Sunday, Mar. 17, 2002 / 5:13 p.m.

~This One's Really Unpleasant, So You May Just Want To Skip It~

I just threw a temper tantrum, of sorts, and I'm not sure it's over. Why? How did it start? Is there a specific reason? Is it the dreaded "PMS"?!

I have no excuse. No, it's not PMS, I'm not pregnant, it's not hormones, there is no excuse at all. But it's hot in here, it's too fucking hot outside, it should NOT be 82 degrees in March, that's just fucked up. On the Weather Channel today they were talking about how this has been the warmest winter recorded in several Eastern cities, and the reason, they think, is the Jet Stream hung out in Canada, across Canada, if you will, so that it blocked the usual Arctic air from sweeping down and cooling us off.

I don't care, I just know it was too warm in January and it's too warm now, and it started to rain so I closed the porch and the bedroom window and gave in and turned on the A/C, but it doesn't work. It's not cooling, the temp is not cold enough, it needs servicing, I know this. I've lived here 5 years, that's FIVE years!, and not once has anyone been in here to do anything, not even check my heater before the cold season begins or check my A/C before Summer, only to change the filter, and it's been years since they've done that. Unless they come in here while I'm not home, don't leave a note that they've been here, etc. Fuck if I know.

Last time someone came in, he left me with extra filters, so I just change them myself. I couldn't find the right size at Wal Mart, so I was glad he gave me some.

But I need a new doorknob for the front door, it's about to fall off, the old one, and a new lock, the doorjam is all cracked anyway, it would so easy to break in here, just push hard and you're in. I need the A/C unit to be injected with some fresh freon, or whatever, I need things done, but the maintenance dude, the head dude, always just stares at me, and I see him at least three times a day every day, out by his pickup truck, outside the Leasing Office - in the morning, when I come home at lunch, in the evening after work. And I tried waving, smiling, whatever, but he just stares usually. I do NOT want that dude in my apartment.

And you know how it is with apartments, they just come in when they want, they don't call you first, they're not going to tell you. But it's fucking HOT in here!

So, I threw my tantrum, and no, I'm not finished yet, not by a long shot, and I pulled out the old filter, changed it, sure, that's all it was, it was caked with dust and hair, the cats you know, so I figured that was it. No. It's just not putting out cold air, and it's hot in here, did I say that? Upstairs unit, piss poor insulation. I'd almost rather call someone, find some reputable company and pay for a service call, to get it Summer-Ready, than to have that creepy guy come here while I'm at work. Because you know they will tell me they can't come on weekends, he's busy, or whatever.

I'm just in this horrible mood, horrible. Like I hate this place, I hate this apartment, not the apartment itself, but all this crap, and the fact that it all has to be dusted and cleaned and vacuumed, and the cats have torn up this and that, so it looks shoddy, and it wasn't just them, it was the cats before them - remember, this is all OLD crap, all of it. Dust and piles of crap everywhere. Mementos, mine and others'. Why?

Sometimes I just want it all to burn up and go live in a single room, nothing but a mattress on the floor. If that.

I'm overwhelmed. I'm shirking all responsibilities, I can't do anything. I'm frozen in place. If it's not getting up and going to work it's nothing. I can't do a thing. And it makes me hate myself. I'm not some go-getter, I'm not out and about, making things happen, changing the world, changing myself, I can't even take care of myself. I'm amazed I function at all.

Seriously.

Look how old I am, I'm going nowhere, fast. Or slowly. It's too slow. It's all just a bunch of nothingness, my life is nothing, it's all what's come before, it's nothing now. In the past I was alive, I lived, I loved, I traveled. There is nothing now. I swear, if it weren't for television, and this computer, there would be no me. I'd be a puddle on the floor.

Thinking all of this, starting from It's Too Fucking HOT in Here, and going to I Hate My Life!, makes me so depressed, like I'm doing it to myself.

And they're all little things. Like someone else would come along and say, "Now, now, it's not that bad, we'll fix it, we'll get some freon in the A/C, it'll all be just fine, not to worry. Your life isn't so bad, you're happy, you love your apartment, you love your cats, you love your TV and your computer and your books. Come on now, I'll help you, we can clean everything up together, it will be fun, we'll make a game of it."

But there is no someone else, there is no one else. Just me. And I get so sick of me. Just me. I get so sick of watching me sit and do nothing, procrastinating again and again. Thinking I can clean once and that's it. No, woman, it's called maintenance, yes, you hate it, but you have to do it. There are certain things you simply have to do. You can't wait around for someone else to come along, you have to do it, yourself. You are all you have, there will be no one else. Do it or suffer like this.

I think of that Nike slogan, all the time, I can't just sit here and see myself doing all of it, in my mind's eye, "Just Do It", I tell myself, you've already thought it through, now just do it. JUST DO IT. Smoke some pot, whatever, whatever will make you get started. And then do it.

I remember times when I wasn't like this. I would reach a point, similar, but it never went this long. Dishes never sat this long. The dust never stayed settled in one spot this long. The car got repaired, somehow, I did what had to be done. Now, there's nothing. Work, home. Work, home. And on weekends, it's this. Me, lost. Can't even leave the apartment. Two whole days to do all those things I imagine doing during the week, all those things I never have time for, shop, clean, be content, make my house a home, but I never do it. I'm incapacitated.

I sleep, I dream, I wake up and say, "What now?" Check email, write in diary, drink coffee and eat whatever I can find in the fridge. Watch TV. Listen to music. I don't even read. It's too much trouble, I'd have to find a place with the right lighting, and there is no place, I knew that when I first arranged the furniture, five years ago. There is only one spot, on the sofa way on the left side, with that lamp on the table, but I never sit there, it's claustrophobic there, the living room is too small, this is too that, that is too this.

If I had one single excuse for why this is happening to me now, one valid reason for this meltdown, one explanation for why I'm ceasing to function, on the weekend, when I need to function most, this is my time, MY time, I could relax. I could say, Oh, okay, you're right, I'm just this, or that, or there is too much of this in my brain, or I think too much, or I'm depressed, and why did I wake up crying? Lying in bed, first thing, I started to cry. That's not me, who is that? Who is this now?

And don't offer me solutions that involve third parties, therapists, or drugs. I don't want to take drugs. I don't want to sit with a stranger and talk about how much I would rather be dead than living like this, and that if the cats weren't alive I'd not hesitate to end my life, I've been there, I've sat with a stranger. It helped, briefly, but it's a waste of money in the long run.

Everything else has been a disguise, a front, a mask for this, now, this is what's real and the rest is me biding time. I wish I could just do it, all of it. Many people do. Women do, they set aside a day, a cleaning day. I read about it here, on Diaryland, women cleaning their rooms, or their apartments, or whole houses, like it's just something they do, like I floss my teeth every night. I just look at it, I just see it and think about doing it.

I'm so fucking lazy. There is nothing to me, nothing good, I feel like such a waste of space.

Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)

Run, Kitty, Run!

Previous - Next

New - 2012 - 2009 - 2008 - 2007 - 2006 - 2005 - 2004 - 2003 - 2002 - 2001 - Profile - Contact - Notes - Rings - Diaryland - Favourite Entries - ReadMe - Surveys - Random Entry

Recent Entries:

It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012

Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012

As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009

I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009

Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009

Happy Kitty

My Diary Was Reviewed at Ms Lovejoy's - Get Yours Reviewed Too!

Registered I was a nominee