I'm sitting in the bedroom I share with my husband, my cat and a pit bull. There's a glass of box wine sitting next to me, the air smells like dog farts, and I am trying to figure out if drinking wine in bed with no pants on while writing a blog is an alcoholic thing to do or just a fucking brilliant example of multitasking.* Also I am trying to figure out what to say.
Over half a year has passed since last I wrote in this blog beloved and read by millions. It's surprising how time flies when you're alternating between states of near transcendent irritation and anxiety with a good heaping of a work schedule that could fell an ox and a pay scale that, until recently, made McDonald's employees shake their heads in pity and wonderment.
A lot has happened in the past seven months. Most of it fits into that whole crippling anxiety/irritation category of human experience. For instance, I was working for a while there as a substitute security guard at a high school, and if that isn't a bucket of fucking chuckles I don't know what is. Also, I spent a few months dropping by the animal shelter in tears to not visit my goddamn cat because apparently that whole being visited in cat jail thing just confuses them. I don't know why I was so upset about an animal that I am fairly sure would have eaten my face in my sleep were the rapture ever to come, but there you have it.
Some of what life dealt me, however, was good. My cat was rehomed, likely because the shelter people were sick of dealing a deranged woman crying in the hall outside of Witzie's room. I got a new job that doesn't make me want to reenact Leaving LasVegas. And I joined a roller derby team. Because nothing works for crippling anxiety quite like careening around on a goose shit slick track at breakneck speeds.
I love it.
So that's all the writing I have in me right now. You can go away. Unless you were reading this blog for the clown porn. In which case, sorry. I just put that in the labels to screw with people googling clown porn. It seemed funny at the moment. I don't actually have anything on clown porn here.**
*Answer: It's a fucking brilliant example of multitasking, of course.
**Please don't send any. I was raised Catholic, y'all. Not that I believe in that shit. But guilt is just like radioactive waste. I'll be dead ten thousand years and still feeling guilty about something I said when I was fourteen.
Over half a year has passed since last I wrote in this blog beloved and read by millions. It's surprising how time flies when you're alternating between states of near transcendent irritation and anxiety with a good heaping of a work schedule that could fell an ox and a pay scale that, until recently, made McDonald's employees shake their heads in pity and wonderment.
A lot has happened in the past seven months. Most of it fits into that whole crippling anxiety/irritation category of human experience. For instance, I was working for a while there as a substitute security guard at a high school, and if that isn't a bucket of fucking chuckles I don't know what is. Also, I spent a few months dropping by the animal shelter in tears to not visit my goddamn cat because apparently that whole being visited in cat jail thing just confuses them. I don't know why I was so upset about an animal that I am fairly sure would have eaten my face in my sleep were the rapture ever to come, but there you have it.
Some of what life dealt me, however, was good. My cat was rehomed, likely because the shelter people were sick of dealing a deranged woman crying in the hall outside of Witzie's room. I got a new job that doesn't make me want to reenact Leaving LasVegas. And I joined a roller derby team. Because nothing works for crippling anxiety quite like careening around on a goose shit slick track at breakneck speeds.
I love it.
So that's all the writing I have in me right now. You can go away. Unless you were reading this blog for the clown porn. In which case, sorry. I just put that in the labels to screw with people googling clown porn. It seemed funny at the moment. I don't actually have anything on clown porn here.**
*Answer: It's a fucking brilliant example of multitasking, of course.
**Please don't send any. I was raised Catholic, y'all. Not that I believe in that shit. But guilt is just like radioactive waste. I'll be dead ten thousand years and still feeling guilty about something I said when I was fourteen.
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