I wanted to name this post “I’m a mushroom cloud laying motherfucker” but I can guess how that conversation would go:
Randy: Michelle. Sweetheart (you have to read that in an exasperated voice) you can’t put motherfucker in your title.
Me: But I like it.
Randy: You can’t keep alienating people because you are in love with the word motherfucker.
Me: I’m not in love with it. I mean, we have a thing, but it’s cool. It’s complicated.
Randy: Whatever, you want to marry the word motherfucker.
So, you see? It’s just not worth it. I’m sure that isn’t exactly how the conversation would go, but it’s in the ballpark. I still stole one of Sam’s lines from Pulp Fiction for my title. It just doesn’t make as much sense.
Anyway, I wanted that headline because my anxiety right now is a mushroom cloud laying motherfucker. I’ll be alright, I always am. I’d be lying if I didn’t say my anxiety’s severe.
When I walk into work tomorrow, I’m walking into a big ass problem that I found out about on Saturday morning. Not of my making, but I have to fix the problem and it scares the fuck out of me.
If that isn’t enough, here’s the other thing. Tomorrow is Halloween and we’re supposed to dress up. The theme is Robert Palmer’s Addicted To Love video. The women in the office are supposed to dress like the tall, skinny model looking women with the slicked back hair. Wearing high heels and bright red lips. Because that look works so well on a 53 year old woman who is 50 pounds overweight and who’s hair turns 100% gray when it’s pulled back. Also, smoky eyes and bright red lips? That look became too harsh for me 10 years ago.
I mean, I don’t have to dress up. But I already get a fuck ton of shit from people because I don’t participate. Which is fair. I don’t participate. I’m totally cool with not participating. They do shit like go canoeing and camping. That sounds like a punishment to me. I like nature in theory and fuck camping. Wearing all black and putting on a little makeup isn’t horrible. And who cares if I have a granny bun? So, if I did participate, maybe I’d catch less shit for being standoffish.
Either fucking way, it doesn’t help my goddamn anxiety level.
I can’t go in tomorrow and fix a massive data problem while I’m dressed up like a mime. That’s ridiculous.
I don’t know.
When y’all are reading this, I’m either wearing jeans and a company polo or I am wearing all black and already have severe raccoon eye because my flop sweat is fucking up my makeup.
Wish me luck, okay? All I can think is that by this time tomorrow, it will all be over with and I’ll be in the car on the way home.
Also, in just over a week, this godawful election will be over. I am not naive. I know shit will happen afterward which will keep the anxiety buzzing. I’m hoping shit dies down quick and we can begin putting election 2016 behind us. I have to think that is going to help with the anxiety.