I’ve tried on lots of mottos over the years. A few that come to mind are:
Just Do It. Tomorrow.
Don’t cry over spilled milk. Scoop that shit up and put it in your coworker’s coffee. (I’ve never actually done that. See Motto #1.)
Convince the world that fur is deadly to cats and dogs, so they will shave their pets. Burst onto the market with faux fur coats to keep pets warm. You’ll be a hero. And rich. (Again, see Motto #1.)
Frankly, the only one of those three to ever gain any traction was the first one. As evidenced by my lack of success with the second and third options. There have been others, but I don’t want to give away all of my lame brilliant ideas.
My current life motto is something that’s sort of been playing on loop in my head for the last few months. You ready for it? This one is for seriouses.
I’ll be dead soon.
That’s right. My current Life Motto is: I’ll be dead soon. It’s not nearly as morbid as it sounds (only it kind of is, but only kind of). Let me show you how it works:
Stephanie is trying to lose weight.
Stephanie receives a coupon for $5 off her favorite pizza.
Stephanie exclaims, “I’ll be dead soon, anyway!,” and orders.
Stephanie is trying to save money.
Stephanie receives a coupon for Mod Cloth.
Stephanie exclaims, “I’ll be dead soon, anyway!,” and orders.
Stephanie is trying to save money.
Stephanie receives a coupon to a book store.
Stephanie exclaims, “I’ll be dead soon, anyway!,” and her TBR pile grows.
Stephanie has a raging headache.
Stephanie is suddenly in the mood for hip hop.
Stephanie exclaims, “I’ll be dead soon, anyway!,” and cranks up the jams as loud as they’ll go.
Do you see the problem? Stephanie needs to stop receiving motherfucking coupons, that’s what. No? What the fuck do you mean I’m abusing my own motto? Oh, shit. You mean, this?
Stephanie is being bullied at work.
Stephanie thinks to herself, “I’ll be dead soon…should probably make a change.”
Stephanie is afraid of change and remains in a soul-sucking job that makes her physically ill from stress because she’s a fucking pussy. (I really hate that word when it’s used like that. But whatever. That’s what came out, so it stays.)
Stephanie has doctors who have failed proper diagnoses and treatment of serious problems.
Stephanie thinks to herself, “I’ll be dead soon…this is no way to live.”
Stephanie is afraid of change and feels strange obligations even to doctors, so she stays and allows her health to diminish.
Stephanie dreams of moving to the Pacific Northwest.
Stephanie thinks to herself, “I’ll be dead soon…I should pursue my dreams while I can.”
Stephanie is afraid of change and stays put, pining away for greener grass.
So I really am abusing my own motto. I started saying it to myself precisely for the more serious things I need to address. But it slowly shifted to being used for less serious things (that also end up damaging me when I give in), and I continue to give in to my fears and worries. I continue to stagnate and wallow in my miseries and what-ifs.
I need to work on these things. I seriously do. Maybe once I’ve worked a bit on my mental health, I’ll be stronger, more confident and better equipped to tackle things like my hopes and dreams. Hey, you know what? That’s something I have actually worked toward!
Stephanie suffers from severe depression, for years.
Stephanie thinks to herself, “I’ll be dead soon…why am I content to hate myself and my life forfuckingever?”
Stephanie finally makes appointments with mental health professionals. And has actually kept them so far. And will continue to do so.
In the meantime, perhaps a Motto Upgrade is in order. You know how people say things like, “I’ll work on it when I have time?” I’ll let Henry Rollins wrap this up for us.
Today’s post brought to you by:
The Letter M (for Mottos and Motherfuckers and Mastur…nevermind) and
The Number 99 (ask Jay Z why, since his life is so hard) oh, and also by
Josh, since he told me to get off my ass and write something for fucks sake (I know that sounds like something I would say, but those were his exact words. Get him!) (Also, that’s not quite true.) (Get him, anyway.).
I know some of you are curious as to how my second session with Diane went. Let’s say it went poorly, and I will not be back to see her. For now, let me leave you with this tidbit: There were a few moments in the new “feelings” journal that had words like: hyper, smiley, playful, mischievous. She latched on to “playful” with a vengeance. And, knowing very little about me, said that any time I ever felt hyper and especially playful that it was at least as negative as my hopeless moments. She said any time I demonstrate playfulness that I’m doing either one of two things: manipulating people into laughing so that they would give me positive reinforcement that I didn’t get as a child or trying to cheer someone up like I always did with my mother.
It is a mistake to see playfulness as positive. You need to work on that at least as much as your depression.
I found it highly irresponsible of her to tell me that all of my brighter moments were at least as negative as moments when I’m wishing I hadn’t woken up that day. How much of a fucking moron does one have to be to say that to a woman with known suicidal ideation? Good thing I mostly heard it for what it was: the ravings of an absolute fucking moron.
Oh, oh, oh! I almost forgot this one!
You revealed a lot in few words. Next time, I expect to hear about how your childhood led you down the path of becoming a sexual deviant.
I nearly laughed in her smirking, self-satisfied face. I refrained. With great difficulty. I wanted to march to her bookshelf, grab the nearest bullshit textbook she was spewing this nonsense from, and chuck it in her face. Again, I refrained. With only slightly less difficulty.
In the effort of full disclosure, those aren’t exact quotes. But I did record that bitch this time, so I can go back and listen if I wanna. Right now, I don’t want to hear any more out of that woman’s mouth. Suffice it to say those words are at least very close to exact quotes.
My mood ever since has been dark…empty and numb when I’m lucky. It’s not all her. Work is a son of a bitch right now. More specifically, Queen Bitch must have something sharp and rusty stuck up her asshole. It’s the only thing that can explain her psychotic behavior these last two weeks. (And yes, I do know the definition of a psychotic.)
So. As a giant fuck you to both of those bitches, I’d like to intentionally change my mood for tonight (and hopefully the entire weekend).
~ PLAYLIST PARTY ~
I’ve had the idea to ask y’all to help me work on my playlists for some time. But Chevvy8 crystallized this for me in a conversation we had about those times you need some good ole music therapy. I believe Chevvy called those the times when you “just gotta shake it!” So that’s what I want to do now!
I’ll start us off with several of the songs I keep on hand to kickstart some fast-paced, upbeat funtimes. Not all of mine are exactly dancey songs, but those fit in extra-well on an upbeat playlist!
Please, please please join in and drop your upbeat tunes in the comments! Let’s party, Peopleaneous!
First up, Chevvy starts us out with a little OutKast. Can’t really go wrong with OutKast!
My #1 stand-by for times just like this: Hump de Bump!
She Wants to Move (Yes, yes she does.)
A little Swedish House Mafia never hurt anybody.
And now I gotta cut loose.
Here’s to shit getting a little Out of Control.
Because it’s been a bitch of a week.
Uptown Funk (me up)
Bounce Baby! (Bonus points for being local.)
I Wanna Dance with Somebody (I really do!)
Let’s start a Quiet Riot.
And last but certainly not least: Feel Right, y’all.
I’ve started this post no fewer than five times now. And I keep highlighting all of the text and pressing delete. I should take that as a sign that I shouldn’t post anything today.
I don’t feel well. I mean, I’m seriously beaten down right now, y’all. And I can’t find the words to adequately express what I’m going through. I keep trying, but it’s not connecting. It doesn’t resonate. Suffice it to say I’m incredibly sad and hurt. And I feel like an abused puppy. You know that saying about kicking someone when they’re down? That’s how I feel right now. And, though it’s hard for me to give myself enough credit to say that those feelings are valid, they really are. I have every reason and right to feel the way I’m feeling right now. Except, the darkest of the thoughts are dangerous. So I need help.
Yesterday, I cried all fucking day. Well. Off and on. And your stories and posts and laughs and sweet words pulled me through. And one person in particular helped me so so much. I feel indebted to you especially, and to all of you for being awesome.
So. I’m going to be selfish right now. I need a favor. I don’t want pity – please, I mean that sincerely. I don’t want to be told to chin up; tomorrow’s a new day; it could always be worse; blah fucking blah. You know?
I want your best jokes. Even if they’re the superlame ones – those are my favorites. Like this one:
A skeleton walks into a bar.
He orders a beer.
And a mop.
Y’all, that cracks me up like you would not believe. So hit me me, please, with your jokes and puns. Ohh, I really love puns!
Oo, oo, or you could link to funny blog posts! Yours or someone else’s. Yeah, yeah. We could exploit this as an opportunity for self-promotion.
Yes, I am shamelessly and selfishly asking you to make me smile. To remind me, again, that there is good in the world.
Drew at From the Machine gave me the Starlight Blogger Award. You’ll find a good blog there and a new friend if you haven’t met already. Please go for a visit.
This one has such a special description, so I told Drew I would do it. But I’m going to modify it (even though I know damn well the rules say no tinkering).
The description states that the giver is “to think at the light emanating from the stars, the ones that truly touch your soul with their work, the ones that are the light for you, a true starlight blogger.” I know sometimes we just throw names out there, because nominating can be such a fucking chore. Especially for someone like me who works herself up into a mess of emotions even thinking about picking people (because that always means leaving shit tons more OUT). So the fact that Drew picked me for this actually does mean something to me. Look at that description, for heavens sake. I can’t live up to that. But I’m flattered. Truly. And Drew is a great person…so please go check out From The Machine.
As for the nominating, I’m not doing it. I know the point is two-fold: to acknowledge bloggers who are important to us as well as to help spread the word about blogs that you may not have discovered yet. But there are heaps of ways to do that. And as for acknowledging, I hope the ones of you who are “starlight” for me already know that you are. Because I hope I’ve been showing that to you with my words. But I can’t do the nominations thing – y’all have no idea how much anxiety I have over picking and choosing and leaving people out and hurting feelings. Maybe it’s all the serious rejection issues I have. Let’s chalk it up to that. Blah. Enough of that.
This is a happy, touching award. And those of you who touch my soul know it. At least I hope you do.
Three Questions from Drew:
If you could go back in time 10 years and give yourself one piece of advice, what would it be? Let’s see. ONE? I think it would be good for me to hear: Don’t forget you’re going to be dead one day. You get one life. One life. Get in the driver’s seat and drive, because the people currently driving aren’t concerned about your needs. Take control, because if you don’t…you’ll still be only riding shotgun ten years from now, struggling to take control of your own life. If you think everyone else deserves to be happy, then you’re a fucking hypocrite to believe that you’re the one exception to that rule.
Who is someone that has profoundly inspired you in one way or another?Mamaw. She taught me that no matter how poor you are. How friendless you are. How many illnesses your body is assulted with. No matter how many holes and leaks there are in your floor and ceiling and life. No. Fucking. Matter. What. You can still strive to be positive and be an extremely positive force in the life of others. You can always give, because the best gift you can give another is the gift of self. Thank you mamaw. And The Aussie. To never quit. To never give up. To always strive for personal growth. To never let the darkness of your mind keep you so far down that you give up on life. To never lose your sense of humor. To accept help. And to always be there for those you love. No. Matter. What. Thank you Aussie.
What is your favorite film (or top 5, if choosing just one is impossible)? Uh. Shit. The Brothers Bloom. Into the Wild. The Goonies. The Fountain. Oldboy. Howl’s Moving Castle. Good Will Hunting. Fight Club. The Machinist. Burn After Reading. Grave of The Fireflies. Laputa: Castle in the Sky. Waltz with Bashir. The Breakfast Club. The Count of Monte Cristo. Yeah, y’all. I can’t pick just one or even five! Grrrr.
I’m not sure how many more of these I’ll do, if any. Here’s the thing: I love doing them. And they’re super flattering and actually mean more to me than you know to be thought of as worthy of anyfuckingthing at all. The fact that y’all are even here, reading, liking, commenting, hell my brain still hasn’t accepted it. I’m humbled and grateful, truly.
The three that I’ve done so far, plus the quote challenge, have been fun. And I also love answering the questions. But. At the same time, they do stress me out. Particularly with the nominations, a point which I’ve probably beaten to death by now. Not only that, but I don’t want to get to the point where I’m doing more of this than purging the things that are on my mind and need to come out.
I’m on the fence, though. Because I truly do have fun doing the questions and seeing y’all’s answers (hell yeah I just double apostrophed!). I mean, hell, the community is a big part of the reason I’m here. Otherwise, I’d just keep a fucking journal, right? So I’m also thinking about doing them, but maybe designating certain days for it. Like doing any unfinished ones every other Saturday or something. Anyone have any thoughts they’d like to share on awards and how you do or do not handle them?
Before we get started, let me just get this out of the way. You see that word up there? Ugh, not that one. The other one: Peoplleaneous. Yeah, that one. Dude. I fretted over that far longer than I should have. The way I should spell it, I mean. And this is what I settled upon. While I’m still not pleased with it, take it or leave it. (Please take it. It would miss you if you left it.)
Chapata One: The Pep-Talk
Now that bit of housekeeping is taken care of, let’s move along shall we? This morning started off well enough – better than usual, actually. I got this little grand idea of starting the day off with a pep talk from shaunk84 over at Tales in Anxiety. (Please check him out if you haven’t already. Good stuff.) It’s sort of like a verbal note-to-self to start your day off in a positive way. Since I spend so much of my time telling Stephanie what a right piece of shit she is, I know full well how powerful the words we speak to ourselves can be. So I put the pep-talk to the test.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror (just a regular one on the door of a medicine cabinet) in my bra and underwear and. Yeah. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t muster the strength while she just stood there all naked and gross. So I gave myself some wiggle room.
I cranked some jams, on and up. Damn, I haven’t done that in ages: listened to music while getting ready for work. That used to be part of my morning routine. Then depression took it from me. Well, I’m taking it back. I played Kenna’s “Make Sure They See My Face” album, because it’s one of those than seems to have a knack for getting me moving in spite of myself. This song in particular had me hopping around and smiling:
I went to get dressed for work, got all my shit together, then returned to the bathroom mirror. Psyched up and ready for myself.
This time I managed to do it. I didn’t say much…but I looked myself in the eye and said something like, “You got this.” It was all mumbly and weird. So I laughed, raised my voice a little and looked me in the eye and said – bolder, louder – “Today is your bitch, and you’ve got this shit!” Then I opened my mouth, stuck my tongue out and shook my head back and forth, hands throwing that sign.
You know the look. Dear god, I hope I didn’t look as much a twat as he did/does. I did, didn’t I? You know what? I don’t give a fuck. It worked! I was embarrassed with myself, but I did it. And I was smiling, to boot. Smiling. On the way out the door. To work. Quelle surprise!
Chapata Two: Chinks in the Armor or Revenge of the Oatmeal
I managed to maintain that smile for an hour or so. And then I bit into breakfast, only to find I’d have to return to my dentist. I had a filling yesterday, so it wasn’t like I was eating bricks. Not for at least a couple more days yet. It was oatmeal, for fucks sake. And I suddenly had the sensation of an epidural-size needle (those ten-foot ones they show in the movies – that’s what they use, right?) driving straight through my jaw. Like some badass motherfucker was trying, with all his might, to pierce my skull. Yay me!
My armor suffered chink number one.
Then Queen Bitch of the Universe got to work. And commenced to being Queen Bitch of the Universe. Who gets even bitchier when I refuse to bow down. Then I let her talk me into going to lunch with her (the fuck is the matter with me?), where – you guessed it – things got even worse. It got so bad that I cried at my desk after lunch, before remembering that I’m in my thirties FOR. FUCKS. SAKE. and need to take ownership of my life. You don’t survive in Corporate America by being the nice girl. Your heart and soul get thrown into the blender, and they serve that shit alongside the stale-ass birthday cake on the table outside accounting.
My armor suffered chink number two.
But I started polishing up my LinkedIn profile. Emphasis on started. I am one thousand percent shyte at networking. But I am going to improve on that, damnit. And I will get out of this shithouse job and into a new shithouse job if it’s the last thing I do!
Then I go to the dentist, and he proceeds to drill down my new filling….sans any numbing agents whatsoever. No little anbesol swabby thingy. No shots of anesthetic (yes I meant that to be plural. I’m a bitch to numb.). Nada. It was the best time I’ve ever had outside the time I broke my tailbone in the bowling alley.
My armor suffered chink number three.
After that, I decided to hell with it. I’m not going back to work this late in the day. So I headed to some department stores to look for shoes (for those stupid insole thingies that the podiatrist had me order). Went into four shops, none of which had a single friendly salesperson and none of which had any appropriate removable-insole footwear for sale. One lady was so mean that after she insulted me and walked off, I grabbed a credit app off of the check-out counter and scrawled a message in Sharpie: “Some customers actually do need assistance and aren’t just wasting your time. You could have gotten a commission off of me. THANKS FOR NOTHING.”
Passive Aggressive much? Yeah, I know…I know…But do you have any idea how hard it is for me to darken the doors of places like that, much less actually shop around, try things on, blah blah blah? Fuck it. I’m ordering online and will deal with returns if the size is wrong.
My armor suffered chink number four.
And then it happened. The dam burst, and I cried all the way home.
Chapata Three: The Squirrels Lay Siege to The Veggie Patch
After changing into comfy shit, I flopped face-first onto the bed and got the rest of my crying out. Got up. Blew my nose. Sat back down on the edge of the bed. Even the cats wouldn’t greet me. I mean, what the fuck man. I nearly called it quits on the day right then and there. Take my evening meds early so I wouldn’t miss ’em and just pass out and sleep ’til morning.
But the rain had broken. There was a drought here of several months, which suddenly broke on Saturday, and the rain hasn’t stopped since then until this evening. I looked out the window, from my perch on the edge of the bed, out toward Veggiopolis, and knew this could be my only shot for a few days. I needed to check on things and get some garlic in the ground.
I remembered my pep-talk. I remembered shaunk’s words. I remembered how good it felt to smile this morning. I remembered all the shit you hear about outdoors being good for you. And I forced myself out the back door. I wasn’t happy about it. I wanted to sulk and cry and feel sorry for myself and hate the world. But I did it. I got off my ass, and I did it.
Task #1 was to clear the eight thousand five-hundred seventy-six tons of pine-straw off of The Veggie Patch. Task #2 was to plant some garlic. Task #1 taken care of (holy balls, bending over that much makes me dizzy…), I move on to Task #2…
But wait. Wait a fucking minute. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!
I think the proper question is, what WAS that? Look at all of that disturbed earth. The upset twine. The missing…that little fucker. A vicious squirrel has launched The War on Veggies. He stole my pre-pubescent carrot and maybe even ate him. If I allow him to continue his shenanigans, Veggiopolis will become Veggiopolis-adjacent!
Ask me if he stopped there! Do it! Ask me! Oh no. Ohhhohohooohhhhhno he most certainly did not! Behold!
Have you any idea what that is? Let’s take a closer look, shall we?
Y’all know what time it is? It’s time to go to the mattresses.
You know what I’m gonna do with that poor underdeveloped tater? I’m gonna make the world’s smallest potato cannon and go Rambo on some squirrel ass!
Then I’m going to cook up some squirrel patties…hmm. We can’t call them burgers. Let’s call them squirgers. I’m going to cook squirgers and one-third of a french fry out of that tater. And then I’m going to go outside, sit with my legs propped up on the timbers of Veggiopolis, and eat that squirger and one-third length french fry right in front of the squirrel’s entire family.
“No, Stephanie! You mustn’t! That will incite revenge!” you frantically exclaim.
To which I say, bring it bitches. Do your worst, for I shall do mine. I’m going to fashion tiny daggers out of
any remaining carrots. And I’m going to arm the gnomes to the teeth.
To. The. Teeth!
In the meantime, since Tom Petty won’t back down, I figure I shouldn’t either. I mean, what’s good for the Petty is good for the gander or something like that.
I’m fighting back with garlic. Behold the Spanish Roja. Beware squirrels. And vampires. And especially vampire squirrels. And Bunnicula.
King’s to you, Squirrel. King’s to you.
Chapata Four: Stephanie Prevails
The Veggie Patch shenanigans made me smile, and I prevailed. Yay me.