Well, I checked out this Yahoo! article on heart attack symptoms, and, unsurprisingly, I have them ALL.
This was after I had the shittiest day in ages, so you must understand that it's not only my hypochondria which has me thinking I'm going to join Elizabeth because this is the big one*. It's all combining to make me think this is it. It's over. Particularly because Saturday was a clusterfuck of aggravation and despair.
There was fighting with the husband and not-so-surreptitiously deciding we were getting a divorce because FUCK HIM and then we did the, "Are you done being a jerk?" thing on Sunday and then he played a Pearl Jam song he said made him think of me [No, NOT JEREMY! GOD!], so the divorce is off. For now. [Also, I must ask again, how did I spend my 20s dicking around and NOT fuck Eddie Vedder? WHAT THE HELL? I am SO.PISSED. I didn't head out to Seattle and get him while I could. Goddamnit, Charlie. That's bullshit.]
I also was morose about . . . everything. Literally every single thing. Job? Life in general? Debt? Missing my kid? Hating my body/mind/hair/soul? All of it. It was a no good very bad day.
So I ended up making chocolate chip cookies, which helped a bit. And then Sunday was actually not terrible and Monday was less hateful. I hate moods. I want just a flatline of okayness. With some bursts of OH FUCK YEAH. Is that too much to ask for? IS IT?
Also, apropos of nothing: sometimes when I play WWF, I deliberately put in curse words so it will tell me, "Sorry, that's not an acceptable word." And then I get all smug and say, "Fuck you, WWF! I WILL DECIDE WHAT IS ACCEPTABLE!"
I may need more friends in the real world.
*Please, please tell me someone got the Sandford and Son reference? Also, when the girl was smaller and still was at home all the time, we would walk into her messy, messy room and sing the theme song. She was pissed when she finally saw Fred and Lamont's house on t.v.