I woke up this morning feeling like I'd been run over. As I stumbled into the bathroom for my morning shower, I accidentally caught a glance of myself in the mirror through my mostly closed eyes, still not used to the light. I looked as horrible as I felt. My eyes were puffy, my hair was in disarray, and I suddenly had a fairly good idea of what I was going to look like if I ever hit 40. That's a depressing thought to be confronted with before my morning Red Bull.
Oh, and what's this? My period started today. That explains a lot. I could already see my knees beginning to swell, and I could feel my head starting to ache. As soon as I dried off, I preemptively attacked the medicine cabinet, raping it of it's midol, excedrine migraine, flexeril, and hydrocodone.
When I walked back into my room to figure out what fat-clothes I should wear today (this time of the month is never a good time to wear the Abercrombie jeans I had planned out the night before as I tend to bloat up like the goodyear blimp), my dog cowered in the corner, begging for even a little bit of attention. I couldn't decide if I should laugh at her for being such an attention whore, or still be angry at the mess I had come home to the night before. As I remembered the poop, the ripped up books (including the one I was just starting to read), the destroyed Xbox game, the chewed up pajama pants (my favorite, the Old Navy angel print I'd had for 5 years), anger won out.
10 minutes left until Herm was ready to go. That's rare, usually he's waiting on me. I sat down on the couch and contemplated my laptop. No email. I suppose that's good. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. I got up to feed RJ, knowing she was just going to shit everywhere the second I left. I took her for a short walk outside, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she'd be nice to me on today of all days and do her business outside. No luck.
5 minutes left. I packed my laptop and stared at my Icy Hot. I knew I was going to smell horrible afterwords, but I slathered it on my knees anyways. They were already starting to ache, and it was going to be at least another 20 minutes before the pills kicked in. My cell phone rang. It's the boyfriend. Angry at RJ, angry at my knees, angry at my back, angry at the world, angry at my decision to stop smoking today, and especially angry at him, I decided not to answer. It wouldn't be good for either of us if we had a conversation right now.
I shouldered my backpack (Jesus, my laptop weighs a ton. Dell Inspiron 9100's are hardly a laptop. They are more of a 'desktop replacement') and walked out the door. When I climbed into the Explorer, I apologized to Herm for making his car smell like a geriatric ward.
We got on I-75 and faced the morning traffic. It had been raining out all morning, so it was worse than normal. I'd never wanted a cigarette more than I had wanted one at that moment. I didn't give in, despite Herm's offer of a Malboro Light (which is practically like smoking paper. Do they even have nicotine in them?). Today is going to be hell. I can feel it. Depression is not understanding how people can be happy by default.
Leave a comment