Saturday, November 19, 2011

Is this a 1 glass hangover?

First, I did not dream about a clean house. I wouldn't mind if Leonard and Sheldon came in the middle of the night to clean it and also, I dreamed I couldn't stop drinking out of a milk jug with hot pink lipstick on. The lipstick must have been because I just bought some hot pink new lip stuff but I was like I just....need more...MILK! Have no idea. This morning I poured a huge glass of it and downed it in a minute.

Yesterday, Husby fixed the car. Apparently, in the 90's they came up with an anti theft mechanism/memory chip thingy. Well, it goes under the steering wheel area and prevents someone from starting your car to steal it if somehow they managed to steal your keys or hack into your car. The thingy was loose. End of story.

We went grocery shopping in less than 30 minutes including drive time and packing our own bags up to take back to the car. That is record time. I'm not "supposed" to get drunk or drink heavily so I got a bottle of semi cheap but still over our budget wine. Hell yeah I deserved a glass. This week was crazy. Besides, the bottle clearly says my name so I had to buy it.

That was last night. This morning is going great and I'm wearing my new hot pink lip gloss which I thought I'd never be able to do for fear of grabbing to much or the wrong kind of attention. However, I feel sick. I woke up with a headache. My stomach is making horrible sounds. There is shifting and nausea in my intestines. I had one glass and a boat load of pasta. The goal is H2O. Here I come day!

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Masturbation Nightmare, Car Funeral Matinée

I can't make this up, what I'm about to share with the world is insane and true events.
On Tuesday:

It was a fairly normal day, I got minor triggered in the AM, but decided to just head straight to work where I know my routine and I know I'll be too busy to deal with it. WRONG. Apparently PTSD doesn't care where you are or who your with because all day long I felt this strange sort of sweaty, fever, anxiety, heart racing uh, thing. For a moment I thought I might have forgotten to eat breakfast but I remember I did. The day went on and the symptoms got worse and I could get this aura of badness creeping in on me all around me I was feeling doomed and frantic. I brought back a patient to do x-rays on and for some crazy reason forgot a lead apron to protect her. Side note: that isn't that bad radiation yes is bad we all know Japan is untouchable now. Anyways, I put it on after the first beep and she freaked out at me about radiation and how she is now damaged. I'm like, lady we don't protect your eyeballs or your face it's still in your body. I was on the edge of a freaking melt down. I usually am calm and professional I do my job correctly or I wouldn't be here. I let the hygienist know her pt was ready but I freaked her out so good luck and I ran to the staff room to lose it.

In walks the insurance lady who is so not the person I needed at this particular moment. She just sat there and stared at the floor as I'm rocking back and forth saying over and over I'm safe I'm here I'm not there I'm safe I'm strong I'm safe I'm strong. Deep breathing. Grabbed a tissue and started working it around in a circle in my hands trying to ground myself. I just learned this technique and hadn't ever been somewhere other than my house, so I tried it on the tissue. Probably next time I will try something more substantial. For a while there, I was unresponsive so someone must have thought to grab the doctor. All I remember from this is her face in my face saying,
"HEY! what's going on?".

I look up teary eyed and kind of unaware of where she came from, I've got two cold towels on my neck, and a bottle of water in my lap.

"What caused this?"
"Are you listening to me?"

We did some more deep breathing and I eventually spilled the beans. Why beans? Who says that? I spilled the contents of a massive festering wound I've been keeping bandages on for 10 years. Not pretty. I said,
"I had a crime, I have trauma, gulp...I have PTSD."

Then, all of a sudden the Dr. that previously said,
sat down by me and said,

"Me to, I've been dealing with this a long time and now am able to talk about it".

OH my freaking goodness and she did talk about it right there to me at 4:30pm on a work day in the staff office with the door shut. I know this information because I spent that entire 30 minutes trying to keep grounding myself to reality. This couldn't be real. I even went home and thought oh my goodness did that actually happen?

Even going over this now, I can't think it really happened. I showed up the next day, which was yesterday, to find everyone just chipper and unaware this just happened to me. I felt like an awkward pimply 6th grader who just learned to masturbate and realizing everyone in the world knows about that. I wanted to puke. Then I couldn't stop picturing people masturbating. AHH!

Then, the evening came. I explained to Husby and fell asleep. I dreamed about all these people masturbating and I couldn't get away from them. I'd try to go to the store and see them all doing it just casually... or in the park couples together... on a beach! in my house! AH! THEY WERE FOLLOWING ME EVERYWHERE!! SCREEEAAAAM. I woke up in a hot sweat and panic. Didn't want to go back to sleep.

Seriously people I'm super messed up.

Also, our car broke down yesterday morning. I had a whirlwind day that left me drained and beat up. Husby called the tow company to come get it and they started the car. He drove to work. Went to leave work, car did not start. Poor Husby walked like 5+ miles home and I meanwhile hitched a ride from a work buddy. The radio blares,
".....Freezing rain according to this updated news feed"

Husby walks through the door drenched in defeat covered in pink stingy skin. I couldn't stop laughing.
"Real funny God, Good joke, now what?!"

He says as he heads half nakie towards the shower. Our bible study has been on the good works God does in the face of tribulation. Romans 8. If you care to look it up it's super comical how we just need to accept our pathetic little lives. Especially when I get this text message this morning:

Husby: "So I walked to work right, The car FREAKING starts on the first try! UGH! I'm going to check it again on my lunch and if it works I'm going to leave it. If It's broken again I'll call the tow company!

I wrote back:
"I have a sneeky suspicion (again who says that?!) that the car will start and we'll bring it home for it to die in our garage. You will become infuriated, take a nearby shovel to the thing, beat it to a pulp, cry a little, and we'll have a mini funeral in our garage with organ music and spider witnesses. The tow company will come take lullabell away only to call us later to explain she has risen and is alive again!"

(disclosure: Don't try to Google masturbation for nifty photos to put on your blog)