Ducking Fucks

I’ve stayed in my room 95% of the time except to randomly put foods in my face and rehydrate. I’ve been listening to moody music til I got bored and now it’s Panic! At the disco and the killers. I’ve napped off and on all day, but have not needed any vistaril which is supar grate.

For having been on so many meds, I am so weirded out by meds that 50 mg of prescription Benadryl has me at like epidural level of labor pain type panic attack anxiety chaos, and Im like “just fucking lemme meditate another hour maybe the twitching will die down. Damn. Be patient!”

Context Clues / Related Content Links throughout

Stranger Things: My Hot, Psychotic Biopic

Yet, if I let myself take the vistaril, sometimes the meditation or rest IS a scoche easier because maybe the twitching did die down.

So, what I’m saying is balance. Sometimes, really, just take the vistaril, take the time out, take the nap, take the psychotic break, whatever just… stop trying so fucking hard and be being as long as you can.

Take your Self deeply seriously, make fun of your problems. You’ll win every time. Trust me, it was me making fun of my Vistaril (non) predicament that got me to take it. It was me changing the station by mocking my dingleberry blues that got me moving. It was me deciding fuck it to literally everything in my life to stop having so many ducks fucking me up. I’m not even correcting the autocorrect. Blame is a useless emotion, but goddammit I blame the ducks.

When I becomes We, Illness becomes Wellness

I wish I had the ability to get anybody close to me to understand that – for all the games they play, they’ve never seen a boss level like my brain, and I have to bob and weave that shit just to not drool all over myself and defenestrate myself on the daily. (That means throw myself out of a window, which is far less dramatic then it sounds, as I live in a rancher. It’s what plant I land in that determines the drama) ah well, babbling on the internet like a modern day drunken philosopher who’s not drunk works too. Whatever.

Who wrote your dictionary? Full post

Bring out yer Memes! Psychotic Breaks and Apropos Meme’ing: Change your life in 90 days… or better?

What? The Ducking Duck


Last night, I got ze daughter to cook with me using promises of making her fave French onion dip, potatoes, and make your own pizzas. Onions made her cry and she complained her arms hurt from shredding cheese and chopping veggies. Couldn’t not point out that they all leave me to cook dinner by myself all the time, and nobody wonders if my arms get tired. The “queen” of retorts was retort-less. Heh. Taught another important lesson of clean as you go, and got lots of eyes rolling and whining. Like, seriously, tell me. If a dish goes unwashed in the kitchen, and “only I can see it”, whose responsibility is the dish?

Almost burned the carmelized onions bc of this sky

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