fyoot chur

i have never in my life been so hopeful for spring and summer.

there is a light at the end of this miserable, pimple, winter tunnel.

dry skin.

unless something horrible happens, there is a pretty good chance i will be spending my birthday in italy with john.

italy in june with john.

i am not counting my eggs, or my ducks, or my crayons, or my suitcases, or my swimsuits, or my heartbeats, or anything, not yet.

ooh child, things are gonna get easier.

i have to be at work in about 5 hours.

sleep.

There Are No Reptiles in the Antarctic

I have amassed a bit of knowledge since my last update, thanks in no small part to a book I picked up at Powell's on the way home from the bank. I had to deposit some money so I wouldn't overdraw after buying guacamole from Garcia's on a whim on Saturday night.

I have also been cleaning my pit of a room, near mercilessly. My mother used to say walking past my room made her want to vomit, and I thought she was insane. But since tidying up a bit, even the stuff on the floor now, makes me kind of claustrophobic.

Every Monday night I watch Hoarders on A&E. It makes me want to clean. It makes me sit the the rubble of my room and throw away the things I haven't touched, looked at, thought about, in months, let alone years. There was honest to God garbage on the floor. Trash. Old paper, empty pop bottles. I have thrown away 2 full, 39 gallon lawn garbage bags, filled with old broken, ruined things. I have 2 boxes filled with clothes, shoes, and things that I need to get to the Salvation Army, somehow.

I see pictures of girl's rooms on tumblr, and they are beautiful, and nothing is on the floor. It makes me crazy. I have so many things. I have so many clothes. I have so much junk, and getting rid of it is so hard. How could it be so hard to just throw away things I don't use?

I could use it tomorrow. That shirt I haven't worn in years? I'll wear it someday. I like the design, I can turn it into a pillow/purse/new shirt. I will never turn it into anything else. It will just be another shirt I never wear.



Rob got me this shirt, almost 5 years ago. I have worn it all of about 3 times. I don't want to give it away. I'll give it to someone I know. But I don't know if I could give it, just, away. I don't know.

I want to be done. I want to throw away the broken things. I don't need them to remember. The things I need are safe in my keepbox.

I am a keeper. Not a hoarder. I am a keeper. Not a hoarder. I am cleaning.

In other news: American Apparel now makes nail polish, which will be death to my finances.

I have an envelope.

I am saving money. I need to. I need to get out of this house. I shouldn't still be living with my mother. It's not that bad, but she's leaving this condo soon, for a smaller apartment, and I will need to go somewhere.

Winter is terrible. Last year around this time I escaped to Northern California, and now I want to go to Hawaii, or someplace. I need to go somewhere warm.

I want to wear shorts.

My feet are so cold.

Also,

Yes.

Hey Emma,

This is Max's bandthing. Slow Giant.

hospitalization.

I don't drink a lot of coffee, and maybe I have had a little more than normal anxiety in my life. John was gone for a lot of days, I have not been getting as much sleep as usual, I don't know. I was tired, maybe, and caffeine set off the alarm.

I started having extreme shortness of breath, and my heart was palpitating like a motherfucker. I was stuttering really really bad, and I was very light headed, and after 9 hours in the ER, alone for the first 7, it was diagnosed as an extreme anxiety attack, that had been triggered by caffeine. As in, caffeine made my heart race, and then my whole body reacted.

Whatever the case, around the 5th hour, after the blood tests determined I may have a pulmonary embolism, while I was being wheeled in a wheelchair, in a hospital gown, to get a CT scan, I saw a girl on a gurney in front of me, with her boyfriend walking beside her, holding her hand. I just started sobbing. My phone had died, I hadn't talked to someone in hours, and I lost it.

I laid there, on the CT scanner, just sobbing, trying to hold still when told to. The guy who was doing it was really nice to me though.

I waited for the CT scan results forever, and John got there at 11 or so. Two hours later they took the IV out of my arm and told me that there was no pulmonary embolism, that it must have only been a very bad panic attack.

All of that. Right after the IV was put in, I was very amused by the whole situation.



But then it turned to lonely shit. My arm is sore where my IV was. The fluid they pump in to do CT scans was terrifying. I've never had blood drawn before.

They prescribed Xanax. I am not taking any, I'm just going to save it, in case.

I have no plans to become addicted to Xanax. Everyone is all worried that I will get addicted.

It's stupid. I'm way too addicted to living a completely un-medicated (save for a monthly dose of midol) life. I don't drink, and I don't smoke, and I don't want to live in any kind of haze, but maybe it will be good to have around in the event that all of a sudden I panic again.

So. There. That was my Tuesday.

1 2 3

movies

internet

music

music

movies

internet

shit.

A Nap, Finally

I have been tired all week, for the last 10 days, exhausted. So sleepy. So I finally took a nap.

I am ready for John to come back. I couldn't be more ready if I tried.

I miss him so much.

Soon.