Okay.
So, I haven’t been okay for a while. This is likely to be all over the place, so buckle up. Maybe, take some anti-nausea medicine or something.
Just after my birthday, I had a panic attack, after not having a panic attack for years.
Author Archives: Michelle
I didn’t fall in a hole: Amazing Graceless is just ridiculous at this point
Maybe some of you remember that a few months ago I fell in all, hole and screwed up my knee?
Well, last weekend we visited Tennessee to celebrate my birthday with our mountain friends. We were there about an hour before I re-injured my knee.
I didn’t fall in a hole this time.
However, I was taking a picture. Again.
In early January, when I injured myself, I was taking a picture.
This time?
I stood on a wall that wraps around a our friend’s newly built patio. I stood on a wall that was about 14 inches tall and took a picture. My knee had been feeling better. Maybe, it even felt back to normal because I kind of forgot the injury was an issue.
Anyway, I stepped off that wall, onto my injured leg, my knee immediately said “Oh fuck you so much”, buckled, and I fell.
This was over a week ago. My knee is still pretty fucking sore and swollen, but I can at least walk on it. I didn’t have to go back to crutches, but ice packs are a regular thing again.
Everyone, except me, has agreed that I am no longer allowed to take pictures of any kind.
When I wrote about my original injury, I included the picture I took moments before disaster struck. I’m not doing so this time because it’s my friend’s house and I respect their privacy. Instead, I will include a picture of something we see whenever we visit.
There’s this abandoned looking building about 20 minutes away from their mountain. There is always a creepy looking mannequin in the upper window.
Now? There are two. Double creepy. I love it.
I didn’t hurt myself taking this picture.
The weekend was amazing.
Partially, because I had to be waited on.
I had handmade and thoughtful gifts waiting for me and a pinata, So much good food. I am loved and life is good.
Randy put together a video of family and friends that made me both laugh and sob. I laughed because I know a lot of funny people. I sobbed because I was overwhelmed by all the love.
At the video’s very end? Spike.
Randy bought a Cameo of James Marsters wishing me a happy birthday as Spike.
Buffy is the show I watch when I am scared or tired or sick. Buffy is what I watch when I need comfort. Spike is my favorite. He sang Happy Birthday to me.
Randy has already discovered that he can quickly win a little tiff by saying “Spike!”
I mean, it will work for a while, but the motherfucker better not get too used to it.
I have to give him a break. The whole thing spawned my most recent viewing of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It’s not that bad. I started with season 2. I’m already on season 4 and I’m thinking about incorporating Angel and swapping episodes all the way through. I’ve tried this before and it always fell apart.
But I’m older now. More disciplined. I can do this.
Looking back over life: I’m here, I’m here
Between falling in holes and general life, things have been busy.
By busy, I mean stressful. Everything is fine. It always is.
We have four work days and then we’ll be heading the mountains of Tennessee. I’m leaving behind my fifties to experience life as a sexagenarian. I need this so bad. I can’t wait to get away and just chill for a few goddamn minutes.
You know, a chance to reflect. Looking back over life.
It’s weird, looking back over life. I’m grateful to have seen the changes I’ve seen. I’m horrified by others. Sometimes, it’s easier to focus on little things.
Like the other day when I had a conversation with a coworker. A thought occurred to me that this 2023 conversation would have been different in 1983.
My coworker walked in first thing in the morning, shoving her phone in her back pocket, and bitching about all the phone calls she was getting.
Coworker: My butt’s been blowing up.
Me: Haha. It’s way too early for that shit. It’s not even 8 a.m.
CW: Right?
That would have been so different 40 years ago.
CW: My butt’s been blowing up.
Me: Your what has been what?
CW: My butt’s been blowing up.
Me: Don’t tell people that.
Me: See a doctor.
Okay, perhaps I could go a bit deeper when it comes to self reflection.
It also might be a good idea to never write about any coworker’s butt, regardless of context.
Or, maybe I don’t need to worry about self reflection! My sister got me a desk calendar for Christmas and I’ve been just relying on that to tell me how to feel. It’s called “Make every day your bitch”.
Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. I mean, first of all, it’s one of those pull the pages off by day kind of calendar. By mid-January, I had way too many bitches. No one needs that many bitches.
I was super unimpressed for the first few weeks. Most of the sayings were about chocolate or coffee or wine. Shit you’d see on a G rated greeting card that was trying real hard to be snarky.
Then one day, late in January, I pulled the previous day away and read this:
“What doesn’t kill you will fuck you up mentally” And I was like “Oh my god, calendar. You get me.”
Then, the calendar turned into a complete asshole. Last Friday, my calendar told me “Life is good, you should get one,”
Wait? What? Fuck you calendar, I do have a life. I have a better life than you. I mean, sure, we are both in a cubicle right now…but you’re just paper. Stupid calendar.
Pretty sure, the phrase on the box “make every day your bitch” wasn’t talking to me.
I hope you all are well. I hope my sixties are kind.