In like a lion, out like a tyrannosaurs rex with a toothache. That’s how I plan to get the hell out of Massachusetts.
I just can’t pretend to be a positive, roses and rainbows shooting out of my ass kind of person all the time. Sometimes I need to be pissed off. Sometimes I need to cry, vent, scream, consider leaving everything and everyone in the middle of the night and never looking back. Yes that includes Matt. Yes that includes myself.
This winter has got me spazzing out. I mean more so than any other winter before it. The dark parts of my brain, the murky sludge that I usually only reserve for my incidents of road rage, are spilling over the edge of the infinity pool and seeping into the crevices of my generally happy personality.
And fuck it. You know why? Because I can’t always be fucking happy. I can’t always see the light at the end of the tunnel. I can’t always be this upbeat, positive clone of the self help cookie cutter nation. And I don’t need you to tell me to be, I don’t need a fucking cheerleader. I need to scream, to vent, to curse as much as I like, to be angry and tell anyone saying things like ‘I love love!’ to just fuck right off.
My roses and rainbows became covered in ice, wilted and snapped off only to be plowed up with the snow into a big gray pile of muck onto the curbside. A place that is quickly diminishing in size as we speak.
I don’t expect to win the popular vote here, and frankly that’s of no consequence to me anymore. New readers might be highly offended but you know something, I’m not sorry. It’s not my fault you’re offended, this is my journal and I can say anything I like. If you can’t handle it then that’s that then. So be it. The people who are still around clearly get it, and me, and I could probably name them right now. But I won’t. I’ll let all of you decide for yourselves.
The thing is I admit to being multiple personality, bipolar, schitzo or whatever the fuck you want to call it. Sure I own a company and gee aren’t we always supposed to put our best foot forward on the internet so all our many customers (read: 2) will understand we’re the most awesome of awesomeness? Yeah. Okay. Whatever.
One of my two customers will probably offer to give me a high five after reading this for finally getting it the fuck off my chest so I’m not really too worried about it.
As far as the other one is concerned…guess time will tell on that. Oh well.
I snapped hardcore yesterday or the day before, I don’t really remember and I’m not going searching to find out. But ask Matt and he’ll tell you that he was probably even a little afraid of me. Well maybe not me specifically but rather what I might do to myself or others.
We have so much snow that I literally can’t see out the bottom of my living room window. (This is the only window that allows any sunlight to enter my apartment so it’s pretty vital it doesn’t get covered over. Oh yeah and its about 12 feet off the ground level, so that should tell you how much we really have.) Quitting smoking became a joke. We’re slated to be (without wind chill) at temperatures below zero (the coldest in years according to the weather people) on Tuesday. More snow is due to arrive (maybe another foot) on Wednesday. I’m still showering with my neighbors every fucking day. My bedroom is an ice box. Yada, yada, yada…
This morning was just the last straw.
This morning, our heat went out.
I just can’t fucking do this anymore. Sure the landlord was here in minutes and had a plumber out in no time. Sure my neighbors lent us a space heater. Sure I have fleece lined ski pants and wool socks.
But every cell of my being begs the question WHY? Why should I have to worry about this shit? Why should I have to own fleece lined ski pants? Why am I still living in this vast expanse of barrenness? It’s like a wasteland where wind blows and whips swirls of snow at nothing because there is nothing for it to hit but me. Its icy cold takes over.
And by that I’m referring to my own head.
I need to go. I need to go right now because if I can’t get out of this head place I am most certainly doomed. And no amount of journaling or talking to a therapist is going to change who I am or the things that irritate the hell out of me. Winter irritates the hell out of me. This fact hasn’t changed in 37.65 years and I don’t see it happening now just because everyone is trying to tell me to stay positive and that spring is around the corner.
Fuck that. I can’t do this anymore.