A Litany of Complaints

1) Never drive to work in a wet mushy snowstorm with a head cold that makes it feel like your sinuses are moments from exploding, your eyeballs all scratchy and dry and ready to pop right out of your head.  Especially never do this if you are not fully caffeinated, because you will almost drive into a jersey barrier.  Twice. 

2) I realized two things about myself over the past two days.  One, that I am much more inclined to buy lottery tickets when I am poor, like because I have no money but I do have four quarters, perhaps a scratch ticket is a good investment!  Because why would I save that dollar for something like, oh, say, laundry?   Two, I am a huge freaking baby when I am sick.  Right now I feel like I need a fainting couch to flop dramatically onto, because fucking CHRIST, my fucking HEAD, people!  It is swollen!  I swear you can see the fluid build-up behind my eyes.  And my nose is stuffy and raw and all red, my eyes are scratchy, my body aches, my throat and ears and glands and lungs are all hurting, and woe is me, I have a cold and I’m a delicate flower.  Someone run out and buy me a gallon of OJ and some of those tissues with lotion and an economy sized bag of cough drops and some DayQuil, please.  I am near to death!

 

3) That last realization?  It makes me realize yet another thing, which is that I am really, really annoying sometimes.  And probably not very likeable.  And immature.  But, luckily, since writing this yesterday I have obtained the Good Drugs, the ones they keep behind the counter because I could cook them up and make meth.  And apparently the meth people are onto something, because there is a lot less pressure in my head right now.

 

4) I have lost 17 pounds on this new diet/exercise thing.  I put on jeans yesterday that I hadn’t been able to wear in a couple of years!  But because this is about complaining, not celebrating, I’ll have you know that there are problems with the loss of 17 pounds.  Problem #1 being that those jeans I couldn’t fit into are pretty much Mom Jeans, ones I got on super-sale at Old Navy without realizing how high the damn waist was – or perhaps just overwhelmed by the lies on their sale signs, I grabbed a pair and ran.  I don’t remember which.  Problem #2 is that now all my other pants, the ones I’ve been wearing, the ones that are cuter, are all too baggy and fall down dangerously at the waist.  This would be swell if I had money and could buy new pants, but, alas, I am stuck with too-big pants that sag at my ass weirdly.  I am planning to do some creative waistband sewing sometime soon, since of course I couldn’t have had foresight and bought pants with belt loops.

 5) I don’t know if it’s related to being sick and therefore having my threshold for stiff upper lip lowered, or if it’s just the way things are, but dammit if yesterday wasn’t one of those super-depressed, wish I could crawl under the floor and cry myself to sleep kind of days.  I am so fucking lonely and it’s so hard, with him being right there and yet so distant.  I want so much for someone (for E, really, not just anyone) to reach out and hold me, to come up behind me with a hug while I do the dishes, to curl toward me in bed at night and spoon me.  I want to be held.  I put a lot of stock in physical affection and without it I feel bereft, adrift in the giant empty space of not-touching that is around me – an E-shaped space, actually, the space his body used to occupy next to mine.  And W is huggy and kissy and very sweet, but son-love is so different from husband-love and is no substitute, and then I feel shitty for hugging my son and wishing he was my husband sometimes.  Fuck.  Now I need to stop before I tear up again, I hate this so much.