#off days

...Sigh... I suppose I ought to acknowledge that it's not “for some reason” that my brain feels like hot dogshit. It has a reason. I have significantly shifted my sleep schedule in a very short time. Last night, I tried to go to bed at around 9pm. For various reasons, I fell asleep probably closer to 10 or 11pm, and then my body decided that I needed to “wake the fuck up right NOW, bitch!!!” at around 2:30am. Despite my best efforts, I lied awake in bed until about 5am because after the events of yesterday, the rib injury flared up (I REGRET NOTHING) and I just... absolutely could not get comfortable no matter which goddamn way I tried to arrange my defective and unruly excuse for a fucking skeleton upon the bed.

The imminence of my new schedule is also not helping matters. The autism makes changes to my routine very difficult to weather, and the idea of, essentially, spending 14 hours away from home 3 days in a goddamn row every week (one of those days requiring a major inconsistency in the sleep schedule) is absolutely fucking terrifying. And it's inhumane. Human brains start to crap out after about 4 hours of sustained focus; this kind of schedule is a horrendous disservice not only to the people who have to work it, but also to the people that this company claims to serve.

If there's not a shitload of downtime in those 14 hours, I shudder to think what will happen to my brain as a result of prolonged exhaustion. Sephiroth... I've told you before that the kindness is something I have to make it a point to choose. The inner instincts that my childhood drilled into my fucking skull are sometimes vicious and paranoid, and... Sephiroth... essentially, I'm afraid of basically reverting back to being little more than a rabid animal.

That version of me... you've not seen it in any of these letters. But it came out on occasion back when I was going to school for Early Childhood Education; the course load was immense. The amount of reading required was insane. The amount of homework was ridiculous. It's really not a program that should be covered in only two years, and yet. And I was working on top of it. Keeping those instincts of fear, anger, suspicion, and cynicism in check (because the old narratives are almost always FALSE) costs a lot of energy even on a good day. And when I get stressed out, I... can't control those old instincts as well as I feel like I should be able to by this point in my life. It's not an excuse. It's just a glaring example of the shortcomings I still carry.

You think your fancy sword is sharp? It doesn't even hold a candle to the part of my brain that activates when it thinks something is a potential threat. That part of me is more than capable of eviscerating a person with nothing more than a few well-placed words, especially if I know that person well. I learned by having this kind of shit constantly wielded at me by people who were really fucking good at it. And I kinda hate that I've become capable of the same as a result. It's just... nowadays I do everything in my power to make sure that side of me never gets used on other people. Though I'm still working on ceasing to use myself as target practice whenever my brain goes into a weird spiral.

Today was not a good day for avoiding spirals, though. I got up out of bed at around 5am, and nobody was awake, which is reasonable because nobody sane wants to be up before the goddamn sun. Not even the cats were awake until I started moving around. And it felt... terribly, terribly lonely. I tried to chase it away by preparing the beans that J put in water to soak yesterday:

...The spoonful I had before I set them aside to cool was pretty yummy. And then I cleared the sink of dishes, and then I fed my fuzzy feline children. But then I was mega-super-bored, because it was still mega-super-early in the morning, and I had to be quiet so as not to wake M or J, so... I played Dead Cells, and achieved absolutely nothing other than getting discouraged by just how quickly, easily, and clumsily I kept fucking dying. My timing and reflexes were absolute fucking trash today (probably because of the sleep schedule shift) and... it was just... endless amounts of frustration. My inner critic says, “for all the hours you waste uselessly on this bullshit nonsense like an annoying, whiny-ass “woman-child” instead of doing something productive like an actual, functional adult, you really ought to be better at this than you are. so, let's see... can't work a simple fucking bakery job without the people around you getting so pissed that they can only just barely restrain the urge to fucking deck you, can't work the tech jobs you studied for because of your “poor widdle anxiety-feewings”, can't be a normal goddamn wife, can't socialize for shit, can't do housechores consistently, can't cook anything that anyone in your house actually wants to eat, can't even fucking play a video game properly... remind me again why M and J decided to tie themselves to a useless, pathetic waste of flesh, breath, and space like you? and how long do you intend to keep their ankles chained to the massive fucking iron ball that is your insufferable clusterfuck of a presence, anyway, you stupid, selfish cunt? even if they had foolishly tied themselves to an ACTUAL gaggle of goblins hiding out in a trenchcoat, it'd still be better than your sorry ass because at least then they'd have a whole team that's able-bodied enough to pull their own goddamn weight and actually get shit done in this household. and they'd be less ugly, too. you wanna talk about other people and their 'emotional diapers'? look at you basically doing the emotional equivalent of shitting all over yourself over a fucking video game. you're a miserable, disgusting excuse for a human being, and more than a little bit hypocritical, too, doncha think? it's no wonder why nobody fucking likes you; anybody with half a goddamn brain can practically smell the fetid stank of your rotten-ass excuse of a personality once they get closer than arm's length. loser.”

...I hate that words like those towards myself come to me almost more easily than breathing. But I recognize the pattern for what it is, and my inner critic can go fuck a cactus because I've just about had it with its shit today. I don't turn the knife onto other people (anymore, and never this viciously), but... I'm still a person. Someone is still getting stabbed. I have to fix it. I have to figure it out and put a fucking end to it, because it's getting old and tired.

Other people started to wake up, and I felt a little better because I wasn't drowning in my own head, but even this was short-lived. J had a beautiful idea to go over and get the pie-flavored donuts from our favorite donut place, but my brain wouldn't even let me enjoy that, because some “oversized load” was trundling down the highway, backing up all the traffic. Which, really, isn't that big of a deal, but I swear to fucking goodness, I could NOT convince my screaming brain that no, J was not, in fact, “furious with me for the traffic obstruction because it's all my fault because he would have zero interest in going to the donut shop if I wasn't here”.

...Because if it was my mother driving, I'd never have heard the end of it. She'd be verbally kicking my ass all the way up and down the slowed highway, because even though she'd have unilaterally made the decision to go, in her mind it'd still be all my fault because she'd claim that she was going for my sake. Essentially, she'd use me to justify going, and then blame me, using that justification, for anything that goes wrong in the process.

...Writing out the pattern explicitly like that... seriously, what in the actual fuck kind of lunacy was I raised in... but uh... suffice to say, no, he was absolutely not furious with me.

Well. We got to the donut place and nobody was lit on fire, throttled against the windshield, or had their head bitten off (because that's not how shit fucking works in my house). So we went inside, and today's donuts were fucking beautiful:

So we got like seven different ones. And then I wanted to stop in the cheese shop again (since it's literally right next door), and J said it was okay as long as we get it to-go, so that's what I did, and I got me the grilled cheese on the bottom:

...And I was encouraged to try this cheese called “Vacherousse” - essentially, “redhead cow”. And it was so fucking good, Sephiroth, and... I was really sad because I couldn't justify getting any; there's still cheese in the fridge that I need to finish.

Well anyway. I paid for what I got, but the sandwich was still taking longer to make than anticipated, and J got a little anxious and impatient, so... he came inside to see what the fuck was up. Which like... in and of itself is a totally innocuous behavior, but I could not convince my screaming brain that he wasn't secretly seething underneath with a boiling hatred for the fact that I wanted a grilled cheese and therefore created an inconvenience for him in the form of a small wait.

...Because, you see, that's what it would have been if my mother had been there with me instead. She'd have held her tongue in the store, and then opened a can of verbal whoop-ass all over me as soon as we got in the car, likely the entire way to our next destination.

Spoiler alert: J was not, in fact, the least bit furious with me.

That said, though, while he waited outside as I was in the cheese shop, J did try to eat half of the apple pie donut he had gotten, but then forgot at the last second that I'd have wanted to take pictures of it for you (yes, he cares for you, too). So he tried to put it back, but then bumped into it and knocked it over. And... well... this is what happened:

...Which isn't really a big deal in the grand scheme of things. The flavor is unaffected. And ya know what? At the end of the day, it allllll comes out the other end looking the same.

The banana cream pie donut was fine, though:

So, J and I headed to Me's house. Because I needed to be over there to babysit her cats (delightful, every one of them!!). But down one of the roads we turned into, there was a strange obstruction – a car trying to back out of a parking lot into a road, at the same time a big ol' delivery truck was trying to turn down the wrong side of the road (presumably for a dropoff at the corner shop). The situation was tense as they tried not to crash into each other, and J was trying to turn down the other side of the same road, and not be caught in the middle (because they positioned themselves hella weirdly). J drove a little bit more aggressively after that, and again, I could not convince my screaming brain that he was not furious with me.

Because, see, in the past, if it was my mother driving, it would have been, “this wouldn't have fucking happened if you didn't take so goddamn long at that fancy-ass fucking cheese shop, you selfish, inconsiderate little fuck!”

...Do you wanna guess, on a scale of 0-10, how furious J was with me? Here's a hint: it's a non-decimal value between one and negative one. I'll even give you four whole tries to figure it out.

And do you know what else? He still wasn't furious with me, even when I discovered, to my absolute fucking horror, that I had forgotten the key to Me's house at home.

So yeah. We went alllllll the way back home. After J asked me several times, “Are you certain that you don't have the key?” I was certain that I did not. So all the way the fuck back home we went. And I retrieved the key to Me's house from the table where I left it. M then brought me over to Me's house, because J had some stuff he had to tend to. I left half the grilled cheese with J, and ate mine along the way, because at this point, I was HANGRY:

Would you believe that Me's door was fucking unlocked when I got there??? That we did NOT, in fact, need to go back to retrieve the key at all? Do you wanna guess how pissed my mother would have been (hint: it would have broke the fucking 0-10 scale)? Do you know that M and J... would have just laughed and laughed at the absurdity of it all?

...I really don't know what the fuck was wrong with today. But it continued to kick my ass even after I got to the good place with the fuzzy kitties. I fed the smol kattens their wet food, refilled the dry bowls, and got my laptop all set up nice on Me's desk. And I began trying to record. A very curious Katara joined me:

...This was easily one of the best parts of today. The time with J was objectively very good, just... I could not, for the life of me, make my brain shut the fuck up about situations that absolutely were not threats.

This trend of not being able to convince my brain to shut the fuck up continued when I tried to sing over the “Count on Me” music box that I arranged. If you recall:

My throat just would not work. Absolutely refused to fucking cooperate. I managed to squeak out a few off-key phrases, but I could not stop my larynx from being an entire fucking mass of unwarranted tension and self-consciousness, despite the fact that there was literally no one else in the house to be self-conscious about. My brain was just... utterly convinced that any usage of my voice would have been a “violation of the quiet” or some random fucking horseshit.

Nonetheless, I made several good-faith attempts. Unsurprisingly, none of them worked. But whatever. I'll try again tomorrow. I stopped before my voice got tired, and ordered a snack, because, spoiler alert: a spoonful of beans, a couple slices of salami, and half a smaller-than-average grilled cheese sandwich does NOT, in fact, exempt a person from being hungry for dinner. Hoodathunkit?

Well, obviously not me, because I was pretty surprised when my stomach started growling and trying to eat itself, seemingly out of nowhere. So I got me a bowl full of veggies with a bit of yogurt and meat (Greek food really is some epic stuff; you oughta visit here just for that, methinks):

...I also got a pumpkin spice chai, and a pumpkin olive cake:

You would have loved these, I think.

J came by to visit me shortly after these things arrived. Not knowing that I'd have gotten myself snacks, and me not knowing that he was coming, he brought snacks for me, because he's thoughtful and wonderful like that (because, BRAIN, we do not live with unreasonably angry people anymore!! get it together!!! for fuck's sake!!!). So we ate our respective snacks, and it was evening by then, so I wrapped up the last of the cat-sitting tasks, packed up my things, and went home, where I breathed life into today's wishes:

...So yeah. It's been a fucking DAY, Sephiroth. An objectively amazing one, with beautiful snacks and kitties and people who love and support me. But my brain is simply not in a position to be able to process it properly. And that's fine. I'm sure in the near future when my brain is adjusted to the new schedule and stops flailing around uselessly like the spoilt rotten little brat that it is, I'll look back on it and see all the good stuff. But that day is not today. I'll try again tomorrow.

It's two hours past my fucking bedtime. I still need to do my get-ready-for-bed things. And I still need to get up at five in the morning in preparation for my soon-to-be new work schedule. Godfuckingdammit...

Good night. And... please... watch over me. Wish me luck. Whatever strength you can spare for me. I probably don't actually need all that, because I can handle the things. But I'm gonna ask anyways. Just on the off-chance that I might, somehow, in some small way, feel your presence at my back in ways that grant me courage, strength, and determination.

...But don't you dare do anything at all for me if it would somehow endanger you, you got me???? If it'd deprive you of much-needed energy, focus, resolve, or whatever else, you keep that for yourself; your situation is a LOT more dire than mine. Besides... I need you to be alive, healthy, and thriving more than I need myself to be okay. I'll handle whatever as long as you exist. Don't you worry about a thing.

I love you a whole lot. And I'm gonna have faith that you'll make good choices out there that will keep you and the people around you safe. I'm gonna have faith that one of these days, you'll come home. And then maybe you'll sing over your own music boxes to give to the people you love.

I'll write again soon.