  Rantings of a Depressive I would say that I've woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but this would imply that i had, in fact, slept. I missed a prozac, possibly two, and I feel undermined; everything is wrong, and of course, keeping up with the fucked up narcisscism that is my brain, that everything just happens to be me. When Kurt got home this morning from work, he left me know that Pizza Poppa was pissed off at me, because he told me to stay until three am. I did not, because the Lunkhead told me that I was to go home at twelve, because, never fear; Lunkhead was there. Pizza Mama had warned me a few shifts ago not to listen to ANYONE there regarding instructions of any kind, unless I had got confirmation from herself or Poppa. She had further told me that people, in particular, Lunkhead, was cuthroat when it came to hours, and would try to get as many from me as he possibly could.
I forgot these salient points, and Lunkhead not only got me into a moderate to mild bit of trouble, he sharked hours that were mine. The latter is not so important, the former very much is. As long as the bills get paid eventually, and I do not develop a nervous breakdown, good. Having one of your bosses reckon you flaked out on him is Not Cool. I am planning on phoning tomorrow to explain what happened, and further plan to confront Lunkhead on that front, as well as the whole talking-to-me-like-i'm-a-complete-git thing. But fuck.
I listened and Obeyed LUNKHEAD. Very dumb. And, i know i mentioned it earlier, but do i ever feel like slime when i think of that old lady being afraid of Lucas. Wow. The term "sorry" I hardly ever use, because, literally, it means wretched and foul. For the most part, when I appologize, I do not feel like that, so I tend to say 'i appologize' rather than 'sorry'.
In this instance, I am extremely sorry. i'm sick. My ear hurts, my back and chest hurt from coughing, I have a headache, my throat is sore, and I've just popped three extra strength advil to take the edge off. I don't want to touch the mold with a ten foot pole with a condom on it, but yet, it's gotta go, even if it does reappear in a week. My moronic landlord called all in a tizzy two nights ago for us to have certain items waiting for him on our step because he would be there in ten minutes to pick them up; it's still patiently waiting. I feel right now like I am incapable of doing anything right.
Bills loom, sickness lingers, I should have vaccumed my floor a week ago, and I'm on the little-to-no-sleep sleep schedule. i've got a funky feelings like there's holes in my personality all over the place, that I lack in moral fiber, I'm iresponsible, that I'm a big meddler in other people's lives, I'm dumber than the lint in a dryer, am unlikeable, am worthless. These thoughts have nothing to set them off, and that somehow makes it worse; I'm just a freak who needs attention, is a mental hypochondriac, and have no rational, good, or solid reason to feel the way I do. There is no cause for this mental pain; I'm just being silly, oversensitive, whatever. And I'll sleep in a bit, take my pill for the day, and be most evened out tomorrow. It just doesn't seem to make any sense at all that these feelings of self-pity and depression, as deep and all-consuming as they are, as they feel right now, can be exorcised with regular doses of a serotonin reuptake inhibitor.
Neither does it make any sense that a pill I've relied on to even me out every day has pooped for no reason at all,. Paxil, Effexor, Zoloft, Celexa - each one lasted a certain amount of time, and i woke up one day, and it didn't work any more. On to the next: repeat. Celexa was the last, and lasted the longest; two years. I'm always in the state of waiting for the other shoe to drop. How can you escape feelings of dread and futility when the very thing you're relying on invariably becomes dreadful and futile? 
