Saying that I have a lot going on in my life right now would be an understatement. In two weeks, we will be taking all of our earthly possessions, jumping in the car and moving cross country. We've already done the cross country move once before, but now we are moving to a state that we've never so much as visited and are spinning the wheel of fate and hoping for a good fit.
Ohio; The absolute scene for comics. Which of course gives Jude the fits and makes him hold his hair and scream like a girl watching The Beatles perform on Ed Sullivan.
Where the food industry tests their products because they consider it's citizens to be a perfect small sample scale representation of the entire US, wrapped up in one red-meat-burgered, American state.
Where I, aside from a few girls I've met on the internet who might not loathe my high level of neuroticism just yet, don't know anyone.
I'm simultaneously excited and terrified.
So lately, with all the stress, I've gone a little nuts. And when I say a little nuts, I mean I realized that I'm bipolar, called my doctor, crazy word vomited into her phone, thought I was going to be committed for a couple days (which didn't happen, much to my dismay) and I was given some fun new happy pills to take. So I am officially, but unofficially (because one visit does not a diagnosis make, so I've been told), bipolar. And stressed out. Like, really, really stressed out.
As I like to do, I'm gonna give you guys the crazy person 411- From what I've experienced so far mania, is like all of the televisions in the electronics department of a store are on at once and they are all up just loud enough that you can hear them all, but can't make out any one single monologue. Even if you try to calm down and focus, you can't. You absolutely can't think clearly. Your mind races and it's going a mile a minute, just trying to keep up with the constant stream of nonsense. And I mean nonsense. I got caught up in the stupidest shit. Apocalyptic monstrous, erupting volcanoes got made out of mole hills. Not only that, but I would wake up at 3am and check my emails and realize I wasn't tired anymore. I wasn't sleeping. I was barely eating. I drove everyone around me absolutely fucking insane until I pushed them away.
Then I hit the depression. One day, I just woke up and all the televisions were unplugged. I started sleeping 12 hours a day, falling asleep once more after waking to drive my children to school and then not being able to rouse myself from the couch until noon. I wasted an entire week where all I did was sit on the couch and lose the battle with my eyelids. And oh my God, did I ever want to act irrationally. There is this itch there, screaming to be scratched. It's an acting out, a tantrum of epic proportions that you're supposed to have grown out of by the age of five. If I _________ will someone show me _________ and prove to me that they like me? It's completely selfish and immature. But it's like a hardened scab whose border is just starting to pull away from the skin. The desire to pick at it is too strong to ignore.
So yeah, new pills. So far, so good. And we set out in two weeks. 15 days to be exact. Let's hope I haven't molted my skin, began carving numbers into my face and worshipping Satan. Although, to be honest, I would do almost anything to make sure that all my earthly shit doesn't end up smashed to bits during the travel. So hail dark one, my soul is thine if you don't let those truck driving fuckers smash up my porcelain figurines. After moving cross country twice in five years, I think I could do hell, no sweat.