2006-04-22 @ 3:02 p.m.
No need to send out an APB, I’m here. I’ve just been under the influence of the newly prescribed heavy medications this last week which:
1) Make me so antsy, I can’t sit more than about 3 minutes without feeling the need to peel off my skin and feed it to the hellhounds that are barking at my front door. Yeah. That’s about how I’ve been feeling. And try sitting through boring meetings at work. My solution? Draw bizarre images inspired perhaps by the tiny, psychotic artists trying to escape through the various orifices in my body.
And what’s funny about this particular image (the color was later added in Photoshop at home) was that underneath it, I wrote: ‘Where ever you are, that is the entry point.” Wow dude, you are so incredibly deep!
2) I can’t even sit still at home, and its less about cleaning my house head to toe, its just difficult to sit in one place because I feel like every inch of my body is hurting and its bothering me no end. I still haven’t got my massage and I’m about ready to stand at a highway exit with a huge hand lettered sign that says, “Will work for a massage. Jesus loves you.”
3) And despite feeling extremely tired yet having the energy of 12,000 ADHD kids, I am getting absolutely nothing of value done. I did manage to work more hours than usual this week but only because I want to get a newer car in May, because I’m tired of worrying about the condition of the Ford Tempo of Doom and whether all 4 tires will disengage simultaneously and I will become airborne as I come in for a crash landing at MacDonald’s drive up window for my $1.00 hot fudge sundae or whether some careless smoker will toss a still lit cigarette under my car which has a hole in the gas tank and the Village will make the National News as having their first suicide bomber when in fact, it was only my old piece of shit car reacting to a lit cigarette.
4) My two murder attempts on my co-workers life. Yeah. I guess putting your hands around someone’s neck and squeezing kinda qualifies for something along those lines. Of course my coworker probably thought it was a sign of affection and will probably want to propose marriage sometime before mid-summer, although during our last meeting, he did fess up that I was kind in direction opposition to absolutely everything he said, and he thought it might be on purpose. Ya think? YA THINK??? Its either the medicine or the fact that you brought in a third person to co-facilitate our group without conferring with me first....the person who created the group and wrote the proposal for funding and who still has serious doubts on whether you can even pull off the subject matter. So aside from medications, what was going on?
SUNDAY Easter was good. My aunt and uncle took us out to dinner. My cousin who was supposed to give me a massage was there. Did I say anything about her not showing last week? No. Fifty lashes with a wimp noodle. She was bad mouthing the massage school though. On the way out the door I asked if there was any chance of getting a massage from her and she leaned in and went “Shhhh! Maybe at my house.” So, who knows, maybe she’s quitting massage school. But in the mean time I still need about 23 massages in the same day. I just haven’t put my finger to a phone dial. I might go get one of those aqua massages today at the mall. They’re only $10 for 10 minutes and you control the amount of pressure applied to your poor pain ravaged body and they don’t tell you you’re part of their family and talk dirty during the massage like certain other massage therapists I know did.
MONDAY Morning meeting at work. Lots of antsy discomfort and the surprise third person coming into our group meeting. Later at home I watched the entire final season of “Six Feet Under” and wept uncontrollably as they showed how all the main characters died.
TUESDAYMy supposed day off. The weather is beautiful, but my pain is so negligible that I stayed home most of the afternoon except for a considerable haircut which thus far nobody has noticed. Yay me! I then started to get ready for my new Portrait Drawing Class at 6:30 at the local junior college. I hadn’t signed up in advance so I had to deal with one of those housewive who have gone back to work after all their children have grown and they’d actually rather be going to a sale at J.C. Penney’s than doing their job. This lady was particularly dense in the ways of college registration. I brought the college catalogue with the class info. First she said there was No Such Class. I pointed it out in the catalogue. Her: “Are you sure that is the current one?” Yes. Her: “Its not on this square box with the key thingies” (I think its called a computer, lady). After about 5 minutes....Her: “Oh, here it is...It looks like it was cancelled. Yes. The class was cancelled. I’m sorry.” Me: How can it be cancelled, I just called the instructor at home this morning?” Her: “I have to go ask someone, wait a minute.” By now there is a small crowd gathering, who not surprisingly, all have art supplies. The big bulletin board at the entrance doesn’t have the class or location on it, so everyone is confused as to where to go. More time goes by. I walk to where this woman went. There she’s chatting happily with some other empty nesters about a three bean casserole she had made on Easter.
EXCUUUUUSE, ME? Can you please finish with the art class registration??!!??” Her: “Oh, sure, honey.” Come to find out, the class was in the computer. It just had the misfortune of being the first one listed and she couldn’t see it.
Our hottie Eye-talian teacher was late, but from what I remember last Spring, he was always late last year too. And sadly, he can still never remembers me. I’ve taken 4 nights of classes, gone to one of his portrait painting demonstrations and have seen him at another teaching series night and he STILL doesn’t remember me or my name. (sniff). We did have a model, although she kept her clothes on. The class was a mix. Two teenage boys, 3 twenty something girls, one old guy, one old Eye-talian woman who turned out to be the teacher’s auntie and me. The first half hour the teacher drew a portrait of the woman to show us how its done and that was really helpful. He does do a lot of measuring which I have trouble with, but maybe I’ll learn. So we started in and the old Eye-talian lady turned out to be one of those motor mouths (why oh why is there one in every art class??) and she was doing the old, “Oh, I can’t draw anything and everything looks boxy. Maybe I should be Picasso. (you should be so lucky). Finally near the end of the class she started walking around the class looking at everyone’s work. I could feel her presence behind me and suddenly she says, “Thanks for making the rest of our work, look like crap.”
Dear part of brain to interprets compliments: Was that a compliment? I guess it would depend on how bad the rest of the classes’ work was, huh? If they totally sucked, I would have to get up and punch Rosa Picasso in the nose, but if everyone else was good, then my work wouldn’t be half bad, right? I guess I’m confused, because whenever my mom would give me a compliment, it was always one of those back-handed kinds.
So here’s the image. Not one of my particular favorites, but it actually did look quite a bit like the model, which is quite an accomplishment for me. Usually they look like somebody in Finland.
WednesdayDid a newsletter for our art group. Did a support group. Took my client out. Saw my case mgr. Discussed my hospital stay. I haven’t told anyone about it. Originally I was going to tell my boss, but thus far, I’ve only told her of my change of meds to explain my extreme fatigue. Didn’t go to my Wednesday night art class. Was too tired and Charlemagne wasn’t going to be there. I need some fun and if he’s not there, its a drag.
Thursday Did a focus group for an easy $25. “J” looked at me all moo moo eyes when I came in. And then when we switched locations of the meeting to a larger room half way through, he immediately swooped into the seat next to me. I have not been sitting next to him lately, in an effort to literally distance myself from him. NO MORE MARRIED MEN. We did walk out together and just when we got to the reception area, one of our female crazies, who was yelling at our receptionist, suddenly turned, looked at me for like 2 seconds and screamed “You long haired, scarlet toed harlot!!”
I wished I could have returned the favor and said, “What? You scrawny, ugly, stinky ferret faced little nutball.” But as usual, I had to be politically correct, and say, “Have a nice day” but it was really put to the test this week. I will make short work of what happened. My car was vandalized. I’m about 99.99% it was at work, because at where I live, its about 90% elderly people and they may be odd, but they’re not violent.
What I first noticed was a big blob of spit on my driver’s window just by the rear view mirror and I was like ewww! Gross. Because it was mid-way up the window with long spirals of spittle dripping down the window and forming a puddle of DNA on the window sill of my car. Now before I go on with the description my boss asked me if I had seen the psycho lesbian chick who had been harassing me about a month and a half ago this last week. I said ‘No” but there is one day of the week she is still allowed in the building (much to my anger) and I always have to sneak around hoping not to see her, because frankly, I’m afraid of her violent ways). Anyways, someone (coughpsycholesbianbitch) keyed my boss’ new car this last week, and then suddenly this big blob of anger spit appears on my car and then I started noticing other things on my car. Now you have to understand my car is an old piece of crap and damage is hard to spot on an old piece of crap. So after hearing about the car keying and already knowing about the spit, Itook a closer look at my car. Guess what? Go ahead guess?
The driver’s side of the car had a bunch of, how shall we say this, toe divots all over the door. It looked like somebody had tapped an entire “Forty Second Street” dance musical number on the side of my car, including one really deep dent. But of course, this wasn’t enough, for someone who is angry at someone who, by the way, never did....
to this woman, except help her with problems, help her with medication issues, help her with employment options. Yeah, I know, I sounds like a real skanky bitch for sure, and I’m certainly finally getting what I deserve. Weapons of dumbass destruction.
The real finale though, which I didn’t actually notice until Friday was a crack in the corner of the driver’s side windshield, you know, right by where the spit is. THAT was not there earlier. I only know this because my car inspection sticker is due next month, and being obsessive like I am, I have been looking at the sticker obsessively the last two weeks, thinking, gah! I hope I don’t forget it, and then suddenly there is this two pronged crack coming up from the edge of the windshield. So it definitely wasn’t there as little as 3-4 days ago. So the spit, the tap dancing on my door and the broken windshield are less than a week old.
My boss’ suggestion? Well, initially she said we were going to do a police report. Now she only wants me to do an incident report with the company. I don’t have windshield or glass insurance on my car. I dropped it a long time ago for both financial reasons and also because I didn’t know I was going to be stalked by a psycho bitch with a penchant for property destruction.
Know any good jobs for long haired, scarlet toed harlots?
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty