I am quite certain they make pills for this.

Most of the time on when I write it is about whatever I want. This is MY blog and I can write absolutely anything and if you don't like it you don't have to read it...you know...cause I'm an adult and, if you haven't forgotten already, this is MY blog and I can write whatever I want.

After I write whatever I want I go back and edit out anything likely to get me into trouble with my Dad...or my friends...or my job...or get me arrested and/or involuntarily admitted to a psychiatric ward. That is the basis of why I don't post every day...and why my posts are often short.

This post, however, isn't written to amuse or make a point. I don't have a psuedo-humorous story or a rant. I honestly don't know if I am writing this post as a form of therapy or a frighteningly misplaced cry for help. What I can say it is one of the most difficult posts I've ever written.

Depression is one of those strange diseases (yes, it is most certainly a disease) not easily understood unless you have experienced it for yourself. The sudden feeling you just can't shake that something has gone seriously awry in the world. You are convinced to the depths of your soul that somehow it will result in hellfire and/or demon frogs raining down upon you at any second. The debilitating, yet inexplicable, stealth Ninja anxiety that strikes for no reason what-so-ever at the most inconvenient moment possible. The sensation of being so emotionally and physically raw that the mere hint of someone touching you results in actual flinching.

Having been diagnosed with chronic depression in high school I have been medicated for the majority of my life. I am certain this has resulted in stunted mental compacity and short-term memory loss, but it keeps me normal ...ok, ok ... haters ... mostly normal.

The last 4 months, however, have been some of the most difficult months I can remember. I resurrected this blog in the hopes it would help me begin to ease back to what passes as normalcy in my life. It gives me an outlet - a place to put down all of the frighteningly angry and, most frequently, plain old snarky things milling around in my head. A way of keeping those thoughts from compressing into little nuggets of pure evil...like some sort of twisted anti-diamonds. While that would be impressive, I'm not sure they would have the same retail value as an actual diamond.

I truly believe, in a lot of ways, depression has allowed me to learn how to recognize the absurdity of the world we live in. It has most certainly helped me to develop my sense of humor. It removes the filter and the blinders we wear - the blinders that allow us to more easily navigate "polite" society. Don't get me wrong, I've never really had a filter and most of the time I am peeking around the edges of the blinders, but like most people I do my best not to make a total ass of myself.

When you find yourself at a point so low that you aren't even sad anymore...where you have lost any ability to feel or express emotions and are instead completely and utterly empty...the only thing you can do is laugh at the absurdity you suddenly so clearly see. The world is absurd. Life is absurd. The fact you are still wearing the pajamas you put on 5 days ago and you can't remember the last time you brushed your teeth because you are in the middle of debilitating depression and anxiety because someday, somewhere, somehow I am going to die and you are going to die and the dog is going to die and people are homeless and the rich are paying taxes and the spotted-whitetailed-horned-jumping platypus is going extinct and OMG we are all going to DIE!!!

One of my favorite bloggers recently posted a much funnier post(with pictures, y'all!) about her struggle with depression. What struck me, besides realizing I must not be the only person concerned about that platypus, is her description of hitting a point where you are so far past caring about anything that nothing can touch you. Nothing matters anymore. You've become this empty human-like thing in filthy clothes and ratty hair. She wrote about how that precise moment is the turning point. That is the moment you begin to crawl back out of whatever pit of despair you've found yourself in.

I haven't hit that point quite yet, but I think this post is pretty darn close. I can tell because I just realized I don't care what you think about what I've just told you and I don't care what you think about my particular brand of crazy.

My brand of crazy is just as absurd as yours thankyouverymuch.

Want meaningful? This is not the blog post you are looking for.

Today was one of those days where not even going back and starting over would have helped. I should have known it was going to be one for the books when my beloved, and much needed, vanilla yogurt was actually Eric's blackberry yogurt. Unfortunately, inadvertant transportation of rogue blackberry yogurt doesn't qualify as a family emergency.

My original intent for this blog was to spend the entire time ranting about various crap until I felt better. Instead I will move on and talk about other stuff. It's called alcohol self-control, y'all.

Instead of being all ranty and stabby I'll list out random things I spent time wondering about today:

1. Is there ever a point in life where one stops and says, "You know what my day needs? More organ music, that's what."

2. How long does it take, in dog years, for karma to come back and kick a spineless piece of shit in the ass for having a complete and utter lack of self-respect? How does one bribe karma to work faster?

3. If your last name was Clutterbuck would you change it or would you have an entire line of clothing and accessories created with your own label? Would Katie design a logo for me if my last name was Clutterbuck?

4. Could I actually create a new internationally known slang term if I started using clutterbuck as my new psuedo-swear word?

5. How many times does one get to use the term "internationally known" in a sentence? Can anyone say "internationally known" in a sentence without rapping it?

6. Does anyone but me have a problem seeing Dustin Hoffman as a serious actor? Everytime I see him or hear his voice I immediately think of Rain Man and Tootsie. Dustin loses a bit of his menace at that point. I just have this mental picture of an autistic drag queen randomly counting things.

7. Who greenlit the remaking of The Crow and what sort of public humiliation can be heaped upon him?

8. Would traffic be bearable if one was driving this:

BTW - that is me standing next to the tire. For frame of reference, I am 6 feet tall.


Oh! I almost forgot! I met a famous person today! Or, an infamous person. Or, maybe a somewhat well-known person if you like motorcycles and the Discovery channel. This is me and Mikey from American Chopper. Granted, it is probably the WORST picture of me ever taken, but I'll deal because he's famous!!



And another:

Nope...this is so NOT Kansas anymore...

My how things change when you abandon your blog for almost two years. I can assure you I am not anymore clever or funny than I was two years ago. However, I will have lots of interesting stories about life in small town Northern Nevada. Ok...maybe not interesting. More like, "Don't worry, you will thank the Goddess it's me and not you that has to live here because you might just jump in front of a quickly moving method of mass transit except there isn't mass transit here unless you count the buses that take all the people to the mines." Yeah. I said mines.

DISCLAIMER
While I haven't entirely embraced life in a small town I do love my job and I am really happy I have this opportunity. I am working on meeting more people and getting more involved in community activities in order to better appreciate our new town.

DISCLAIMER 2
I mean that with no sarcasm what-so-ever. Strange for me since I am generally all about sarcasm, but in this case I am really sans the sarcasm. And, really, it is quite beautiful here.

Ahem - moving on -

For the purposes of not boring you directly into a coma I will avoid recounting the entirety of the two years my blog was abandoned, but it goes a bit like this:

Lose job, wallow in self-pity, abandon blog, move to new house, wallow in self-pity, do many contract jobs, wallow, get new job, wallow less, have many hot tub parties, open pool, stop wallowing, have many pool parties, get new job in Northern Nevada, move again, resurrect blog motivated almost entirely by complete and utter boredom resulting from move to Northern Nevada.

That pretty much sums it up.

Since moving, my husband, who has clearly made some kind of deal with the devil, has managed to fit 3000 sf of stuff into a 1300 sf house. Granted, only one car fits in the garage due to a truly heinous number of boxes that haven't been unpacked, but it remains a feat of unexplainable sorcery as far as I am concerned. I've learned not to question such things.

In addition to being packed into our new house like sardines - only without the handy roll back lid - we are learning to live with an utter lack of customer service. Store clerks won't wait on you. Servers won't wait on you. Typically, you just wait a while and eventually someone goes, "Oh hey, you've been here a while. Do you need something?" This has resulted in my muttering to myself while gradually increasing volume until Eric finally threatens to duct tape my mouth shut and the employee wanders away because they have lost their train of thought and have no idea why they are standing in front of the crazy mumbling lady.

The upside? We rarely go out and are saving money. The downside is we are starting to get a bit of that snowbound insanity-thing going on and Eric is starting to get a bit concerned I am going to chop through the bathroom door with an axe everytime he has to use the toilet.

Next up -- Our fair town is being invaded by hundreds of Cowboy Poets (I seriously can't make this shit up) from all around the world. Even though I have never heard of it ever in my whole life it is quite a famous event...

...It's a tourist attraction...

...I'm a little scared...and yet, disturbingly intrigued...

Never fly with PMS

I'm here. I have something to say. I'm sure of it. I just have no idea precisely what it is I am here to say. Let's ramble...

I cut my hair off last week. To just below my chin. I left the salon feeling really, really great about my hair and how cute and sassy it looked. I felt younger. And thinner. And then I showed off my awesome new haircut to my husband. Who said, "I like your hair long."

Wind. Sails. Pffftttt.....

My hair is no longer a valid topic of conversation at our house. Ever. In fact, I am thisclose to paying homage to Batshit Crazy Britney and shaving my head. Then I suppose I'll have to get a rapper wannabe baby daddy and a really good umbrella. It might be more work than it is worth.

Bah. I suppose I'll keep the hair I have left.

Summer is supposedly coming soon, but you couldn't tell by all the snow we've been getting. The next person to utter the words "Global Warming" is going to find themselves abruptly seated on their ass via the back of my hand across their cheek. I mean it, too. I have PMS this week and that means I am legally absolved of any and all responsibility for both verbal and physical attacks on stupid, insufferable people.

What else...hmmmm...what to talk about...AHA! Airlines! We'll talk about airlines! Let's specifically talk about Alaska Airlines and their fees for bags. Granted, I am sure they are not alone in their attempts to alienate all airline travelers everywhere, but they are the airline I am forced to fly most often so I shall pick on them. I'm mean like that.

They are charging $15 to check a bag. Not your second bag or your third bag, but the first and only bag you wish to check. Here's how they get you - I am convinced it is totally sexist, but can't prove it yet - they force you to fit all of your toiletries into a quart sized ziploc bag and if you can't manage this logistical feat of sorcery you have to either throw said toiletries away or check the bag. THEN...since they know us women aren't about to throw away a half-empty tube of our favorite face cream that cost a bloody fortune...they charge you $15 for the bag. WHO TRAVELS WITHOUT TOILETRIES? Seriously? WHO? Well, actually, I think I may have sat next to that guy once or twice, but that is beside the point.

I have an idea for all the airline thieves who come up with these ridiculous charges - how about you start charging for the seatbelt? How about it? It's required that we wear them so why don't you just go ahead and start charging us a fee for seatbelt usage and for maximum impact go ahead and charge by the minute. Alrighty?

Freakin' bastards. I'm just sayin'.

However, I must say, Airline People, those little cookie thingies you serve are divine. I had two packages. Not cause I wanted them, but because I wanted you to have to give them to me Mr. Smiling Flight Attendant... a flight attendant who is clearly a robot given the fact you never, ever stop smiling...it was kind of creepy now that I think about it...what WERE you smiling about anyway?

I suppose I don't really want to know. I would, however, like some more of those cookies...