Last night, I experienced two traumas. 

My assistant picked up my pre-packaged food at Super Suppers.  Yes, I said it.  I have no children, I have no work right now, but I had my assistant go pick up premade food for me so I don’t have to cook or leave the house.  That’s because I haven’t showered brushed me teeth or hair, or used deodorant in three days, because I haven’t FUCKING SLEPT in three days.

So, in comes the bag of food.  I’m all excited.  I don’t actually have to create the meal; all I have to do is put it in the oven using some kind of directions, and voila; food.  That I didn’t prepare.  That shouldn’t kill me.  Now, you all know how much I love to cook.  Well, I CAN cook, but I choose not to.  So let’s move onto the first trauma.  The oven.

I think I have used my oven twice in a year and a half.  I think. There are some buttons on it that look familiar, and some really high numbers that appear to go to almost 1000.  Broil, bake, those numbers; way too many options.  Thank god for food preparation directions.

So I take the easy to understand directions, and read them 15 times.  Yup. 15 times.  You see, I was cooking a meat entree and two casseroles to keep in the fridge over the next couple of days.  So, I had to make sure that little number-y knob was about the same number.  Plus, they wanted me to COVER the meat dish.  With what?  My ass?  It came with one of those paper tops on it.  I’m not putting paper into the oven.  I’m not THAT stupid.  I asked the dogs where the baking sheets were, and they pointed to the drawer at the bottom of the oven.  Thank god they were paying attention when my mother unpacked me.  Yup, I said it.  My mother unpacked me when I moved here.  Hey, I work, assholes.  Don’t judge me.

Three baking sheets later (after trying out four to get the dishes to fit on the goddamned things), I had two casseroles sitting on an air bake sheet I think I used to bake cookies on, and a baking “sheet” (I don’t know what to call it since it’s about an inch deep), the meat thing on it, and another baking “sheet” two inches deep thrown over the top.  Covered. Done.

Now, I gotta turn the knob.  Okay, let’s see.  350.  Got it.  Nope, oven not getting hot.  Fucking thing doesn’t work.  Ooooh, what’s that “bake” knob?  Oh okay.   Turned it on.  Oven gets hot.  I get out the only potholder I own, which is a Wiley Coyote potholder where I shove my hand up his ass.  I changed the locations of the racks (yup, aren’t you proud of me?) and put the food into the oven.  I finally learned how to set the fucking timer on the microwave.  On mine,  you set it to cook for a period of time, then set the power level to zero.  How fucked up is that?  Every other one I have had had a timer button.  Oh well.  Okay, 30 minutes on the clock.  Wait, 3.  Shit, okay redo.  30 minutes on the clock.

45 minutes later, I had a chicken meat dish, some type of squash side dish, and cheezy mashed potatoes.  I had to figure out where the actual plates were (thank god for the dogs again), and found a spoon and put food on the plate.  Okay, so far so good.  Food was good.  The dogs were happy, and I didn’t destroy anything much.

All good.  My boobs hurt like hell.  I feel like ass.  I attack Gwen on facebook for a couple of hours, feel good enough about  myself that I won superpoke, and decided to go to bed after taking two Xanax.  Don’t judge me.  I haven’t slept.  Assholes.

A hour later, I finally get up and get back online.  Fab has apparently lost his mind, Gwen decided to stop attacking me, and I filled out some quizzes.  I decided I needed chocolate or I was going to kill someone.  So out the door I go, in my sweats, my comfy shirt (which I have owned since I was 16) and my horrific pepto bismol pink sweater.  No bra.  Dude, I am going through a drive-through.  I don’t care what those assholes think of me.  So off I drive to Krispy Kreme.  What the fuck???? Krispy Kreme is closed at 11 p.m.?  Fuck.  Okay, Steak and Shake is open, but they are across the street.  Frisco is the land of the u-turn, so I decide to go all the way down to Sonic.  20 minute later, I am back at home with a chocolate malt, extra chocolate.  Okay, feel better.  Time to go to bed.

I fall asleep somewhere between midnight and one.  About four a.m., my boobs wake me up.  Yup, they hurt, and they woke me up.  I am taking a chainsaw and cutting them off.  Try to go back to sleep.  Barely.  Wake up 30 minutes later, screaming, sitting upright in bed, my hair standing on end.  I have NEVER had my hair stand on end before.  EVER.  It freaked me the fuck out.  I had a horrific night terror.  I mean, holy shit, I have never been that scared in my life. 

Here’s the setup.I was in a giant house, living with a bunch of people.  There were these constant noises, and we couldn’t figure out what they were.  In the bedroom beneath me, the old scientist guy from Futurama was sleeping (he wasn’t a cartoon in this dream though).  I hear him say, “God, what IS that noise?” So I finally decide to go out and investigate.  I stop at the top of the stairs, and flip two switches on and off over and over, but no lights.  I start down the stairs.  As I approach the bottom of the stairs, I felt something push me to the side; hard.  I turned in slow motion as I was pushed harder, and there was nothing there.  I felt a gust of wind, as I slowly turned my head back to the front, I was grabbed by some invisible entity, and was held in place and paralyzed.  It was the greatest force of evil feeling I have ever felt in my life.  I mean, whatever it was that grabbed me, I felt absolute cold in my chest, frozen in terror, and it just felt so horrifically evil.  I started screaming in my dream, but I couldn’t scream very loud.  That’s when I woke up sitting upright in bed, screaming my head off, and my hair felt like it was standing straight up.  There were chills going through my whole body, through my hair, and they were the most intense chills I have ever felt in my entire life.  I literally felt like my hair had gone white, I felt that much terror.  I have night terrors, but they are rare.  I have never had one that intense.  You guys know me.  I am not a Xtian.  I believe that Jesus was a good man, had a lot of great ideas, and generally speaking, is a good example of a human being.  But in my dream, when I was grabbed and held, I remember that I realized I was doomed from that absolute cold in my chest and evil feeling, and I started praying for my life.  I mean, I was like, “Jesus, dear god, if you exist please save me, please help me.  This evil does not exist.  It is not here. ”  And if you know me at all, that would be the last thing in the world I would ever say.

I am a spiritual person, and I believe in a higher entity, and I believe we are all of the same fabric.  I meditate, and I do pray as a form of meditation.  But I don’t pray to Jesus.  Last night, I sure as hell did.  Even as I write this right now, I have chills, my hair is all tingly, and I have goosebumps.  So it’s five a.m., I get up after what, four hours of sleep, and it takes me a half hour to shake off the night terror.  The first thing I decided to do is make coffee and pretend to be an artist for this blog.

So now, here it is, two hours later, and now you know about my two traumas last night.  God help me, if I don’t sleep tonight, someone is going to have to admit me to the hospital.  It is NO BUENO POR NADA for a bipolar to miss sleep.  Bipolars have to be very careful and ensure that they get a good seven a night, or a swing occurs.  I already feel hypomanic, and know that I am, which isn’t helping the sleep.  Thank god I am seeing the psych this week.  I think I am going to have to use some temporary Risperdal, and I am going to have to get something for sleep.  And I HATE taking things for sleep.  NyQuil (big N, little y, BIG FUCKING Q) or Benedryl usually work, but not this time.  Xanax will usually put me out, and I usually only have to take it once ever two or three weeks.  Man, I got street value of Xanax in my house of probably a couple grand, since I never take it.  Anyway, that’s it.  That’s my two traumas.

Good news though.  Dell contacted me for a technical presales position which is commission based with a quota.  Plus, I actually have the knowledge for the position.  So, we shall see how it goes today.  I am going to talk to the sales manager.  Plus, I am waiting on TargetBase to get back to me on a Director of BI position.  Y’all think of me and hope that I get a job soon, or I will be writing these blogs from Starbucks after living in my car and not showering for days at a time.  I will be like the bum at Starbucks in the Financial District in San Fran at the Wells Fargo building (I have to tell you which one, because there is one on each of the four corners of the intersection).  Every morning, they gave him a free cup of coffee, and he would hang onto that bathroom key like it was the only thing that he possessed in his life.  Poor guy.  He is schizophrenic.  

Aren’t I getting better at drawing?