Laundry

I just finished putting away three loads of laundry.  I love the smell of clean laundry.  It's all warm and cozy and ... smells nice.  I like it when things smell nice.  I also like having clean underwear and socks and things.  And you know when your pillow case smells like dryer sheets and you smile a happy smile as you drift off to sleep, thinking of sheep and fluffy teddy bears?  No?  Just me?  Ok, then.

You know what else I like?  NOT BEING CRAZY.  I've totally been taking that for granted for most of my life.  See, a couple of months ago I start taking birth control because I had this weird notion that it would be good for me and my hoo-ha (you know, down there) and would help "regulate things" (I'm talking about my MENSTRUAL CYCLE, menfolk).  What do I get instead?  A whole bucket of fucking crazy.  I'm talking insomnia, panic attacks, crazy-bananas-thoughts, more anxiety and just for fun, a dash of insatiable hunger.  It was not fun, to say the least.  Clearly my brain cannot handle any sort of hormonal change and my Crazy Tree and I become one for time. 

My hair is doing this weird helmet thing now that I'm growing it out.
Also, I'm too lazy to color in that whole tree.  Deal with it.

Last week -- once it finally dawned on me why I was slowly turning into a lunatic -- I dug a hole in the backyard, popped each little pill out of the blister pack, set them all on fire, then buried the ashes in the hole.  Then I peed on it.  And set that on fire.

(None of that is true.  I just threw them away in a trash can at the mall, but I would have done something more extreme had I the time.)

(Maybe not the peeing part.)

(Though, if I had done it I could have just blamed it on "being crazy.")

I am finally feeling better and more like myself again.  As I'm sure I've mentioned, I tend to run on happy and anything less than that is always disconcerting.  I've only been off the wee spawns of satan for a few days so I think it's going to take some time before deciding what to watch on Netflix doesn't make me break into a sweat, but I'm sleeping now and you know, running happier, so I've got that going for me.

All joking aside, I am astounded at the affect such a tiny, seemingly insignificant pill can have on a person.  It's a bit terrifying, really.  Perhaps had I stayed on it a bit longer I would have normalized and become one with the pill instead of the tree, but I couldn't wait it out.  Never again, man.  I'll either have lots and lots of babies or continue down the path I'm on now, which is never, ever, ever having sex.  Seems to be working for me.

(That is also a lie.  It sucks.)

The good thing about all that crazy up there is that it seemed to hit me all at once and mostly AFTER my wonderful, amazing, perfect vacations came to an end.  I think the Crazy was lurking right beneath the surface, lying in wait to spring at the most inopportune time possible, but if I can pat my brain on the back for anything, it's for managing to stay in check long enough for me to get my vacation groove on.  (Vacation recap posts are coming up post-haste.)

Who's a good brain?  You're a good brain!

Now I will quickly sum up September's challenge and get on to talking about important stuff like this:

I wore this same outfit to work today.

September's challenge was to walk 100 miles.  I made it to 85.  I will walk the remaining 15 miles in October.  That is all.

Hitting on Purpose

A couple of weekends ago I went to my first demolition derby at the Cumberland County Fair with Mindy, Eric and Kristy.  It was the most fun I've ever had at a county fair.  Or, like, ever.  My initial thoughts on attending the derby were, "Really?  A derby?  Don't cars just go around in a circle and hit each other?  That sounds ... lame.  But I trust M&E, so sure ... whatever.  Here's my Kristy's $10, let's roll out."  And you know what?  I will never doubt them again because it was a hoot and a half.  Nay! Two hoots!  Many hoots!  It was edge-of-my-seat-yelling-and-screaming-please-get-back-out-there-and-hit-more-things kind of fun.

You know what else?  I'm totally doing it.  I want to smash into things.  On purpose.  I do it accidentally all the time, I might as well put myself in a venue where it's ok, even encouraged, to smash into things.  And I want to win at smashing.  If I can win at anything, it's smashing into other things.  This is happening, folks.  I even have a plan for my derby car:

VAGINA MONSTER!

But that's not what I want to talk about.  I want to talk about compassion and how I am sometimes lacking.  There was a girl driver out there in the sea of menfolk.  One girl, 20ish guys.  She had to call it quits in the middle of her heat because she hurt her leg.  She limped off the field and I later saw her with a bandage wrapped around her shin/calf.  That's a bummer and everything, but ... SUCK IT UP, WOMAN!  You're going to STOP THE DERBY so you can get a little band-aid on your leg?  Seriously?! 

I got a boo-boo.

I'm not saying she has to be out there representing women everywhere because she's the only vag in a peen-dominated sport/hobby, but .... no, actually, that is what I'm saying.  Suck it up.  Unless one of your limbs is lying on the passenger seat, you do not get out of your car.  And if you can walk off the field of your own volition, you definitely don't get out of your car.

I was chatting about this to a friend of a friend recently and he said, "So, do you do something compassionate in your line of work...?"  It was funny, he meant it to be funny, but I've thought about it since, realizing I sounded like a jerk.  The little derby girl was young, probably only a teenager, it could have been her first derby experience and maybe she found it terrifying rather than liberating.  And perhaps, she really did hurt herself (I only saw a little ol' bandage, but what do I know?).  Rather than booing her, I could have applauded her for taking a chance on something potentially dangerous and instead, I mocked her.

Am I dead inside?

Even as I'm writing this, I'm still thinking she was a quitter and a crybaby.  What happened to my compassion?  Is Northern Virginia turning me into an unfeeling, uncaring cynical asshat?  I don't feel sorry for people who sleep/get involved with married people and are all shocked and shaken when it doesn't work out in the end.  I don't feel bad for stupid people who do nothing to better themselves or their lives and instead go all ostrich, sticking their head in the sand, crying "Woe is me, life is hard."  SUCK IT UP.  Change the things you don't like about your life or SHUT UP.  If you're too lazy to use your turn signal, I don't feel bad honking at you.  Etc.

Am I projecting?  Internalizing?  Am I mocking other people because I feel like a quitter in some way in my own life?  I recognize there may be some truth to that.  (Though not so much with the marrieds or the bettering; I'm good there.  And I ALWAYS use my turn signal.)

There is a point to all of this rambling mess of a post -- mocking the young derby quitter has inspired August's challenge, which I'll talk about next.  Rock on.