I figured it was time I post something more than 10 lines long. I've thought about it all weekend, but whenever I thought about it for more than 2 seconds there was a tendency to climb back under the covers, pull them over my head, and fall asleep. Here's the weekend report:
Ditched my cleaning Friday, had a cookout with friends, drank and ate too much. I didn't think I'd had that much to drink, but between the eating and the drinking I felt like baked ass on Saturday. Woke up feeling sick around 10am, stayed up til noon, and went back to sleep until 5:00. FIVE O'CLOCK. I hate sleeping that much in one day, but every time I got up I just wanted to lay back down. It had more to do with the onset of a funk (my term to make it sound less ass-tingling and cringe-inducing than "a depression"). Once I got up and stayed up at 5:00 I did a bunch of nothing. I think I played on the computer and watched HGTV. Heavy on the HGTV. I could now totally restructure your overgrown garden into a feast for the eyes.
Sunday dawned with another completely shitty mood that I promptly took out on everyone that it had nothing to do with. My mother is a good woman. Actually, she was depressed, too, so we were just one big ball of sunshine. Yesterday was bad. Really bad. Haven't felt that horrible in a long time. I hauled my butt out of bed at noon, got dressed, and we went to a Father's Day lunch at my cousin's house. It's always a good time--lots of family I like, good food, pups to play with. However, yesterday I just wanted to scalp everyone. Every time someone opened their mouth I felt an almost-uncontrollable urge to roll my eyes until they flew out of my head, rolled across the table, and trekked all the way home. I held myself in check for the most part, listened to everyone else talk, and smile at appropriate intervals. No one knew the difference (I hope). One good thing about my moody "funks" is that I'm keenly aware that I want to act like an ass, and I apologize pretty consistently to my saintly mother who generally just nods and smiles and throws out a random, "Love you!" until it passes. Yesterday when I mentioned it was the worst I'd felt in ages she asked, "Why? What's wrong?" to which I wanted to roll my eyes even harder because it's never a matter of why, simply a matter of when. We talked about it. She gets it. The only cutthroat moment yesterday came when we had our 800th conversation about what color the handyman should paint the trim on our house. We've known the guy was coming for 3 months, we've chosen paint color, but she decided yesterday to second guess everything and change her mind. I didn't care what she changed her mind to, just DECIDE. It's trim. It's not even the whole damn house. So it almost came to blows, but he arrived this morning and all is right with the trim.
As for Father's day: it doesn't register on my radar. My real dad has been dead since 1999 (didn't see him for 6 years prior to his death) and my grandfather, the real dad, has been gone since 2002. It's always been a pretty depressing day for me in general and yesterday proved no different.
On another depressing front, the fucking Mavericks are bound and determined to piss away the NBA championship. I can only hope they buck up and pull out two wins at home to clinch this thing. Either way, Dirk is still my NBA crush. I've had an NBA crush pretty steady since Jason Kidd in 1994/1995 season. I met Kidd his rookie year. He was delightful. Since then the crushes centered mostly around Steve Nash until I came to my senses several years ago and realized Dirk is 7' tall and hot. No, boys at work, this is not a new thing, I just don't tell y'all everything. And I haven't had much time to watch the Mavs this season.
Today's docket: work (aka sit) unti 2:00, finish my cleaning spree, and start revisions on some projects.
Today I don't feel as depressed. Just tired and generally uninterested.
Listening: "Postcard of a Painting"...Maximo Park (the new best song ever)