crazy talk

I mentioned in “A Day” that I’d had some violent urges. On Friday (the day after that entry), when a number of things went wrong at once, I threw my laptop down the stairs. Also, my husband was coming up the stairs at the time (coming to help me, in fact).

My laptop is my most precious possession – it has ALL my writing on it (mostly backed up, but still). My husband is my favourite person ever.

I’ve never done anything that could harm a person before – or anything that I thought was likely to harm an object (not even a plate, which I believe is traditional).

I always get about half a second of rational thinking in moments like this. All I managed to think was, “This is bad. Throw slowly, and try not to hit him.”

I didn’t hit him – my husband actually moved in front of my bag and stopped it with his foot. He certainly didn’t feel threatened. My laptop (in its padded laptop bag) was fine too. But saying “it’s all good” would be wildly innaccurate.

It’s bizarre and frightening that I would actually throw something – especially my beloved laptop – at a person. It’s weird and embarassing that the underlying cause of my current stress is that a publisher is taking a long time to reply (which is a good sign – but one I’ve had almost twenty times before). It just isn’t a good reason for me to find myself so far over the edge. (On the other hand, like many other writers, I’ve been working toward a big break for over a decade.)

Nonetheless, here I am. There’s a good chance the publisher will reply today or tomorrow. I guarantee I’ll feel better when they do, even if it’s a rejection (that’s just how I roll, people). In the meantime I’m wandering around the house resisting the urge to scream and punch things, and I’ll probably stay that way a few days. 

I’d better take me some happy pills tomorrow.

I’ve been meaning for a while to detail an ordinary day in the life of a crazy person (that’d be me, for those who haven’t been paying attention).

Today is Thursday, which means that I have two and a half hours of tutoring – that’s a big day. I’m slightly more stressed than usual due to my partner working a lot of overtime (he seems fine but I’m stressed on his behalf), the long months of waiting for Harper Collins’ reply, and my parents’ 25th wedding anniversary a week and a half ago (I take a long time to recover from things).

I awoke at 8:00am as usual, feeling frightened. This was because I was teaching at a school today, and I was nervous for various minor reasons (which also gave me nightmares). I remembered NOT to eat nuts for breakfast (important when visiting a school, where breathing nut-breath can cause anaphylactic shock). I’d gained another twenty twitter followers overnight (good, except I suspect I’ve attracted the attention of spambots rather than humans). Patched up a rung in my right knee-hi with nail polish (all my other knee-highs were in the wash).

By 9:20am I was at the school with plenty of time to spare, despite taking two wrong turns on the way (it’s about 5 minutes from my house, involves only four turns altogether, and I’ve already been there several times. Oh well).

The class went well. (Although I don’t think anyone actually went home and followed me on twitter, which in theory was the point.)

Went to my parents’ house (while they’re on a second honeymoon) to use their clip art and printer (making certificates for a writing competition – my second attempt at certificates, since our home printer is about as helpful as a customer service line). Noticed a car out the front, and mentally braced myself for my parents (parents are innately scary – I always have my most severe panic attacks in their house). I rang the doorbell to warn them (so they can put clothes on/hide their lover/sweep the dead goats under the rug, paused a second, and let myself in. The cleaner was on her way to the door, and when she appeared I scared both of us by screaming in shock. (She has bought a new car lately, which is why I didn’t recognise it - I had though it might be my parents’ rental car.)

Oh well.

The certificate-making was surprisingly easy, but the parental printer didn’t work.

Oh well.

I bought lollies at the local shop – 150grams chocolate coated peanuts, 200g natural confectionary jellybeans, a mini peppermint freddo and a mini caramello.

I considered staying at my parents for a few hours until I had to go to work, but was too scared my parents would drop by (it’s worth noting that I get on just fine with my parents). So I drove home. (This is trip # 1 to the North side today.)

On the way home, I ate enough jelly beans to feel sick. I left them in the car in order to stop myself eating more.

Ate lunch, ate the two smaller chocolates, and started on the peanuts while reading. Felt sick from choc-coated peanuts. Slept. Awoke muddled and frightened, and considered cancelling my first hour of tutoring. But it was the one that pays in cash, so I didn’t. Just went to work, with a stress-headache (I’ve been getting stress headaches since my partner and I got engaged last year – there’s nothing more stressful than a wedding, and I haven’t really recovered yet.)

Trip # 2 to the North side today.

Stepped out of the car and realised my right shoe, perhaps feeling companionable toward my right knee-high stocking, was broken. I ignored it, except for walking carefully (which I have to do already, because panic-attack and/or medication uncoordination makes heels difficult these days).

Spent a large portion of the lesson chatting with the student. Could arguably call it “holistic” teaching.

During the next lesson I managed to check my email twice (did I mention Harper Collins haven’t replied yet?) Unfortuantely, that student has an assignment due Monday (which – hallelujah – she HASN’T lost this time), and I’d left two important pieces of paper at home (despite writing about them in my diary). I phoned my husband (who I knew was seeing a friend this evening) and asked if his friend lived on the Northside. The friend doesn’t, but my partner suggested he meet me in Belconnen with the two pieces of paper. I told him not to worry.

My third student was wriggly but good. She said I had what looked like possum tracks on my face (this is because she’s been studying Aboriginal culture – and because I write on my hand to help me remember things, which frequently transfers to my face).

Then I went home to pick up the two vital pieces of paper. A car tried to zoom around me on a form one lane (scary) and another beeped nearby (not at me, I think, but my first reaction was anger - then I thought how fun it’d be to smash my driver’s side window with my head. I remembered the last time I’d smashed a car window – also in panicked anger – and decided not to). Ate the rest of the jelly beans, and felt sick.

I was at home for ten minutes. I did a little tidying, pushed my knee-highs down around my ankles so my blood could circulate for a bit, ate a small amount of my dinner, and checked my email (nothing from Harper Collins). By sheer good luck, my husband was still home, so I got a welcome-home smoochie. I was holding up well until he asked how I was, when I immediately (and unexpectedly) cried. (But only for a second.)

Went back to my student’s house. Ate the rest of the choc-coated peanuts and felt sick. (Trip # 3 to the North side today.) Gave her the pieces of paper, and reminded her of various things which she’s probably forgotten by now.

Realised as I left that my knee-highs were still bunched around my ankles. Oh well. On the Tuggeranong Parkway (Canberra’s only 100 kmh zone), I felt a flash of curiousity about what it’d be like to put my foot down and drive into the line of cars in the other lane. By now it was dark and raining heavily, and I was hallucinating a little (which isn’t related to mental illness. I think it’s a mild sleep-apnea thing. Interestingly, I don’t hallucinate when on anti-depressants). It’s rare for me to get those flashes nowadays, but there have been times (generally when off chocolate) when I’d have to write stuff like, “Don’t injure self” on my hand (so I’d remember I didn’t actually want to do that stuff).

Arrived home. Ate. Watched trashy TV (20 to 1 most outrageous rock stars). Cried when they played four bars of Pink’s “Dear Mr President”. Wrote twittertale blog.

Called husband to see if his friend can print the certificates. Friend doesn’t have a printer, but husband said he will make arrangements elsewhere tomorrow (you can kinda see why I married him, huh?).

Now it’s 10:00 o’clock, and my husband’s on his way home to watch a “Buffy” episode before we go to sleep.

And that’s a day in the life of a mental.

Just don't make her angry

I don’t like staying home like a scared little kitty – but I can see the up side. Jealous, anyone?

Today I’ll be eating lollies, reading books, and recovering from a monster week (not that it’s over yet, but I’ve cancelled most of my work for the rest of this week).

It’s never good when I try to do too much. I get angry, violent, uncoordinated and incoherant. Also I cry. My mental-management skills are improved to the point where I almost never cry in front of people, but just save it up until I can go home (or at least into another room). Still, that just leaves me crying at home, which isn’t quite the effect I’m aiming for.

So: books, candy, and a long stretch at home with almost nothing to do. If it was something I’d actually chosen for myself, it’d be perfect. And who gets perfection, anyway?

Okay, SHE is perfection.