...I actually believe people are interested in my problems, thus this blog.
The name, in case you've been under a rock for the last 125782936592350y7435 years--yes, please notice that the "y" there near the end means "times a zillion"--, is a reference to "Unwell" by Matchbox 20, one of the greatest bands of all time. Also, I'm not sure if putting a comma after a dash is grammatically correct, but because of the clause that precedes the part between the dashes, I feel a little antsy leaving it out.
And because YouTube sucks and doesn't give an embeddable version of the "Unwell" video, I'll give you a link, so you can play the awesome in the background while you read. I'm Not Crazy, I'm Just A Little Unwell. Behold the musical genius that is Rob Thomas.
Also, did you know they're working on a new album? Faboo!
Anyway, I started this blog for a couple of reasons. Partly because someone actually had the balls to call me crazy the other day (yes, I'm still bitter about it) when I know that I'm merely only a little unwell. And partly because my work-at-home job and being all alone my apartment in the 'burbs during the week doesn't give me a whole lot of time to interact with people anymore. At least, not with people I actually LIKE, anyhow.
To play devil's advocate for a moment, here's a handy-dandy list of reasons why one might think I am, in fact, crazy, rather than just a little unwell.
~I haven't taken the trash out in like a month. It's piled up in my kitchen in boxes I used to move into this place. (In my defense, though, it's not rotting food or whatever. It's mostly empty Powerade bottles and paper plates.)
~The trash can in my bedroom overflowed a long time ago with Powerade bottles and empty bags for Rold Gold cheddar cheese pretzels. Rather than get another trash can or, even better, take out the trash like a sane person, I've just continued hurling empty containers in the general direction of the trash can, and now there are enough empty Powerade bottles to construct a pseudo-igloo piled up to the right side of my bed. Oddly enough, the left side of my bed is relatively clutter-free. But that's only because I sit on the right side when I work or just fuck around online in general.
~In the previous item on the list, I swapped the words "left" and "right" out several different times because I couldn't decide if one should refer to right and left sides of one's bed when one is lying in said bed or when one is standing up, looking at said bed. I ended up going with the latter. But feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.
~I have practically no groceries and no desire to go shopping. (I'll refer to the reason for that in a moment.) So last night, I decided a bag of popcorn and a pint of Blue Bell neopolitan ice cream were perfectly acceptable as dinner. Then, I bitched because I was hungry again in two hours. See also: Fat, why I am.
~I spend so much time completely isolated from the world (job, apartment in the 'burbs, closest friend some 20 miles away, a roomie who's only here on weekends) that I feel like someone from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy when I actually go out in public. I actually started this blog as an excuse not to pay my rent yet. My previous excuse was "5 o'clock traffic," but since it's 6:10 now, I think that one's expired.
And, yes, I COULD mail my rent check, but that'd require a.) being awake when the post office is open, b.) driving some 6 or 8 miles to said post office, c.) actually having to talk to someone at the post office (because "I need a book of stamps, please" is so strenuous on the vocal cords), and d.) remembering to actually mail the thing once I get the stamps. Instead, I'd prefer to drive to the realty office after hours and leave a check in the box outside because it's a shorter drive AND I don't have to talk to anyone.
~I haven't paid the power bill for the same reason. I've never been in that particular power company location before, and I don't want to make an ass out of myself pushing the door instead of pulling it or turning left instead of right or bringing in a a credit card to pay when they don't take credit cards in the office (the old location didn't). And, yes, I could set it up to pay it online, but you have to have the bill to do so, and, of course, I've lost the damn thing.
~I stay awake until daylight pretty much every night (morning?) because some horrible, perverse part of me is terrified somebody's going to break in while I sleep. This is partly reasonable because someone actually DID break in at one of my old places, but I was upstairs asleep, and my ex-boyfriend, now-best-male-friend dealt with it. However, it DOESN'T really make sense because I never had this fear when I lived in the crappy college town I used to live in, but I have it now that I live in this quiet suburb by my damn self.
Also, I have a gun. And I'm a redneck. Which means I'm not scared to use it. However, the problem is, the clip is fucked up on my Redneck Shotgun (TM), so you can only load one shell at a time. Now, a logical person would conclude that even if there were more than one person coming in, or if you managed to miss at point-blank range in closed quarters, no burglar with a modicum of self-preservation is going to hang around and wait to see if you've got another shot in that bitch.
Then, there's the fact that if someone did try to break in, I'd almost definitely hear them, considering the only type of person who'd even try would be some crackhead from a few miles up the road who's never stolen anything but welfare money out of his mama's purse. So, an amateur. But I've read too many books where the heroine is being pursued by hitmen/the mob/the government, and I'm just waiting for the day where I wake up to the lock on my bedroom door gently being picked while I fumble with my shotgun in the dark (which is stupid because I never sleep when it's dark) without my glasses, partly terrified that this is really happening to me and partly filled with an inexplicable sense of Barney Fife-like excitement that I FINALLY GET TO SHOOT SOMEBODY!!!!!!
So, yeah. I can see where you might think I'm more than slightly unhinged. But, really, I swear I'm not. Though I can see where you'd make the argument that I have no business going unsupervised for any length of time.
No, seriously, I'm just a little unwell.
I think I'll go pay my rent now. No, wait. Maybe I should shower first....