort of self-destructive behavior.

Heh.

In other news, it’s the weekend, which means I can escape to the movies (Rum Diary is looking great) or to dinner for B.’s birthday or shopping or wherever.

Anywhere but here.

Happy Friday, and happy Veteran’s Day to those who served, are serving, and will serve.

My living situation is starting to come to an ugly head, much like a particularly noxious pimple.

My stepdad, a notorious control freak, doesn’t really allow people in the house. This is just one of his many rules, along with “no dirty dish must ever touch the sink”, “vacuuming must be performed on a daily basis”, and other such OCD-inspired gems. The J-Man doesn’t have friends over, except for the hard-won sleepovers in the basement that are fought for once in a blue moon. No friends are allowed upstairs in his room, ever.

However, since I’ve been dating B. I have flown in the face of this rule and have had him over a couple of nights per week – not to spend the night, mind you, for that would surely get me shot, but simply to hang out and talk and watch movies.

My stepdad has previously voiced concern over my dating B. due to the fact that he also has neurological disabilities, which is something that left me reeling with anger and also disbelief. Should no one date me, either, for that reason? Are we both to be left in the broken toy bin so that we can be thrown out with the trash?

Fuck that weak shit.

Anyway, I’ve politely ignored his impolite nosings into my doings and have gone on about the business of wantonly daring to be with someone who isn’t your Average Joe’s idea of perfect.

Yesterday, though, my stepdad cornered me in the basement – my own fucking turf, mind you – and started to berate me, and the bon mots just began to fly from his lips.

Now before you read any further, keep in mind that A) I am a grown-ass, 37-year-old woman, B) I pay rent, and C) my IQ is over 35 (really!).

“Jennifer, I just think that either you are going to get really hurt, or this guy is, because you know you’re just NOT SMART when it comes to relationships.” (I can’t deny this, really, but for the love of Jesus, cut me a fucking BREAK. WHO IS? Are you, bitter divorcee with six kids? Are you??)

“You can do so much better than this.” (wildly intelligent, educated, funny, incredibly good-looking man)

“I mean, he’s not even a good-looking guy.” (Oops! I was wrong! HAAAAA) (This merits more discussion. B., probably easily the most handsome man I’ve ever dated, has a shaved head. Is this bald prejudice? I wonder. Could it just be that he’s not my stepdad’s particular type? MAYBE.)

That was all funny, but he then went on to tell me that if I was going to have B. over to the house that I needed to talk to my father about getting an apartment (one of my father’s many hats is local slumlord), because he couldn’t stand for People In The House.

Then he actually told me that I should move out and leave the J-Man with my mother, because I wouldn’t be able to care for him properly myself. You know, like I fucking do now. All because I don’t drive.

I was floored. I mean, did he actually think I would leave my own child?? The FUCK?

He then went on to tell me what a burden it was having me in the house because apparently my living in the fucking basement and barely ever, ever coming up for air really puts a crimp in his fucking lifestyle. “Your mother and I have no privacy.”

I find that odd, because the J-Man is always either in his room or downstairs with me due to his pure hatred of the asshole, and I’m ALWAYS downstairs, so I’m not sure what exactly I’m preventing them from doing. They sleep in separate bedrooms, they never kiss or touch or even sit next to each other on the goddamned couch, so it can’t possibly be physical. When they do have conversations, half the time they erupt into arguments, so he can’t possibly be talking about that. I remain mystified.

I’m also a fucking burden because I have unannounced seizures and take “too many pills”, though, so I already was aware of my Burden Status. I’m not too worried about it.

But to tell me I’m responsible for your shitty, stagnant relationship? Oh, no, buddy. Oh, HELL, no.

He berated me for a full half hour and I stood there and took it like a little bitch because I am in fact living under his Godforsaken roof, and then he had the gall to look at me and say, “I hope nothing I said offended you.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

I immediately e-mailed my mom and told her what had happened and I basically said, “Look, I can’t do this shit anymore.”

I can’t. I’m tired of living at home. I’m tired of living like I’m twelve. I need to move somewhere with some sort of public transportation or find some sort of transportation resources available to people on Medicare, and get the hell out of here.

The only rub is that the J-Man wants to go to high school with his friends, and this is sort of an expensive area. So I’m going to try to find some sort of part-time online work that could supplement my disability so that I could find a way to swing it.

I have to get the hell out of here. This isn’t the first time my stepdad and I have had blowouts like this, but I can guarantee you it’s going to be one of the last. I mean, it’s the next goddamned day and I’m still seething.

Ridiculous.

Anyway. What I should have done was told him to shove it up his ass, and I’m pretty upset with myself that I didn’t, but what can I do?

I don’t know why he wanted us to move in here. He has called J. a “fairy” and flat out told me he “doesn’t like the kid”, and he’s given me nothing but shit since day one.

At one point yesterday, he said, “This is not how I envisioned my retirement.”

To be sure, to be sure.

But you know what? I didn’t envision my life being cooped up in your fucking basement, either, buddy.

Asshole.

Yeah, it’s time to go.

Happy Thursday.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this manic in my whole life.

Would I have historically been this hyperactive a person had I never been a smoker? I wonder. Would I have been this irritating? God, I hope not.

I certainly hope my irritating factor is going to begin to wane soon, because I can only imagine just how annoying I must be. I am a pacer, a constant texter, a gum-chewer (GOD I hate gum and the chewers of gum), and a babbler. I don’t know what to do with myself and cannot sit down for more than eight seconds at a time.

Last night I finally had it with the insomnia and dosed myself with three two hundred-milligram Trazodones in order to finally knock myself the hell out. I slept for nine hours, waking up at two-hour intervals, but falling pretty quickly back asleep. Finally the bags under my eyes are looking less like large, ominous, garment bags and more like small makeup bags.

I don’t know what to do with all this unaccustomed energy. I would bake, but then I would undoubtedly eat everything I made.

I would run more, but my muscles are screaming.

I would write, but my mind is absolutely scattered.

I hope this starts to abate soon and that I’m not going to be a freaking hype for the rest of my non-smoking career.

I was under the mistaken impression that cigarettes were a stimulant and actually raised one’s blood pressure, when it appears that the opposite is true.

I had no clue.

I have absolutely nothing of consequence to say today, and I can’t sit down any longer.

Happy Wednesday.

Today is day three sans cigarettes, and during the first day and a half I had absolutely no nicotine whatsoever. I was like a hype, people. I was like a crack-craving, alley-skittering, likka-sto’-haunting hype.

I think that this was predominantly because I didn’t cut down on my admittedly exorbitant consumption of caffeine. You just can’t mainline caffeine when you’re not smoking, or at least I can’t. It just doesn’t fly. I need nicotine to balance it all out.

I was literally pacing around the house like a freak – walking up and down the stairs and driving everyone crazy.

Last night B. and I went to a freaking four-hour high school production of A Streetcar Named Desire, and so annoying was the actress portraying Blanche DuBois and so long was the performance that by the time we were out I was fiending like crazy. Thankfully B. had brought me his extra e-cigarette, probably due to the fact that he was sick to death of my manic phone calls and generally crazy state. It helped a great deal, and I’ve been hitting it sporadically ever since.

Afterwards we went out for coffee, and I had my first-ever cup of decaf.

I mean, decaf. What’s the freaking point? Still, I was trying to avoid snapping off and leaving a large, Jen-shaped hole in the restaurant wall.

Afterwards I spent the night at B.’s. Now historically, I don’t do well with sleepovers. I’m an insomniac who has to dose herself with tons of sleep meds even to successfully sleep at home, and sleeping outside of the house is damned near impossible. I was willing to give it the old college try, though, so I brought my pills along and my iPod (which I cannot sleep without) and hoped for the best.

Of course I forgot the extra sleeping pill that I usually take on sleepovers, because I’m an idiot. I probably could have taken one of B.’s (he is probably an even more chronic insomniac than I am), but I didn’t want to get into the nasty habit of sharing or trading meds. That involves a rather slippery slope.

I haven’t stayed overnight with B. since I was about 20 years old, so I neglected to remember that he: A) sleeps like a corpse, B) talks creepily in his sleep, and C) snores like a Mack truck.

Yes, I hit the trifecta.

At some point during the night he opened his eyes, looked right at me and intoned, “Bill (his stepdad), the clocks change tonight.”

Creepy, right?

And the snoring. The snoring was ridiculous. It wasn’t little cute “Snzzzzzz…” snoring. It was like “SNZAAAAAA!!!!!!!” snoring. I couldn’t even roll him over, because due to his leg issues he can only sleep on his damned back.

Then this morning, after a scant three hours of sleep, I woke up and looked to my left to see him lying perfectly still with his arms crossed and perfectly angled over his chest like fucking Dracula.

It was highly unnerving. I kept waiting for the morning sun peering through the curtains to cause his pale skin to burst into flame.

All in all, not a great night of sleep. It was nice to share a bed, though, if you don’t count the snoring and the talking and the creepy Dracula poses.

Plus, there was good strong coffee in the morning, which is not allowed at my house, where we make coffee with an entire pot of water and one damned tablespoon of coffee grounds.

I’m so not kidding. This is the House of No – everything is quiet, repressed, sterile, bland, and weak – even the coffee.

If you visited us, you would agree. It’s very oppressive. B. is afraid to talk here because he’s a loud talker and he’s actually been chastised for being too mouthy.

We started laughing one night in the basement and my stepdad was down here like a shot. “You’re going to wake up your mother!”

For the record, my mother sleeps like the dead.

Still, NO LAUGHING.

It’s no wonder I’m a little nervous. I am entirely too much person for this house.

In other news, I am still waiting to hear back from Purdue about re-entry into school. I’m really kind of excited. I’m even more excited about being about to default on my student loans again.

That will be a load off of my mind.

Happy Sunday from a very recent and very sleepless non-smoker.