Boogie shoes

It's the closing weekend at PI, so we all went out there last night while it was still free. Got out of work too late for the Adventurer's Club, but oh well. It's funny: the other time I went to PI I was dolled up and tanked up and ready to rumble, and it was... meh. Last night I looked frumpy in work clothes, had awful hair, wasn't really into drinking, and it was alright. Had a really nice time. Got home waaaaaaaaay late, and I hafta work soon, but hey, I got some sleep, the weather is gorgeous, and today is my Friday. It's all good.

I smell funny!

I just finished starting colortesting and dyeing my skirt fabric for Halloween. It's a three step process- I've done the first part, so my house now reeks of stewed tea and various Rit dyes, the bathroom is swathed in enough Glad bags for a body disposal, and my fingernails look like a zombie movie, but I can't clean up 'til the fabric is dry enough to take off the shower rod. And I hafta do this twice more, once with a stamp and once with sponge-and-fingerpainting. It's really fun stuff, especially since it's the first time I've wanted to do anything Lovett-oriented in two weeks, even with all the materials at hand and loads of work left to finish.

I love the Klonopin, the effects are amazing, but I'm praying so hard that this bloodwork will find a concrete reason I've had to deal with these periodic difficulties for so many years. Bonking into a car windshield and coming from a weird clan (sorry, Mommy, a one-really-weird-and-one-semi-weird-sided clan?) shouldn't be enough to produce... this. Hm. Then again, maybe it should. I don't want to do the shrink thing, I don't want to be on permadrugs, I just want to be normal. Not super-happy-chipper, just... not crazy. I'd like to keep Not Getting Fired for at least a little longer- even with better car insurance, the Tardis isn't free!

How do you spell relief?

Klonopin is amazing, y'all! I know benzos aren't for long term use, but I am blown away at how much one measly dose helped. I got thru my short night at work with no problems. Yesterday I was shaking like a dog and trying not to cry or barf if someone asked me how much a one day ticket costs, today I was perfectly okay. That is one good thing about years of scary-brain episodes: the lows are so, so horrible that when you actually feel normal again it's a red letter day. Tell ya what, I may stockpile the rest of those little yellow buggers 'til next time it gets truly ugly, just for the insane niceness of the relief.

Mood altering drugs + fried chicken = fun afternoon?

All's I know is, either these meds had better work or the bloodtests find something actually physically wrong that's fixable, cause I can't handle feeling this awful for much longer. Y'all know how I feel about drugs: I want a here's-what's-wrong-and-here's-the-fix-it-takes-one-dose-and-it's-cheap answer. I can't function in public hardly at all right now, I'm nearly catatonic in private, and I'm physically sick on top of that. This bout showed up and worsened really suddenly and swiftly (I was FINE Labor Day!), and it's a pretty bad one. I mustn't keep missing work, but I can barely function in my job when I'm there, so I'm constantly freaking out, which makes the attacks worse. Dammit, these drugs had better help. Or at least be fun to watch cartoons on. My new doctor isn't too bad (well, I only saw his PA), and they were helpful in checking for a couple of shrinks my insurance will cover (NOT that I want to go that route, but she wants me to 'see someone' in case I'm crazy rather than just offbalance). The lab stuff should be back by Monday, so maybe they'll find something actually wrong, and I can decide what to do from there. It's not a great feeling, waiting to find out if your body needs fixing, or if you're... just an insane person. This is why I prefer drinking.

I used to think that the day would never come

I was outside just now, peeking down at my Autumn-sized neighbor. She's got a Hello Kitty wallet, a folded, dirty dollar, a tin box full of dirt, and a pointy stick. Plus a pudgy friend visiting. I badly want to know what she's digging for- worms? fairy corpses?- but if I made my presence known, it would ruin everything. Being grownup is such CRAP sometimes.