Spike's Bitches 48: I Say, We Go Out There, and Kick a Little Demon Ass.
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risqué (and frisqué), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Put away the frozen stuff likely to melt (ie, firget the frozen peas and cheese ravioli) and raw meat. The rest can stay in the hallway.
I did that, and even put the frozen broccoli away too. The rest is scattered around the living room waiting for TCG, who is on his way home now. I also put the meatloaf in the oven way later than I intended to. The house is a mess and my father-in-law is coming by tomorrow, so I should do something about that. I suck at life.
~ma to Burrell's sister and sj's uncle.
sj, you do not suck at life. You did what was urgent and important. It's not your fault you don't have the spoons to do more.
I'm impressed with how professional that video looks, smonster!!
Inorite? I guess they have GoPro cameras in Romania? And they know somone who can edit well.
The car antics put me right on edge, and that's with the expectation it was going to be schmoopy.
Me too. Seatbelts, kids!!
Much ~ma for Burrell's sister, and sj's uncle.
Adorable video, smonster.
That is a _gorgeous_ video. My stars, it looks like they are in the business.
I've been absent from the thread for ages. Super busy. Ack.
Good news is Niki is improving and I finally figured out a way to be helpful to her from afar. Her daughters (she calls me the 4th daughter) are overwhelmed and can't keep up with getting info out to the family.
So, now I'm her official newsletter writer and distributor. Notes from Niki! I'm just thrilled to a) do it for the family and b) have something to write about!
My only remaining friend from college is in town so I get to see her tomorrow. Nice.
Today is a little crazy in my personal sphere, and I am having a hard time dealing with all of it (too much to even list, but it culminated with finding out a very good friend, who's only 30, has cancer).
I don't even really want to go on our honeymoon. It all just feels like WAY TOO MUCH.
I think that when we get back, it's probably time to talk to the doctor about the old depression beast. God damn it. I had been doing so well for 2 years. I guess I couldn't really hold myself up in the face of everything that's happened this year. I feel like I worked SO HARD to get to/through the wedding, and now I've got nothing left to deal with anything else. Not even a broken washing machine.
I know it's brain chemistry, but damn if it doesn't taste EXACTLY like failure.
And admitting it is worse than everything I've been feeling for the past 2 months.
It's okay. I had to admit it, finally. It feels awful (I especially hate the part where I just got married and practically my immediate next step is antidepressants -- hey, Tim, glad you married me now???), it feels like giant failure, it feels like being stuck in a tar pit.
But it wasn't going to go away just because I kept saying "Things will get better after the wedding! After all the stress of the planning and organizing and fixing problems, things will be SUPER after the wedding!!!"
Although, FUCK, I really wanted it to. I wanted to be right about this one.
So, okay. I get through the next few days, take my clothes to the laundromat, hope my doctor refills my Ambien, pick up my new glasses, clean the fucking house, finish the thank-you notes, pack all my shit for a trip, go on the trip, get through the trip, try my goddamn hardest to make it a good time for Tim (because what kind of asshole ruins her honeymoon?), come home, start the new job with the AMA and try SO HARD to not fuck it up -- and go see the doctor.
Easy peasy.
You DID do well for the last two years, and that's a fantastic stretch for a chronic depressive! I totes get the feeling like a failure thing, but with mine, I'm slllloooowwwly coming to terms with it as an old war wound, like, oh, a bullet in the brain that can't be taken out: I MUST take medication for it daily, but sometimes the pain changes and I have to switch meds. Sometimes I forget I have it in there, and I feel fine, but no matter how careful I am, sometimes, it MOVES and I am in excruciating pain.
It's not my fault I have this bullet in my brain, but all I can do is know it's there, it's always going to be there, and there are things I can do to keep it from hurting me as much as I can. But damn it, sometimes it just moves on its own, and I have to seek palliative care, and that's OK. It sucks I have this bullet, but it's not my fault, and there are ways I can learn to deal with it. Because if I don't, it'll kill me.
ETA:
This is just my most useful analogy FOR ME. I completely empathize...and yo, depressive episodes OFTEN hit right after happy events.