It’s funny that at the beginning of this year I really thought I could make and follow through with a goal to blog every day. EVERY EFFING DAY. Because now I’m sitting here at the end of June thinking “what the hell could I write about today, it’s been a while, so I should write SOME thing” – and you know what? There’s nothing. I’m on the couch, goofing on the internet, biding my time until So You Think You Can Dance comes on (who’s your favorite? I’m kind of partial to Melanie and Rian. I don’t really watch the boys when they’re dancing, in my opinion they’re just there for the lifts). I’ll probably do a couple of crossword puzzles since there’s 2 & 1/2 hours to while away. Lenny is sitting on the arm of the couch right next to me, desperately trying (and failing) to keep his eyes open. I’ve lost 5 pounds. My fingernails are painted blue. See? How boring was all of that information? You’re probably sleeping at this point, or clicking over to some other blog – I would be.
I’m finally feeling better y’all. It’s amazing the difference my little pills can make – judge me if you will, but honestly? I can’t feel this way on my own. I had forgotten what it was like to be the regular me – you know, me-with-no-drugs, and wow, I lived like that for so much of my life. No wonder I think back on my twenties with nothing but horror. The past few months were the worst kind of struggle – it’s difficult to even get out of bed in the morning and then you have to pick out clothes to wear and try to make it through an entire day of work without breaking down in the bathroom. But, the point, my friends, is that the new and improved me is back – the me-with-happy-pills and I just want to say, if I ever think of going off of the meds again please come to my house and do this. Why would I think that? Because that’s what us morons with mental illnesses do, we start taking our medication, it makes us feel so fucking fantastic that we forget it’s the meds and not us and we think “I feel fucking FANTASTIC! I don’t need medication!”
Anyway – I feel better. Except I’ve somehow strained every muscle that attaches my neck to my back and I can’t move my head at all or it hurts. Am I just really old? I mean, it happened in my sleep – maybe I was battling the forces of evil in my dreams? Or maybe my bed is just old and crappy, and my pillow is probably bottom of the line. Anyway – I look like I’m doing the robot, wish you could see it.
So what has happened in the last few weeks while I’ve been laying low waiting for the drugs to kick in… oh right, I cut all of my hair off, got a whole new wardrobe, watched every James Bond movie ever made, got sucked into this season of So You Think You Can Dance… oh! And I (finally) officially changed my name, Anjeanette A. Carter at your service.
So that’s it, my re-entry into blogging. Nothing to write that’s mind altering or earth shattering, just “hey, it’s great to feel like Anjeanette again!” – I promise in my next post I won’t talk about depression or medication. I’ll think of something really witty and interesting. Or just mildly entertaining. Or really lame and boring, but at least about something different.
I’m officially fat again. Don’t let anyone try to tell you different. It has become embarrassing. Like, I hate my body and all of my clothes and am not a huge fan of going out in public. Which is unfortunate, considering I sort of have to, what with working full time. Oh, and tonight? Tonight my rock star husband has a gig that is very important to him, that I’m going to and am actually excited about, but I really don’t want to take this body with me (can I borrow yours?). I feel like I’m wearing a fat suit when I get this big, like a prisoner inside of a body that isn’t really mine. Something has to be done.