What? My Mind is – What?

Let’s start with the question(s) of the day:

Why can’t I fall asleep at night?
Why do I wake up several times each night?
Why do I find myself nodding off all day?

Now onto the rambling.

I’m so bloody distracted recently. I left the garage door open because I honestly didn’t think I needed to close it. What, was it going to close itself? I’ve been forgetting what conversations are about halfway through. The inner turmoil has been so back and forth in my head that I’m surprised I’m still in one piece. Don’t ask me how I’ve managed to stay employed at my job. Clearly, my focus, motivation, energy, and overall worth has plummeted.

It doesn’t help that there’s a new distraction in my happy place of employment.

I love my job I love my job I love my job.

I’ve been thoughts and word vomiting all over anyone in my vicinity. It’s as if I’ve forgotten that no one cares what I have to say. I’m an awful conversationalist, and even worse at attempting funny. Just stop, self. Dammnit, self. Can’t you fucking behave yourself like a decent, nonintrusive member of society, self? Honestly, you can’t do anything right.

You can’t even exist well.

The first time I remember being fully aware and accountable for my attempts at “dieting” was fifth grade. Have I talked about this? I don’t remember. One of the other Ashleys in my class said she was fat and needed to diet. She was smaller than me, so what the shit. Everything about me was wrong. This could be my salvation.

The jerks at the elementary school did not let me get away with skipping lunch. I claimed no lunch money in the line, and promptly sat down at one of the cafeteria tables. I’m reading a book when the counselor and the salad bar lady come up to me with one of those nasty OPS-standard garden salads with Unidentified Meat A, accompanied by Weird Squishy Stuff Probably Supposed To Be Vegetables B; All over a bed of brown iceberg lettuce.

“She thought she could just skip lunch!” The nerve.

So they’d give me free salad. Evil, evil people.

If I remember correctly, I took my lunch to school every now and then. Yes, I pulled the usual “Ignore everything in the bag except the carrots” move, but damn my stomach grumbling was distracting. I’m very prone to being grumpy. Being hungry does not help the matter.

I remember going clothes shopping with Mom and Stepmom and stuff around that time. I knew what kind of clothes I liked. I liked jeans and tshirts. The occasional khaki skirt.

I remember crying over what a tshirt looked on me for the first time in fifth grade. I was so unnaturally shaped. So uneven. Blobby. Ridiculous. Deformed. Top heavy. Bottom heavy? Pizza faced. Fat. Just overall wrong. Everything about me was just wrong.

I hear tell that at one time my 6-year-old self refused a brownie from my father until I ran laps around the apartment. Interesting.

It’s snowing outside. All I want to do is read and eat but I can’t focus and I can’t I can’t I can’t.


Just A Friendly Reminder

I have to keep reminding myself that not everything sucks. It sure feels like everything sucks. I’m tired and achey and in a brain fog 90% of the time. People are always rude and short to me and I have to pretend I don’t take it personally. My laundry won’t do itself.

Remember that time the lady at the bookstore said I was “cute as a button?” When the gal at Taco Bell gave me a bag of cinnamon twists because I was “a total sweetheart…” All the times someone’s left a note on their receipt or a napkin or a scrap of paper saying I was a terrific/exceptional/superb server. People can be nice.

We set a date for our wedding, I have the fluffiest kitty, I put up my fall decorations, and my new job likes me (I think). I’m losing weight again, I have a heated blanket, and my family is starting to invite me to things on my days off.

I guess it’s not all bad. Just difficult to keep track now and then. I’m more air-headed and dumb than usual, however, and that’s one thing I can’t really see a bright side to. I work with what I’ve got. I’m seeing my therapist and possibly a new psychiatrist again next week. Will that help my critical thinking skills and memory? Probably not. Will it make me feel better? Whatever.

Let’s play How Off-Track Can I Get On This Super Late Blog Post?: Midnight Edition.

Good Night.