Sometimes, Crazy People do Crazy Shit

Before we get started, a couple of things:

1. I can say "crazy" because I AM crazy; and,
2. I would never, ever want to hurt someone else's feelings, so anyone I talk about in this blog will never read this blog. I know this for a fact. I also won't be using names. I'll make names up.

So don't get all bunged up about the title or all that other shit. I'm not hurting anyone. You all should know by now I'd never do that.

Anyway, on to the crazy shit. There's a no-smoking-in-the-house policy here at my house. As there is at most houses, both group-living and private. Most people don't want their clothes and their hair smelling like ass. Myself included, and I smoke so yeah. But THIS house has a very SPECIAL reason for the no-smoking policy, and here it is: one of our residents is on oxygen. Which we all know is highly explosive. So we all obey the no smoking in the house rule because let's face it, even if we're nuts, we don't want to get roasted like chestnuts on an open fire.

However, there is one person in the house who seems to have a really difficult time following the rules pertaining to the "Let's Not Blow Up The House" theme. Who, you might ask, would do that? Why, it's none other than the person to whom the oxygen is hooked up. WHAT?????? That is correct. She has an oxygen tank next to her bed, complete with breathing machine, and she goes two doors down to the bathroom with a can of air freshener and smokes in the middle of the night.

The best part of all this is that this is one of my roommates. She sleeps in the bed RIGHT NEXT TO MINE. And that oxygen machine is on the floor between our beds. This makes me rather angry and more than a little nervous. (She also has difficulties with personal hygiene but whatever, that won't kill me - although the smell of rotten feet in a room occupied by a sensitive person - me - can be trying.) 

This person got caught dead ass the other night. The next morning she got asked about it and flat out lied. "No," she said. "Not me," she said. Then comes out to the back yard table and tells me she got caught but she's going to keep denying because it's the staff member's word against hers and "she's not licensed and she's a nigger anyway so no one will believe her." That's right, she said the "N Word" and I repeated it. This is to show you what I'm dealing with here. 

I'm no snitch but I got pissed off enough about this bitch putting my life at risk and being a bigoted asshole that I went to MY counselor and related the conversation. She said she'd take care of it. I doubt that.

I don't know what my point was in writing this blog, other than to show that all those warm and fuzzy TV shows about group living for the mentally ill are not always accurate, and that some of us are mean, vindictive, and have stinky feet and dirty sheets.

Have a nice day. I'll be back tomorrow unless I get blown up.

My Adult ADD is Out Of Control So I Don't Know What To Title This Blog. Just a Warning. It's Probably Gonna Be All Over The Place

 

This is what I look like right now. In my mind.

 Can I just say upfront that I don't do "poor" very well. I'm not used to it, and I don't know how to do it without paincking and freaking the fuck out, especially when I'm totally off my psych meds (the Klonopin and Adderall are not for fun, kids). I watch "Shameless" and I wish I could be like Fiona and her friend V - they rarely freak out about the electric guy climbing the pole to kill their TV and refrigerator. Or the gas dude shutting them off in Chicago. In January. Me? I get a late notice from the gas people and I turn into that ^^^^. And I make everyone around me freak out, too. Crazy people like myself should never go off their meds. Not. Ever. True story.

Adderall: Focus in tablet form.

Those puppies up there are, I've discovered, a necessary part of my life. Because when I'm off them, I can't seem to stop running from working to Facebook to writing to washing dishes to oh there's a squirrel that foil on the Hershey's Kisses is shiny....and nothing gets finished. I must be a pain in the ass to live with. And without the Klonopin, I am just a little bundle of anxiety that can't focus. So it's a double whammy. And you guys? I feel really sorry for my boyfriend, because he has to live with this shit. I'm pretty sure he's getting ready to have me committed.

 

But anyway, back to being broke. It sucks ass. It does. I have learned to lie, to juggle, to keep things going with bullshit and tape and thumbtacks. I've figured out how to keep a roof over our heads and a roof on the shelter on pretty limited funds. I'm back to work freelancing and shit, and I started a company called Art Eternel (no, it is not misspelled, it is le French) which I will be annoying you guys to check out when I get the website up. Which is taking forever because of the aforementioned schizzyness. But I also figured out how to keep the gas and electric people from making us live in a dark, cold cave (I can't imagine no heat in January in NY). So yeah. I should be proud of myself. But I'm not.

Also? The boyfriend has been pretty fucking distant these last couple of days. I know he's stressed from work but really? When he calls and says he's pissed off and I say, "Would the sex make you feel better?" and he says, "Well, not NOW it wouldn't," and then when he gets home he stays on the internet looking up stories about this broad's arrest and telling me she is such a nice person even though she got arrested for heroin selling and possession and she's pretty much a whore (and her kids are going to be in foster care now so yeah, nice person, and I can say that because I tried to drag her to meetings and she should know better), then plays games on Facebook until I fall asleep because I a) got up at 4 in the morning to work, and b) the medication the rheumatologist gave me makes me sleepy, and also c) my feelings were hurt by that after I threw it out there on the phone and then put on makeup and shaved my legs to stay home and eat grilled cheese...well, yeah, like I said, it hurt my feelings. Now, if I were on my psych meds I would be able to sit down and calmly figure out wtf was going on, and possibly talk about it. But my head goes straight to "He hates me now because I couldn't pay the utility bills" and also jealousy over this jailbird. 

 

 Hi, I'm a whore. Wanna see my mugshot?

 

We went to give the gas company cash today, and we laughed in the car. And when he made a remark about having sex with midgets I jokingly said, "Well, yeah, cause you don't wanna have the sex with ME," he said that wasn't true. Okay. So we will see tonight.

This wasn't supposed to be about my sex life. But I warned you in the title. Now I have to work. So yeah, I hope you enjoyed my little rant.