So today at the pool they got one of the older men in our water aerobics to dress up like Santa and come out – ho, ho, ho. He then proceeded to do a full monty strip down to a special G string before he popped into a side room to get into his swim trunks. Ho, ho, No! Something I can’t unsee now. Brr. Shiver. I have a picture of a baby blue g string with Santa’s face placed just SO beneath an aging barrel-shaped stomach. Gods, nothing would turn you off faster to Xmas than that.
Saw the new Star Wars – or should I say the reboot of Star Wars. It wasn’t a new story. Well filmed; the 3D was brilliant. Liked the main characters. The cameos were okay. But the Star Wars universe was always weak in several areas, and the new film doesn’t tighten anything up or make the universe better in any way. Still plot holes you can drive a truck thru.
I’m fat and lazy and reluctant to talk much about how I feel.
My RA is active. I’ve got those tireds on me that I just can’t shake. I could jack myself up on caffeine from here to Xmas and still sleep. So I’m in caveman mode, grunting a lot ’cause grunting takes less effort than speech. And sometimes a grunt is so eloquent. I can say I hurt, I’m tired, and I don’t want to do it all with one proper uh.
Somewhere today, right now, people are being brilliant. Not here; not me. Wish it were so.
Another day ticked away with games and naps and films. I’ve got so fucking much to complain about in my life. Yeah, that’s sarcasm. Today I just can’t give myself a fucking break. I am a log. Worse, I’m a water-soaked log. Complete waste. Just want to lay here and do squat. No think, no talk, no write. Just float and smoke and be completely unproductive and unbrilliant.
Got another rejection on a story. Meh. Can’t be bothered to raise a reaction.
Will I finish the story I was so hot-to-trot on the other day? Don’t know. Don’t fucking care.
Oh, this is MAH-velous. I can’t even fucking complete a goddamn paragraph without pushing my brain to fucking pick out enough words to do it. My thoughts are short, and closed tight. No open doors to wander though and find my merry way. No epiphanies to sustain me. Just fog. And soul draining exhaustion.
Well, fuck you, head. If you’re going to remain blank I’m gonna put Dutch in there. Go and chew on that.
And my mind says yeah, go ahead and try. See if you can stay awake. See if you can remember. Betcha can’t. Betcha can’t do it.
Fuck off, asshole.
Just talking with Blah and of course she gave me the word I needed. Anhedonia. Got it bad. Real bad.
Another step down that slippery slope. 6 days to go ’til my appointment.
George has flown the coop. Seems all the ducks have; couldn’t find one in any of the canals this morning. Maybe he was only here to get me through the time before my appointment, anyway.
Sad thoughts are near the surface. The tide is rising again. I can’t raise a smile. Can’t muster more of a fight than to just dig my heels in and stop. Stop thinking, stop feeling, stop everything.
For ME, for the part of me that promised I’d try, I’d do anything to keep going, I’m taking a fucking quarter Ativan today. There. Done. If I’m truly going to do nothing, the least I can offer myself is time relaxing for my aches and pains. Not a day tormented, trying to keep myself occupied and failing until I’m ready to scream.
Uh. I’m off to do battle today with no armor, no shield, nothing to keep me safe. If you want to kill me, please do so quietly while I’m sleeping. No need for me to wake the fuck up.