So, on the exterior I try to exude this fun loving, crazy, daffy, fly by night, roller derby and classic rock lovin’ persona but, on the inside, I am just like any other out-of-work single mom–totally obsessed with my diet, way behind in my housework, and probably just a little too heavy handed on the number of times a week I may serve frozen pizza for supper dinner.
Even more indicative of my status of “just another typical dame floating down the sea of life” are the many ways I choose to wallow in the choice moments of despair that grip us all a time or two week after week, month after month, year after year. High up there on the Greatest Hits of Living With Depression and Self Pity would be:
- Hankering for that glass of wine or three. Opening said bottle that was saved for a rainy day. Rinse. Repeat.
- Sleeping. Or not sleeping. Trying to sleep. Lying wide awake in bed at 2 in the morning–though completely zombified–watching The Facts of Life.
- Writing about or talking about to anyone who will listen (before they are able to run away–far, far away) about my diet, my obsession with food, my self-medication with food, all the ways I’m trying to control my diet.
- Working out. Nonstop.
- Screwing the aforementioned diet and binging on 8 snack packs of chips, half a box of Oreos, a box of cereal, a helping of ice cream, and left over Halloween candy.
- Blindly sending out a thousand resumes only to receive even more spam email back in return. Craigslist can kiss my ass.
- Daydreaming about how to go about finally writing my book, and then feeling so scattered I fall back on the diet talk, working out, or sleeping–or not sleeping.
- Daydreaming about how to get my life together, and then feeling so scattered I fall back on the diet talk, working out, or sleeping–or not sleeping.
- Lists. Making lots of lists. I have so many lists it’s crazy. Crazy, I tell you. Lists–grocery lists, wish lists, to do lists, writing project lists, day job search planning lists, getting life in order lists, mom lists, crap around the house that needs to be fixed lists, housekeeping lists.
(Speaking of lists, I’ve totally lost my focus here in writing that list.)
Today was like any other day in the life. I looked at the list. And today was the day I was going to go get 1) cat food and 2) light bulbs to replace the bulbs that have gone out in the refrigerator and various lamps around the house over the past like, year. Ahem.
Target, ah, Target. Seemingly stoic and innocent–but she is depression’s wicked mistress. I know, I know that I am not the only person in the world that wanders into Target with the definitive plan to accomplish one or two things on his or her to do list only to find myself in the check out line two hours later–not quite knowing what has transpired–with a good $200 worth of household CRAP in my cart. Useful crap, sure. But approximately $182 more than I had intended to spend. And this is not the first time Target, that dirty retail whore, has lured me into the loins of her existence. I mean, what is one to do? One needs to buy sneakers for their child, and dish detergent, and zit cream and hair spray and batteries and toilet paper and ziplock bags and…I friggin’ forgot to buy deodorant. I forgot deodorant!! I don’t think I’ve ever gone into that store with the intention to buy just one or two things and have been successful in that plan. Ever. I love Target. And I hate it. Broads like that suck the life outta me.
I felt so bad when I got home, I poured myself a glass of wine and polished off a mondo bag of tortilla chips.
Fanfriggintabulous. Now I have to go make a list about how I’m going to get control of my life again. After I go lovingly admire my household purchases from Target, of course.
This is why you must go into Target with only $20 cash. Then you can’t spend more money on stuff you don’t really need.
Target is my whore as well. A dirty dirty whore who won’t shut her whore mouth when I tell her I don’t have the money to spend on her. Whore.