A bagel can make you cry.

The last few days haven’t been great.  You can insert your comiserating experiences –> here <—.  Last night I laid down on the patio couch and stared at the wall for a good 30 minutes because I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I was caught between the things I needed to do (clean the house, finish laundry) and the things I wanted to do (take NyQuil and get knocked the eff out).  So I ended up staring at the wall.

You see, both of my grandfathers have been ill.  One, more chronically (throat cancer) and the other, acutely (double pneumonia…which also means…pneumonia in both lungs).  My mom had foot surgery last week and isn’t her usual jumpy happy skippy self.  I’m absolutely certain my husband is depressed because he played bad golf on Sunday.  Also, my future sister-in-law has been dealing with a bunch of stuff from her end…cancery and sad things too.  I have this horrible habit of taking on everyone’s emotions and trying to sort them out myself.  Which is probably why I ended up staring  at the wall last night.  I am finding it hard to do the simple things, like get up, get dressed, and be motivated to work/function like a normal human.

Then, this morning, I come into my office and I find this on a specially delivered Einstein Bagel:

A river of freaking tears pours out of my eyeball sockets and ducts and lashes and possibly my eyebrows.  My best friend bought me a bagel from my favorite bagel place and put it on my desk with a nice note because she loves me and knew I needed to hear it.  I’ve been feeling sorry for myself because “all my friends are moving away” and I’ve been desperately trying to cling to the 1 or 2 people I have “left.”  I realize now I’ve been looking at it all wrong.  I have people.  Not zero people.  And that’s good.  

Then, hours later, and totally unprovoked, I get this gem:

 I like how when I’m on the brink (and this has happened before, recently) something always brings me back.  I’m sorry this blog posting is so self-indulgent.  But seriously, other than how-to or self-help or whatever blogs-with-a-dash there are, these are all pretty much for ego boosting, emotion purging, opinion flinging, or what have you for yourself.  And along the way you hope to help or enterain someone.  Today, I’m ok with just helping me.  So meh. 

PS to Amanda……..I hate people.  🙂

Updated 3:21pm

After saying to someone that it scared me how much I was OK with just staring at the wall, I was informed that me staring at the wall was just “meditating” and that it’s ok to do that.   I may do more staring at the wall, if this is the case.


This is a blog.

Hi, I’m Christy.  This is my blog.  I keep a notebook of thoughts, and those thoughts will become blogs, I suppose.  No, I do not journal because diary keeping is for 12 year olds, and I’m not (actually) 12.  I promise I’m of legal age, by some, but I’m not saying how much.  If you’re reading this, you probably know me and a lot of my friends are jerks and they are going to be all “HEY, YOU’RE 33” in the comments.

Yes, I see what I just did there.

For those of you who happened upon this blog, I feel the need to explain some things to you.  My brain is damaged.  OK, so I was born this way, because it’s become very clear that it runs in the family, but I’m absolutely certain that there is a gene that deforms the frontal lobe of people on my dad’s side of the family.  It causes you to have diarrhea of the mouth mostly, but also, probably makes you very argumentative.  And to give you a brief, crude, way-too-simple overview of the anatomy of the brain, the frontal lobe controls impulse and is your “filter” for your thoughts.  And the rest of your brain, well:

Your Brain and Mine

It’s messed up, y’all.

I tell you this with fair warning.  My blog will have bad words and blunt observations.  My mom will not want to read my blog, so yours probably won’t either.  Should I say this blog is not for mothers?  No, because I have a 4 year old who constantly does funny and irritating things that I want to talk about.  And you want to hear about them too, don’t you?  Yes, you do.  I have also decided that even though I am not anonymous, I’m going to do the best to keep the people that aren’t in my immediate family anonymous by changing their names badly.  I mean, how many ways can you disguise the name “Zeema?”  It already sounds made up so I’m sure people will think she’s not real.  =D

There went my first post.  I’m nervous and excited.  Maybe I just need to go pee.