This last week I had begun to sleep well again. I’m unable to pin point the cause of this pleasantness but possibly its related to getting back into reading. Depending on my state of wellness my reading habits ebb and flow and this week they’ve flowed. I’ve found solace and escape from my own life by enthralling myself into the lives of others. Alas tonight there is no such escape. I can’t sleep and wish only that I had a hand to hold my mind to keep it from wandering off. It’s doing that frustrating thing where it relives situations over and over again, longing for a different outcome. It dissects every conversation and seeks meaning and hope where there is none to be found.
Three literary quotes crossed my path today and I’m trying to find what comfort I can from them.
The best laid plans of mice and men, ere oft do go awry.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
To err is human, to forgive Devine.
Given my headache and burning eyes, these quotes although helpful to understand the human plight is all the same, are bringing me little comfort. We really are our own worst enemies.
It’s 4:28 am and I have not slept so if you’ve read this post and thought “what the actual fuck is she talking about?!”, I hope I can be forgiven.
Today started off well. I had a day off alone which is was nice. I like being alone. Here was my day in pictures:
This day was good. I spent it watching Parks and Recreation season 6 and consuming my week’s worth of calories in chocolate and champagne. Then it went downhill. I started thinking about that day in July that I tried to kill myself. https://lazyanxiousgirl.com/2014/07/27/
That night i had this song on repeat: I watched it over and over again and cried as hard as I could cry.
I’ve got that song on repeat again. I’m remembering the blood running down my arms from the cuts I made and the police pounding on my door. I can feel the knife in my hands, the pills in my throat, the sadness in my heart. The freedom I felt from knowing it would all be over. I want to make it better but I can’t. I want to be happy but I can’t. I wish it was easier. I wish things could be perfect.
My pills aren’t like they were then, I wont try to kill myself now, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about it. I remember the times when my head told me to step in front of a bus. It told me that no one cared. It told me that it would be better if I felt nothing. It was right, but wrong at the same time. Things are not perfect but i will carry on because I need too, because I have to. Because I am needed.
In case Madison square garden didn’t have enough money already…. They host several tours daily for a nominal charge. I became one of those people that pay that nominal charge.
While I write this somewhat sarcastically it was actually almost interesting. We chose the tour day on a day that the Rangers were playing which meant practice would be underway. I think that if the practice wasn’t happening I would have been highly disappointed with this tour.
We were able to see the boxes and fancy parts of the arena I could never afford to sit in normally. I wish I could have farted in a fancy seat but of course I had the travelers bum.
The concessions are filled with NYC classics like Carnegie deli and Jean-George’s, no KFC for these New Yorkers. They have an original Zamboni.
The Rangers had finished their practice and the Wild were in session.
We were rink side for some of the practice but they had security there to make certain that we didn’t take any pictures. *cough* bullshit *cough*
On the way out some Knicks “dancers” we’re on their way in.
The highlight of the tour really was after being searched, my daughter pretended to search me herself while we waited in line. She decided to announce that I had a “hidden gun”. Sadly no police take down ensued. “Officers please, no. Stop. Ohh, yesss. Mmm”
I’ve been to NYC about 10 times but this is the first time I’ve brought my children with me. The drive there was horrific with more “are we there yet?”s and sibling harassment/backseat beatings than anyone could tolerate. I had to take a lorazepam to ease the anxiety it cause me being in a confined area with my children. I wish the car had a limo partition that I could have rolled up.
In my visits to NYC I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Central Park but never playing. This time the trip was kid-centered so several playgrounds were visited. Each is very different and has its own unique bit of awesomeness. I particularly enjoyed the Billy Johnson playground with its granite slide built into the hill. It’s fast enough already but everyone knows you go faster sitting on a piece of cardboard so there is no shortage of box squares on hand.
In Central Park it is perfectly acceptable for adults to be playing on the equipment as well, even if you don’t have kids.
I finally found the antique carousel which had no line and a lengthy ride for the low price of $3. My horse was bitchin’
I visited the zoo for the first time as well. For its size its actually quite lovely and well laid out. As we stood watching the red pandas my son said “can we go? I’m so bored.” Then I said “Are you fucking kidding me? We’re at the zoo in NYC and you’re bored? You ungrateful bastard!” Okay, so that wasn’t my exact response but I was certainly thinking it. When I was young, on car trips you looked out the window. That was your entertainment, none of this watching movies and playing on iPads and STILL complaining business. The trip was full
Of whining, complaining, beginning and arguing. Despite my efforts my children have become little monsters requiring constant entertainment. I’m going to have to work on that. Until they become better behaved they are not going on any vacations anytime soon. They have reinforced for me that I am my own favourite travel partner.
The hotel I’m staying in tonight has a bidet and there is no way I was going to not try it.
Really a bidet makes sense. If you got shit on any other part of your body, on your arm say… You wouldn’t just wipe it off and say “yeah, good enough”. You would be washing that shit off your arm properly.
The dial had two settings, various levels of “wash” and various levels of “nozzle cleaning”. I decided “wash” was probably what I was looking for. Apparently I was not accurately positioned because cold water sprayed all up my back. I slid myself back and there it was, cold and wet all up in and around my business.
I tried “nozzle cleaning” next and the spray went straight down into the toilet. I put my face down there for a closer look and absent mindedly kept turning the knob. This resulted in a refreshing ass spray in the face.
Ass spray in face aside, my ass does feel quite pleasant right now. So clean. such refresh. Wow.
Now that I am aware of my non existent-mild psychic powers I need to respect them and believe that thoughts come into my head for a reason. On two occasions my mind went to survival scenarios today; once when participating in my urban sustainable agriculture course discussion and a second time at work when phones and computers were down and we discussed the 2003 North American east coast black out.
Why twice in one day? It’s enough for me to feel the need to be more thoughtful in my knowledge and prepared with the right tools. Sure, I know how to create a crude water filter for an emergency and I know how to make a clay pot refrigeration system using evaporation, But is that enough to survive? No, probably not. I don’t carry cash or have a pantry full of preserves. I also don’t know how to catch a squirrel (sorry small friends but this vegetarian would have to survive somehow). While I don’t actually envision a zombie apocalypse, a black out or natural disaster are quite feasible. By the way, for emergency short term use your own home can provide you with safe drinking water in the reservoirs of your toilets and in the hot water tank (there is a release valve at the bottom) you’re welcome!
I don’t think I will become one of the extremists or “preppers” as they’re called, but I certainly could be better prepared than not at all. Some neighborhoods actually coordinate their prepping efforts with different families acting as specialists in certain areas (medical, gardening etc). For now I have bought two survival books and some flint stone. That seems like a practical tool to have. I could start 1,000 fires for the low price of $1.49!!!!!
I didn’t buy one but those para-cord bracelets seem pretty popular, and oh so fashionable! Maybe Santa will put a pink one in my stocking.
You might be laughing now but it will be me who’s laughing when I sit on a hot summers day sipping my cold clean water while I watch you slowly suffer from dehydration and heat stroke.
I am pure shit at this doing new things thing. Gawd, I’ve cried on my birthday before, get a new damned thing. I’ll find something by the time I’m done writing this. Maybe.
I don’t know why I’m crying, nothing has happened and it’s not related to my birthday I don’t think. I’m old enough that birthdays don’t matter to me anymore. There have been some people today that I was surprised to hear from which was nice but expectedly there were some people I didn’t hear from at all (my family). I’m used to my family not remembering my birthday so surely it’s not that making me cry. My only birthday wish was to go out for dinner, which didn’t happen because one of my children had a hockey try out. Of course I don’t resent that, obviously that is more important. My weekend plans with friends were also cancelled due to an illness. I don’t blame them for being sick though, it happens. I’ve often said, the best plans are cancelled plans!
Sleep continues to elude me unless I take a sleeping pill. I can’t take them two nights in a row though because they don’t work the second night.
Work is fine although I find myself casually seeking other positions with increased frequency. I grow tired of the malicious manipulation of colleagues. Unless one is self employed though I suspect that is inevitable anywhere.
I wish I had a hamster that would let me dress him up in tiny sweater vests and bow ties. Actually I’d want a female hamster. Literally half of a male hamsters body is balls.
Depression is a dirty cunt whore that doesn’t care when the fuck she comes to pay you a visit. You could be all hey, it’s sunny, I’m alive, I ate some great cake and then dirty cunt whore walks up with her slutty skirt and smelly ground found cigarette and she’s all like “hey baby, you wanna feel sad? Yeah, let’s cry a little. just like that”
I’m going to buy some zombie garden gnomes on Amazon now. I wish I could shop with my fingerprint on Amazon like I can on iTunes. I’m going to make a circle of zombie gnomes around myself to scare dirty cunt whore away.