Gone Girl.

“Tampon commercial, detergent commercial, maxi pad commercial, windex commercial – you’d think all women do is clean and bleed.” – Gillian Flynn

So I started writing a post on November 15, and then kinda gave up. It’s what happens when my life starts to become too complicated. Whatevs.

So here it is, December 20, and the following has happened:

At work, the entire building has been under construction for months now. Twice my desk has been the victim of roof and water damage. The carpet got soaked, and so I’m sure my lungs’ breathing capacity has been cut in half. It’s been fun, dodging water droplets and the occasional rubble. The construction guys come in and ask if we’ve seen any water lately, and it makes me want to punch them in the face.

Also, we had consultants come in recently to… consult. The owners and the upper management got interviewed and questioned but all they really said about me was that I seemed more calm (I got interviewed two years ago) in my new position, and that I could benefit from business classes (the writer/creative side of me recoils).

But, I mean… I could benefit from business classes. I could also benefit from a million or so dollars, and a lifetime supply of chocolate, so if they could hook me up with that, it would be amazing.

In life, I’m trying to balance work and family and friends and boyfriend, and things always suffer because I suck at balance. I went back to the rheumatologist who wants to do more tests. I have to schedule an ultrasound, and consult another doctor for a sleep referral because I AM TOTALLY NOT SLEEPING. And it’s awesome.

At home, Paul and I continue to cohabitate peacefully. Except yesterday. Yesterday I was a raging bitch from hell and while we didn’t have any crazy fights, we had a series of mini-fights in which I protested loudly that I wasn’t being listened to. At all. Ever. I don’t know what role my ovaries had in the words that were coming out of my mouth, but I assume they may have taken over my brain. #seconddayperiodproblems

He, of course, was as gracious as ever – surprising, since we both battled Lincoln Park traffic to get last-minute shopping done, and since our kitchen table has become my one-stop shop for all the things I have amassed for Christmas gifts. Things that are not right stress him the fuck out.

I love Christmas, but it stresses me the fuck out.

Speaking of things that stress me the fuck out, let’s talk about my mother. Probably about a month ago, her cell phone died because she lost the charger. I got her a new charger, but it might have killed the phone. I took her phone, and the charger, and went to Verizon and had a conversation which resulted in a new phone getting shipped to me only to discover that it didn’t work either, which resulted in another trip to Verizon, which resulted in another phone and a new charger.

I then brought this to my mother yesterday. I’m going to mention here that my mom hasn’t been on any medication for about three weeks. I know because I’m getting phone calls left and right from her residential facility, who are very kind and always ask me what to do, which leads me to discuss treatment options with my sisters. There hasn’t been a day in a long time that I am not, somehow, via some form of communication, figuring out what to do about my mom. The medication she will take doesn’t work for her, and the medication they want to start her on she won’t take because she believes that she is pregnant and that it will hurt the baby.

But her baby-making days are over. My sisters and I decided that we would just call her every day and remind her to take her meds, and that they were safe for illogical babies.

Hence, spending two weeks of my life dealing with a 1999 piece-of-shit flip phone.

So I call her place, and tell her I’m coming, and she’s like, “OH, which one of my children is this? It sounds like the baby Amanda.”

And I said, “It is!”

And she said, “Oh good.” and then she started laughing hysterically.

So I tell her to come downstairs, that I had her phone for her, end call.

Paul and I go into the facility, and we have to wait for my mom a bit – which is annoying because I told her to be downstairs. I chat a little with the head of the crisis unit whom I’ve spoken to on the phone, but not in person. My mom was recently placed in crisis, because she wasn’t on meds, and wasn’t really eating, but she wasn’t in danger enough to warrant a hospital stay. She started eating regularly, and they took her out of crisis. So she asks me if my mom has always been like this, and I tell her yes – I’m 31 and my mom has always been like this. And she’s like, “Well, she’s not agitated. We do hope she’ll take the medication, but right now, she’s pleasantly psychotic.”

And it’s like ON CUE, my mom is like, “What’s that? Pleasantly psychotic? I’ll SHOW YOU PLEASANTLY PSYCHOTIC.”

Because, just then, my mother appears, crazy-eyed and wild-haired, and I show her the bag with the phone and the charger, and she says, “NO THIS IS NOT THE ONE. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID. TAKE THIS AND LEAVE NOW.”

And I was like, “Um. No. Not leaving. This is your phone. This is a new charger.”

And she argues with me in the hallway so I tell her to flip the fucking phone up, to see that it is -IN FACT – working, and even though she sees that, she vehemently denies that it will charge. So we plug it in, and it starts charging, and she says that it will not charge. She says that the charging symbol is actually a dollar sign, and she tells me and Paul (sorry Paul) that we need to stop spending her money for our own selfish needs.

And I tell her that I spent my own money to get her phone fixed and that I could show her that I did so. She didn’t know what to do about that, so then she focused on the fact that I was wearing makeup, and that I shouldn’t be wearing makeup, and that I should take my eyeliner off with Vitamin E and not to trust the Japanese. And then she yelled at Paul again after he wished her a Merry Christmas (sorry again, Paul).

I called my sisters almost immediately – we think my mom’s definitely headed for a breakdown (realistically, it wouldn’t be Christmas without one; she was in the same state almost two years ago). So now I’m waiting for another phone call from her treatment team for a new course of action.

At which point, I got home and sobbed: I love Christmas, but it doesn’t love me back.

It stresses me the fuck out.

So, Paul and I chilled on our couch which took about a month to get, and we ate the most fattening delicious pizza, and drank all the good whiskey, and watched Elf (one of the few Will Ferrell movies I can tolerate).

And today, I got about 30% of my to-do list done, which kind of sucks because I have a very busy work week this week (albeit short, due to the holiday). So I have a lot of cramming to do.

But, right now? Right now, I have to (totally not) sleep.

Have a good night, friends. Be kind to yourselves.

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