2015 is off to a start of some sort

So…apparently I’m spending 2015 awake? I made my blog post but my brain wanted to say more, so I kept writing for another hour. When my brain stopped wanting to write that, it wasn’t sure what to do next. I checked Instagram and saw everyone’s pictures from celebrations earlier in the evening. All of my friends looked fabulous, of course. A little tiny part of me (the very tiniest part you can possibly imagine) wishes I had been out there all glammed out and freezing my ass off to go WOOOOO!!!!! drunkenly at midnight. The whole entire rest of me is perfectly content with how we spent the evening: in bed watching TV. No, I’m not kidding. I made dinner. We ate dinner. We got into bed and watched episode 1 of Reign. (Verdict: odd but entertaining and requires absolute suspension of historical accuracies. You just gotta go with it.) Then I used our foam roller to calm some of the rage in my back. This only succeeded in revealing more ragey parts of my back. I took the dogs for a walk. It was SO COLD. I got back in bed, started my 2014 review post with Property Brothers in the background and then eventually, it was midnight!

Actually, at midnight I was in the bathroom waiting for a wave of nausea to pass. I’ve read some horror stories online about Zoloft withdrawal and a lot of them have mentioned unrelenting nausea as one of the worst side effects.¬†Mine started a few days ago but is sharp and intense and makes me want to die. So there I was in the bathroom, with cold sweats and that twisting loopy painful nausea ransacking my body, and 2015 slipped in unnoticed until I heard all the fireworks outside. Seriously, all the fireworks. I think all of the fireworks in a 50 mile radius were set off in and around downtown tonight. Any remaining fireworks were distributed amongst the various suburbs, obviously, because why else would all these assholes be shooting off¬†fireworks at 1am?



Babies make great birth control

No, really. They do.

If you’re single, like me, and you enjoy your single existence, like I do, then you know that to spend five minutes in the presence of a child, no matter how cherubic and squishy, makes your ovaries retract up into your ribcage. Don’t argue. It’s science.

I work in an office with four other women and we enjoy a very unusual work environment: absolutely no drama. It’s strange but it’s true. It’s a nice place to work because we’re all friends, we all support one another, and there’s no competition (except for last month but that was for the sake of free food, so c’mon). Two of us want to have children. Three of us absolutely do not.

I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this incredibly boring and unimportant information. I’m suffering from a severe case of L;AKDJFL;AKSDJFLAKDJF ALKDSFJ ALDJ AJFLKJDSLFKJDSF when it comes to words – just take a look at the three (3) drafted posts in my dashboard. Oh wait. You CAN’T. But trust me, there are three (3) drafted posts that I both hate and want to finish.

This is the problem with having an intense, passionate relationship with words. Stringing them together can turn into a giant clusterEFF. Like, in a span of three seconds. The past three nights, I’ve sat down to get some writing done (posts and otherwise), and my brain has transformed itself into a big brick wall. BIG. BRICK. WALL. I can’t scale it. I can’t knock it down. All I can really do is stand there and flail my ineffectual fists at it.

Why have I been given this incredible gift of needing to have words available to me 24 hours a day? I don’t know. Someone up there must love me A LOT.

I think some of the brick wall is made up of what happened at work last week, which STILL has me distressed even though I have proof that it was not my fault at all and that in my line of work, it happens to EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US. But still, it hurts your feelings when people don’t like you and think you’re an idiot. Even if you’re not an idiot and even if it’s not personal. It feels personal and that’s all that matters to my brain and my heart.

So I’m sitting here writing this post, with The Hangover on in the background (Bradley Cooper, me gusta), and No One’s Gonna Love You playing in iTunes. For a second there, I let the Tumblrites overtake my brain and I thought “IT IS SO TRUE. NO ONE’S GONNA LOVE ME” and then I remembered that that’s not FACT because a lot of people love me. I’m a loveable girl. It’s not MY fault that not ENOUGH people appreciate me.

Okay, this post is borderline creepy and completely weird. Do you have any questions for me, random people I probably know who don’t need any questions answered? Do you have any words of wisdom? Inspiration?

What’s your favorite song at the moment?

Where do you want to vacation this summer?

What color shirt are you wearing right now?

What sports do you like?

Do you know that the All Star game is tomorrow (or today, or yesterday, or three weeks ago, depending on when you read this)?

What’s your favorite snack?

Do you like sweets?

Have you ever put your feet in the Atlantic Ocean? How about the Pacific?

Which ocean do you prefer?