Demerol is not as fun as it sounds

I have had a very interesting week. First, I really think I am about to get this job for which they are going to pay me about $15,000 less than I'm worth. But, ok, there are benefits, good ones, and probably room for advancement, etc.
Plus a place to go every day. So if you have fingers, cross them, please.

I spent the most beautiful weekend in the world curled up in a ball with a migraine. Finally on Sunday I went to the hospital. Where they shot a half gallon of demerol into my ass.

I mean, there's a whole story where I tried to get my stupid asshole neurologist on the phone half a dozen times and took a near-toxic dose of Imitrex, and then I called my friend who is a paramedic in Hoboken (where the nearest hospital is) and he was like, I'd meet you there but I'm out of town so he called the ER and they pretty much took me in ahead of people with axes sticking out of their necks, and they tried something else first, and then while I was waiting for the first drug to work an ACTUAL crazy person came in, all tied to a bed with four cops about to taser him and shit, and then finally they gave me so much demerol that I got really happy for about 20 minutes and then fell into a five-hour k-hole.

So, yeah, that's basically the whole story.

I remember having a brief flicker of "oooh, demerol, that should be fun" through the worst headache of my fucking life, but it wasn't. It wasn't fun. I felt like I was paralyzed, or that talking or moving was too much effort. I have no idea if this what demerol is supposed to do, but it can't be, can it? Maybe they gave me the syringe meant for the crazy man. Maybe I weigh MUCH less than I think I do. I don't know. It was an awful day, though, and one I hope not to repeat.

So if I get this job, thus benefits, I will find another neurologist and get scans and things and then try whatever is next in line after Imitrex. Which my brother was rather surprised I was taking anyway, apparently it's old news and there is much better stuff out there.
They say migraines are supposed to get better as you get older. I am finding this to be a load of crap.

CRAP

You know, I don't post here when I am feeling good. The past two days I was a basket of fucking kittens and rainbows. The weather was beautiful, I worked out, I felt like a hundred bucks.
Today I am bored and lonely and I'm right back here.
I had an interview for a real, full-time job yesterday, with benefits. It's not as much money as I'm worth, but I'm not really in a position to turn down a real job that could end up being something. It's a good company.
I've already been called back for a meeting with HR on Monday, which, if I let myself think about it, sort of seems like a formality after an hour and a half with the person who is doing the hiring, but I can't let myself think like that, because probably I will meet with HR and then be faced with DEAD FUCKING SILENCE FOR SIX WEEKS. Or something.
I'm sure the woman watched me leave thinking "I am going to hire her", but for all I know she could be an escaped mental patient, or just the very most excited person in the world, all the time, and she gets that jazzed about everyone she meets and then immediately forgets them right after.

Next weekend there is a party, in my hometown, for my grandparents. My mom and her brother seem to be having an odd outbreak of sibling rivalry which manifests as duelling parties, because my mom had a party for them (or maybe it was just for my grandmother, it was unclear) at her house last summer.
But this is a joint party, for their 80th birthdays, which happened last year, held by my uncle at the god knows what, the American Legion or something. Someplace godawful.
And I don't want to go, it's criminally irresponsible for me to go in fact, as I will have to get to Newark, rent a car, and stay in a hotel. It's a 3-1/2 hour trip, no way we can avoid the hotel. I don't want to go. Jason doesn't want to go.
But my cousin, who I love so much, she's driving all the way down from upstate, and she hasn't met J, and I want them to meet, and GOD, my grandparents loved him so much, and of course I want to see them before one day I'm out of chances.
I'm going to have to put the car and hotel on a credit card and then hope to hell I can find a way to pay for it later.
Some way to live. I just feel like I have to go.
I suppose I can go make car and hotel reservations. CRAAAAPPPPP

I have nothing to say for myself

http://www.cnn.com/2005/SHOWBIZ/TV/04/06/review.charmed/index.html

I can't believe it. I feel as if I have just stumbled upon AA or something for the first time. This is on CNN, people. I feel so...vindicated. No, that's not the word. At least I am not alone. Noone is alooooone....
mmmmm......Sondheim.

I'm not trying to be all about the links, but I've been wanting to say this, too, except when I try to say it, I just start weeping uncontrollably and sputtering about the Hall of Fame and asterisks and how nothing means anything and it's the end of the world and cats lying down with dogs and blah. But here is someone who has some ordered coherent thoughts, that I plan to steal and pass off as my own.

http://www.tomatonation.com/juice.shtml

SSDD

This sucks so hard. I didn't go to the gym today after all - maybe tomorrow?
I. just. can't. move.
I saw a commercial just before where Tony Soprano's psychiatrist suggested that I might be depressed, but I really don't think I am. I think I'm just terrified and frozen and boring. How am I ever going to get out of this?

I really think that having these four jobs sort of dangling in front of my face is what's making this all so bad. It's much worse than having no immediate prospects. Four jobs, I keep hearing from people, "oh, they've called for a reference," or "oh, she loves you," but then nothing happens. For weeks. It's making me insane. And it's making me paralyzed.

I wrote something yesterday about how I hate making people laugh so easily, being seen as so smart, whatever. I have been thinking about that whole thing. I feel like a fraud. Like I'm being all artificially clever and getting cheap admiration or whatever, but at the same time, it's not artificial, in fact it's too easy, and that makes me feel bad, too.

I don't understand any of this. I just feel lousy and I'm going to have to quit therapy, because I can't afford it, and I don't think I will have any health insurance after this month.

Dude. I am just scared.

Hello Again

This is what I did today. Slept till eleven. Freaked the fuck out for awhile. Played "Thousands are Sailing" on Jason's guitar approximately 100 times. Freaked out some more. Read Jacob's blog. Got really depressed because he is so much a better writer than I am. Had quite a short "buck up, little camper" rally. Signed up to blog again myself.

I did this blogging thing before, and I guess some of it was okay. The thing is, I need to decide ahead of time what it's going to be. If I write really personal, confessional, dishy stuff, then at some point I will want to write about things that my friends are doing, and I'm not going to want them to see it, but I will already have been so vain and desperate for approval that I will have them all reading it, so I will just stop posting. Which is what happened before.

If I decide to write about what's happening in the world, I mean, no. Just go to andrewsullivan.com or something. I have no ideas or opinions worth sharing. Trust me. So I need to think of or steal an idea.

Here is why I am freaked out and why this reads like I have had seven cups of coffee instead of the TWO Xanax I have ACTUALLY already had today.
I have, I think, reached some sort of critical job-not-having mass, and I may just expire from the stress and the no money. I have been drinking too much, which is new for me (unless you knew me in high school, in which case it's VERY OLD for me). I can't think about my taxes without having to take a pill and breathe into a paper bag and play a really sad Irish song (and if you were wondering why you didn't know I could play the guitar, it's because I can't, and thank god you are not my neighbors) over and over and then if I'm lucky I stop thinking about my taxes. For a little while.

I keep making jokes to people (Jason's friends, I guess) about debtor's prison and Dickens, and god, I am so tired of everyone thinking I'm so fucking clever and having it be so easy to make people laugh, it all makes me feel like such a fraud.

Oh, and all this stress? And the being broke? Is making me want drugs. I have three joints in my freezer, and the only thing keeping me from smoking one is the near certainty that the result will be only two joints in the freezer. If I'm going to be broke and craving expensive things, why not massages or brazilian bikini waxes or something? Why something expensive AND self destructive (well, I'll argue that another time, because maybe not so much) AND hard to get.

Tomorrow I am going to the motherfucking gym. At least that's paid for. If I ever post here again, I will try to find a subject and also to calm the fuck down.

Nicole, if you read this, I miss you a real lot. I've been thinking about you all the time. Love you. Hope you're well.