the year of the psychopath.

at this moment i’m listening to my bathtub fill with steamy hot water. i’m eating ben & jerrys (mint chocolate cookie or something similarly delicious). it’ 7:52pm. on a saturday.  please understand that it pains me to admit that i’m eating the most cliche at-home dessert on the most cliche of all days of the week, alone, while filling the tub for a bath (seriously, excuse me while i go throw up). but yes, on special occasions i even put on a real wire bra instead of my go-to best friend, the sports bra. sometimes i even paint my fingernails (or have someone do it for me). sometimes when the planets align and i’ve recently watched a brilliantly made hallmark commercial, i succumb to girl world. look, it’s been a rough week. (for the record, i hate gender stereotypes. show me a man who wouldn’t love to eat ice cream and plunge into a porcelain bath. seriously, show me. unless he’s lactose intolerant, you can’t).

since the turn of the calendar into 2013, i’ve been in a funk, and not the james brown kind. i slipped on ice and ate it in my parking lot (no one was around to see, but i’m sure the youtube video from a neighboring window will build a view count even sneezing pandas can’t compete with). my computer died and then came back to life and then died again. i lost my money playing video poker (when i usually break even and/or clean house). i budgeted and crunched numbers, then robbed a bank, and finally decided i would invest in a new computer, to which the red shirted apple employee said, “sold out. until february.” i got the flu. i’ve had it ever since. add on a rough day at work and the fact that i’ve been watching episode after episode of it’s always sunny in philadelphia and there’s your explanation to the ice cream and the tub dip. (seriously, watching repeated episodes of that show WILL make you feel like a terrible person. at first it’s funny. then it’s just sad. then suddenly you’re watching a bunch of racists/sexists/alcoholics trying to get a dumpster baby into a tanning salon bed for their own personal gain, and you realize that you yourself are just as horrible as “the gang.”)

worst of all, i’ve been easily annoyed by people who have done nothing upsetting. take away all my rants and feeling sorry for myself, this is when it turns into not ok. but despite my normal can-do attitude, my attempts to remind myself of my adopted mantra “happiness is a choice” and other care bear rainbow feel goodery, i’m just grumpy, and down, and sick (flu, y’all, like miss 3 1/2 days of work, nose is a faucet, sound like you’ve been a chain smoker for 142 years, coughing up lungs, kleenex should start endorsing me, really, really, ridiculously sick).

so it all just feels like crap.

i have to acknowledge that these are all what they call “first world” problems. no one i know has died during my funk. no one is terminally ill (that i know of). i’m complaining about replacing my old mac computer with another mac computer. the fact that i’m using the word “funk” means that none of this is crucial, or even that important. i get it, shut up white girl. i couldn’t agree more.

normally i try my best to share stories of new found hope, finding myself, silver linings, good vibes, yeah, yeah, blah blah blah. when i share them, i really mean them from the bottom of my heart. it’s part because i believe we all need a little more positivity in our lives. it’s part because i need to believe for myself that despite all of the hardships we encounter, no matter what number world we come from, our fate and our happiness lie in our hands (at least in part- attitude of gratitude, ya’ll).

but seeing as i’m horrible at vulnerability, intimacy, and more, i rarely admit when i’m not ok. there are few people i open up to, and i cringe with the thought of publicly announcing it. i usually hole up with high calorie desserts, movies like sleepless in seattle, and albums like damien rice’s O on repeat. a few days later, i’m back to “me” and re-enter the world without anyone ever knowing. add on not shaving, and it’s basically like being a werewolf.

maybe it’s the turn of the new year, maybe it’s my new found word vomit hobby that appears here twice a week, but i’ve decided i need to start being ok with not being ok.

so forget the lunar new year and forget the snake. 2013 is the year of the crazy girl. we all have our ups and downs. we all have our holes and mountains. it’s about time i started admitting it.

so here it goes: i’m a werewolf psychopath. and you know what? it’s ok, even when it’s not.

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2 thoughts on “the year of the psychopath.

  1. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with ice cream in the tub on a Saturday night or indulging in romcoms like Sleepless in Seattle, myself… but then again, we grew up in the same house, so maybe it’s, like, hereditary. The werewolf gene is too, you know 😉

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