2006-02-20 @ 8:57 p.m.
I have a severe case of cabin fever at the moment. Due to unforeseen circumstances, my work schedule has been non-existent. My Friday group was cancelled. Iím now one client short due to the fact that she finds me irresistible. No one has been out sick or on vacation so I havenít been substituting as co-facilitator for any group. The Presidents decided to have their own holiday and since Iím a mere part timer, I donít get holiday pay. ďAĒ is out on vacation. My painting class has ended and I have nothing left to do.
So there you have it...I feel just like I did before I had my p/t job. Totally useless and suddenly needing 23 hours of sleep a day. Yup. Isnít it funny how that works out?
My average day, lately has been kind of like this: Wow, its noon, maybe I should get out of bed. Naw. Its so warm and cozy. Why go outside where its snowing and the wind chill is minus 3? Iíve got soup, diet coke, yogurt and my incoming Netflix DVDs. I donít think I need to get dressed, other than to go down to the mailbox and get my latest episode of ďSix Feet UnderĒ.
Its amazing how much Iím like the characters on ďSix Feet UnderĒ. The alive ones, that is. (Well, for the most part).
Iím angry like Nate. Clingy like the mother. Artsy and sarcastic like Claire. Needing of affection like David. And Iím actually a carbon copy of Brenda, except Iím not addicted to sex. Although every scene I watch with her and her mother rings so true with me. Her being overshadowed by someone who is larger than life and who never encouraged them as kids or adults. Its almost painful to watch and yet I manage to get some good things out of watching their relationship from a distance. I guess its because Brenda is saying all the things I would like to say to my mother.
So I guess its safe to say Iím addicted to this show, but perhaps its not the best show to be addicted to in the dead of winter when youíre feeling depressed.
....Now when is Season Five coming out on DVD? March? I CANíT WAIT!!!!!! Squeeeeee!!!!!
Today, though, was one big pile oíexcitement at Casa deíwitty. I actually managed to get out of bed two hours before the crack of noon. Yay me! Nothing like crawling out of your tangled web of self loathing shortly before people have started lining up at Subway for a coldcut combo. First thing I did? The 1500 dishes in my sink. I poured some leftover rice down the drain and turned on my garbage disposal and heard the most god-awful metallic racket. I lifted up a pan and there was a piece of silverware jammed tines down in the drain hole. Fuck. I tried to pull it out, but it was obviously jammed in the gears. So I unplugged the disposal and tried yanking it out by hand, but nothing. I then got out my tool bin out (how totally Home Depot of me) and got a pair of pliers and wrangled with it some more. Did you know that swearing while using pliers helps dislodge things caught in your garbage disposals a lot faster? See, they donít tell you that stuff on ďTrading SpacesĒ. Too inflammatory. Some little kid might purposely put a spatula down a drain so they could yell "shit".
I actually lied about what I did first. I went to the bathroom. Yeah, I know. How shocking. witty pees. Sorry to destroy your image of me being all angelic and goddess-like. So I had gone to the bathroom when I got up. And I know I sometimes come across as a little surly in print, but in real life, I am such a
I then went and watched a little of ďThe ViewĒ in Las Vegas. Star Jones was trying to be as cool as Meredith Viera, but nobody can be as cool as Meredith. Nobody! For the longest time I thought Meredith was a girl I grew up with in South Florida. She really looked like her and weíre close in age. But alas, I recently read that she grew up, I think, in Rhode Island, so I guess sheís not the Meredith Johnston who was my bestest friend in third grade. Dang.
Anyways, so when Star wasnít preening for the cameras, there was that uber annoying blondie girl Elizabeth Hasselhoff or whatever her name is, to cringe to. She tried to run inbetween the Pussycat Dolls and be cool like them, but failed miserably because sheís like a total cheerleader and is about as zang as Star Jones thinks she is. I also think Joy Behar must have been on tranquilizers today, because there she was in Las Vegas, where there is a wealth of comedic material and all she said during the whole show was that she was nervous about an upcoming gig at the Flamingo Hotel. Get a grip woman. You work with four drama queens. Why would working in a Vegas hotel be any scarier than seeing Barbara Walters without makeup?
So I went back in the bathroom at noon. The shower next door was STILL running. An hour later. Hmm, thatís weird. I finally flushed the toilet, since I was all pissed off about my fork being caught in the drain thingie. Nothing happened though. No screams of ďahhh, cold water!!Ē from next door.
I then made lunch and watched the noon news. Lots of people getting stabbed and buildings burning down around here. I can see why. Its so freakiní boring around here in the winter if you donít ski or sip lattes at Starbucks. I then went in the bathroom again around 1. The freakiní shower was STILL RUNNING. Holy shit. What was my neighbor doing? Defrosting an 800 lb. turkey in the bathtub? No, I didnít really think that. I actually had to immediately reference a recent episode of ďSix Feet UnderĒ, in which a single woman had died alone in her apartment and no one found her for several days and her body had bloated up to about the size of Louie Anderson and ants had started eating her. So I immediately wondered if my neighbor had fallen and hit her head on her bathtub. Sheís kind of zombie-like anyways. Sheís in her fifties, has orange sherbet colored hair and never smiles. But by this time, I was actually starting to worry, because we were now approaching a two hour long shower from 11 a.m.-1 p.m. I didnít know whether to call 911 or call the apt. manager or what. I definitely didnít want to knock on her door since Iím kind of afraid of her, so I called my mom for advice. Ack. She thought I should call the apartment manager to check on her. But then, just as I hung up, and went into the bathroom, the shower went off. I couldnít believe it. I was actually kind of relieved, because I really didnít want EMTs to roll out a big ol' Louie Anderson sized stinky dead body past my door. How oogly would that be? Although she does have a really cool windchime by her front door. I wonder if I could have that? Oh witty, stop that. She just nearly died of excessive cleanliness. Be nice now.
But was my day of excitement and potential unconscious people over? Hell no. Most of my neighbors are elderly. We have a few youngsters, but its mostly either nutty people or people over 60. So about 2:30 I heard a loud rapping on my screen door. I virtually never have company. My mom no longer visits because sheís afraid of the large herd of mice who might be hiding in my apartment ready to gang bang her foot. So I ran to the door and *gasp* it WAS my mother!! And I had already started writing my entry. It was in clear sight on my computer. *gasp*. But she was all agitated. Well, thatís fairly normal, but she said somebody had fallen down on the stairs. So I immediately grabbed my phone and jammed it in my pocket, which seemed fairly intelligent, right? What I wasnít smart about though was 1) I didn't put a coat on despite the fact that it was only about 20 degrees 2)Nor did I put on shoes (I was only wearing socks. But damnit! I did have my phone with me).
So I ran the entire length of the building and looked down the stairs and one of the old ladies 4 doors down was leaning against the rail looking dazed and confused. Her groceries were strewn all over the sidewalk, so I ran down the stairs and asked if she was all right. She kept saying she thought she broke her wrist. I kept asking her if she wanted me to call 911 and she wouldnít answer. I then asked her several times if she had hit her head and she said she didnít think so. I then offered to take her to the nearby medical center and she said no. I really didnít know what she wanted, so I just picked up all her grocery bags and asked if she could make it up the stairs. She clung to the railing, and seemed to be walking ok, but once she got up to the landing she was swaying and walking crazy and I had to support her as well as carry four bags of groceries. My mom had come out of my apartment finally and helped support her on the other side. We kept offering to take her to the hospital and I asked her repeatedly if she hit her head, but she just kept mentioning her wrist. We finally got to her apartment and she was able to get to her keys. I brought her groceries in and set them on the floor next to a really cute kitty who looked like it wanted to run out of the door.
After I left her off, I immediately went over to the nitwit maintenance guyís apartment. He is suppose to keep the snow and ice cleared so people wonít kill themselves. Unfortunately he only does the bare minimum work, like scooping one thin line of snow off the walkways. I just complained to the landlord in my last rent check about how bad the mailbox area was. He wasnít shoveling there at all and it was extremely icy and snowy. And Iím also the person who cleans our entire walkway everytime it snows. Not Dewy the Dork. So he finally stopped by my apartment almost 30 minutes later and asked me where it was icy. GET A CLUE, GRANDPA!! I had already told him. And I told him someone had fallen and they had probably broken a bone. He just shook his head like I was giving him directions to a fucking bingo game.
Amazingly with all the stuff that supposedly happened (old ladies falling and getting knocked unconscious in their showers) and really happened (old ladies falling on ice), Iíve actually kind of snapped out of my depression a little today. I felt useful and necessary. Its funny how something so small, can help you slay something so big (depression). I just wonder who Iím going to rescue tomorrow....
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty