Hard

This week has been hard; there's no two ways about it.  I've been feeling stressed, so my psoriasis is flared up (and I keep scratching it), and even my stomach has been hurting.  I've cried several times at work (mostly Monday and Tuesday) due to frustrations with my job and the person to whom I report (I don't do well when given contradicting instructions).

I feel like I'm running out of money; I have a deep-seated, never-before-admitted fear that purchasing the "penthouse" (my condo) was a mistake, that it was more than I can handle financially.  My sister was denied her disability by the judge, and the lawyer we hired (who only gets paid if my sister gets paid, BTW) has basically said that was her best chance.  So I really, really need her to get a job.  STAT.  But she doesn't really do anything "stat."  And that's going to be a problem as I continue to stress out.

I'm back to having hard mornings -- where it's hard to feel good about anything, where I feel like I generally hate everything.  Sure the season/lack of light doesn't help, but we're through the worst of it already, so I'm not sure that's entirely to blame.  But I miss those days when I was like, "Is this what it's like to feel happy?"

News and photos out of Australia are incredibly upsetting.  I've joined some crafting groups to make things to send for the animals, but between shipping costs, confusion over drop-off sites, regulations on what materials to use, and I think the Aussies have put a two-week hold on accepting donations, it just doesn't seem worth it right now.  They'd be better off with a monetary donation (which I don't really have).

I felt a surge of relief yesterday when I realized that it was actually Thursday.  I was somehow stuck in a Wednesday loop, that this hard week was lasting forever.  I was grateful it was Thursday.  But then Thursday itself lasted forever.  By 1 p.m. I couldn't believe it was only 1 p.m. as I had clearly had three full workdays in that time.  Time is a social construct.

As I get stressed, I find it hard to keep up with everyday things.  I haven't been logging my meals or steps in my fitness tracker; my weight is going back up.  I've barely remembered to log things in my ovulation tracker, which is all over the place as my body isn't sure what the fuck it's doing since I had my IUD removed.  Which could also explain some mood things, too.

In other words, it's Friday, it's not a payday, it's pouring down rain, and I really, really want to not do adult things for the next 24-72 hours.  Who's ready to hire a professional napper?  Because I am ready and available.

The Universe Is Cruel

The other day my sister was making one of our HelloFresh meals for dinner:  Mexican beef burrito bowls with poblano peppers.  I don't find poblanos to be all that spicy, but my sister does, and she dutifully washed her hands after cutting and handling the pepper.

Sometime later, she had to blow to her nose.  Now, I'm not exactly sure on the details, but she said the Kleenex "broke" while she was blowing, so I guess her bare finger ended up touching her nose?  Again, I'm not sure, but shortly after I found her laugh-crying in the kitchen about "hot peppers" holding a fingerful of yogurt up her nose.

And I laughed, too.  More "at" her than "with" her, especially as she still had one finger up her nose, trying to hold yogurt in place (no easy feat, I assure you).  I helpfully offered to remove most of the poblanos from her presence during the meal (by eating them).

A few days after this incident, I made our other HelloFresh meal:  one pot chili with pork and black beans.  Sidenote:  I've only ever made chili with beef, so this was an interesting change.  Oh, and the recipe involved one (singular) jalapeno: half of it minced into the chili, the other half in slices for "garnish."  And as my sister taught me (even before the poblano-yogurt incident), I was sure to thoroughly wash my hands after handling, cutting, slicing, and mincing the jalapeno.  And even after washing, I avoided touching my eyes, face, etc.

Later, a good twenty minutes later, as the chili had been simmering, but we hadn't yet eaten, I, too, had to blow my nose (my eyes had been watering when dicing the onion).  My Kleenex didn't break.  I'm not sure what happened, actually, but some of the jalapeno oil must have gotten somewhere, because a bit of my nose and my entire upper lip felt like they were on fire.

I washed my hands again.  I tried lightly washing my face (with cold water, to ease the burning), I applying some light, soothing lotion, I put on chapstick, but still the burning remained.  It wasn't awful; mostly just annoying, but my sister got a laugh out of it nonetheless.  I ate the chili (delicious), and moved on.

And then after that, maybe an hour later, I was sitting on my bed, playing on my phone, whilst the boytoy prepared to leave for a few hours.  I had an itch in...an unfortunate place...and, without thinking, reached down and lightly scratched said itch with my right index finger.

And within seconds I realized my mistake.

And I said, hoarsely, to the boytoy:  "I should not have done what I just did."
"What?"
And I explained, my eyes growing wide as my crotch was burning with the fire of a thousand jalapeno suns.

I stripped off everything I was wearing from the waist down and did a strange hopping-waddle-dance to the bathroom to get a washcloth and soak it with cool water.  I pressed the cool washcloth to my poor burning vajayjay, and it only partially eased the fire raging.
All the while the boytoy was torn between laughing at my antics and feeling bad for me:  "Ohhh, honey!"

Sniffling, I asked him to run to the kitchen, get a small ramekin from the drawer, and put -- you guessed it -- some yogurt in it.  While I continued to hop and apply the washcloth to my burning private parts.

I managed to text my sister (who was only in the living room, but I wasn't going anywhere, not having any pants on):

"The universe is cruel.  I just scratched myself in an unfortunate place and apparently still had jalapeno on my finger.
I want to die."

She responded in the only appropriate fashion:  with a GIF.


The boytoy brought me the requisite yogurt as I put a towel on my bed and prepared to lie down, apply the cultured balm, and suffer (somewhat dramatically).  The boytoy had to leave;  I had to call to my sister to lock the door after him as I wasn't going anywhere.

I texted her from across the penthouse one last time:

"I will be in my room until further notice."

While lying there with my yogurt-slathered crotch, I thought for a moment and then swiped a fresh smear some on my upper lip, too, as it was still burning.

I got your fucking spa treatment right here.

Resolutions Schmezolutions

New Year's, resolutions, yadda yadda yadda -- here's another chance to not suck!

Like I do most year, I'm resolving to write more.  But I prefer to call it a goal, rather than a "resolution."  (Words matter, y'all.)  Normally I'd be handwriting this particular tripe in my journal but (of all days), I left it at home (and I'm in the office).  So typey-typey it is!

I decided sometime late last year (heh) that continuing to review books and movies would be a good way to keep on writing.  So what did I do?  I started at least two (as yet unfinished) reviews, and I've read a third book that deserves a review that I cannot find the words to as it was simply too sublime (The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern, if you're wondering).  I've even gone back and read those unfinished drafts to see if they could jog my memory enough to finish 'em. Nope.

I really need to write reviews as soon as I've finished something, while everything is still fresh(ish) in my head.  As far as The Starless Sea is concerned, I also considered going back and just reading the parts I highlighted (thanks, Kindle!), mostly out of context, to see what that produces.  So far, nothing.  Not that it didn't trigger thoughts, just that I've been too lazy to write anything.  Bad Leonard, bad!

Also on my mind lately:  abuse, memoir writing, writing about abuse, repressed memories (particularly when they become unrepressed, which is apparently not a word), magical realism.

So that's what I've got goin' on.  2020, you'll be eventful, I'm sure.