UPDATE, duh

I can't believe I forgot to mention this!!  The meth heads are GONE.  Whether they were evicted or just ran off in the night, they are OUT.  They left all of their lovely furniture which is now in a dumpster in their parking lot (if anybody is in the market.) 

I'm sure their replacement meth heads will be along shortly.  There are plenty to go around. 

As a PSA, I leave you with the notice that sits above our time clock at work. 

Turn, Turn, Turn

This summer is going to be a busy one.  Not only do I have road trips planned out the wazoo, (I feel like that word should have more letters) Girl Roommate and I have big plans for the backyard.  As in, we will turn it into a place that we actually use, instead of just walk through. 

My first exciting project will be taking down the back patio.  It looks weird back there, we hardly use it, and frankly, it takes up about 1/4 of my yard.  I'm SUPER stoked to buy a sledgehammer and pry bar.  I feel like this will end up being an exercise in destruction futility, but I'm still excited.  Then there will be grass planted, bushes planted, and a real seating area fixed up, complete with fire pit.  Luckily I have Girl Roommate to help motivate me, because if you know me at all you know motivation is NOT my middle name. 

Next, we will be fencing the yard.  Hopefully we can hire someone to do this, because talk about pain in the ass, but if not that will be our super big summer project.  Take down the old gross picket and put up chain link.  Then cover the chain link in prettiness.  Weeping Willow bushes, climbing roses, honeysuckle, hostas.  It's gonna be amazeballs. 

One thing that I keep forgetting is that this house is MINE.  All mine.  Nobody else's.  If I want to destroy something, I have every right to do it.  I can rip up carpet, paint the walls a million times, cover the fridge in stickers, tear down the superfluous deck, plant bushes, take out bushes, bust down walls, add jellyfish light fixtures, all or none of these things.  I've lived in this house almost 2 years and other than some bad ass artwork, I haven't really put MY stamp on it.  Part of the reason for this is money, but a lot of that is an excuse.  I have a mindset that I need to be careful because someone will get mad at me for fucking things up.

But they WON'T.

Isn't that amazing?  No one will give a shit!!  I have no one to answer to except myself, my finances, and the codes administrator.  (That's a thing, right?)

Now if only I knew how to do things...

This Might Just Be The Rage Talking...

So, I went to Kentucky this weekend.  Amazing.  So beautiful and everyone is so flippin' NICE.  And short, which works out well for me since I went to a show and could actually SEE for once.

The bad part, which I am focusing on because of the lack of medication flowing through my veins, is that somewhere between here and Kentucky I lost my medication.  I do not need my medication in the way that some people need their medication.  Or whatever substances they use.  But when I am forced to go cold turkey off my medication because I don't realize I lost it until a Sunday night and it can't be refilled until the following Tuesday, bad things happen.  I liken myself to a heroin addict, forced by her parole officer to get off the junk.  The brain, while not born needing this chemical, has come to love it and requires it for normal function.  When it is taken away suddenly, the brain gets angry and mixes up all the wires up there just to let you know it misses its chemical.  Were I to wean myself off of the medication, the brain would have plenty of notice and time to get used to the idea.

Anyway, my brain has spent the last few days being less than pleased with me and letting me know in the least pleasant ways it can think of.  Coupled with me knowing that since I had just filled the prescription, my insurance would not cover it twice in one week, so I would be out a fuck ton of money.  That makes me grumpy on a GOOD day.

All this time wallowing in self-pity and headaches has had some interesting non-medical related side effects.  I cried to a Ryan Gosling movie.  I decided that I am done done donesky with a good portion of people in my life.  Not like ohmygodIhateyouyou'reaterribleperson done.  Just...done.  Tired of feeling like a second class citizen (in the white person problem sort of way, of course.)  Tired of feeling left out.  Tired of thinking about it.  And how does a person fix something like that?  They give themselves something else to think about.  It's all up to me, kids.  And if I don't like the way I'm being treated, I am the only one with the ability to change that.  I can't change you, but I can change how much room I give you in my life.

Got my meds back today.  Hopefully the run-on sentences will subside with the irrational anger.