At some point during the night, someone – possibly the devil himself – decided to drive a pitchfork into my neck. He was probably trying for my jugular, but I have ninja reflexes even while asleep and at the last minute I did some kind of fantastic maneuver and twisted out of the way at the last minute. Unfortunately, Ol’ Scratch was inadvertently prepared for this – knowing that I am a fatty fat fat, he brought a specially-made plus-sized pitchfork; one suitable for my gargantuan neck. Sleepy Ninja Me didn’t know this, so I didn’t twist out of the way quite far enough and I got forked. The thrust was off my vital parts by a mile, but so large was this fatty fork that it managed to stab me anyway – Beelzebub jammed his evil deep into my neck, catching me in the tender spot between my neck and shoulder. Luckily, I was able to keep my wits about me long enough to banish Lucifer from whence he came before I collapsed in a swearing heap of pain.
At least, this is what I assume happened based on the HORRIBLE RADIATING PAIN coming from that general area of my being. I can’t move my head at all without squeaking (my squeaks aren’t cute, they’re very menacing and ominous) in pain, and it sucks. I need muscle relaxants. Having my wits about me is highly overrated.
Needless to say, it didn’t help matters one bit when I was almost killed by a shiny white Mercedes this morning on my way to work. It was stuck behind a bus and decided to swerve out into me without warning. Time slowed down all Matrix-like as I saw my doom coming straight for me – I had no time to do anything, not even brake. There were large cars in the oncoming lane, so diverting myself was not an option – if I’m gonna be hit, I’d rather take out the asshole with the shiny car than go up against a giant pickup truck older than dirt that’ll be around long after our insect overlords have won the war.
The driver of the Mercedes eventually realized Lola and I were occupying the space he wanted to be in, and he slammed on the brakes just in time. I sailed on past with every muscle in my body frozen solid and tensed for the impact that didn’t come, including my fresh devil wound which is now even more sore than it was this morning.
I don’t know that I will ever give a thumbs up as sarcastically as I did today, at the next intersection after staring at the Mercedes in disgust. My one tiny thumb spoke whole volumes of scorn that no mere middle finger could ever convey, and hopefully did more damage than the right foot I wanted to drive into that expensive white surface ever could have. I was very proud of the restraint I showed. I deserve a cookie.
So, here’s the deal. Yesterday I posted a very ominous-sounding Facebook status update, hinting that I might be shutting down Delicious Juice Dot Com. I had several people ask me what was wrong, so I did some thinking and now I have an answer for you: I’m depressed.
June is my January, and I get really really depressed this time of the year. It’s been getting steadily worse for the last few years, and yesterday it was pretty bad to the point where I was about to throw in the delicious towel. I think it has to do with my birthday – I HATE getting older. It makes me very sad, and I spend most of my birthday month thinking about how I’m old and ugly and undesirable and no fun and .. well, old. There are other factors at work here, but I know myself well enough to know that a) I’m (more) depressed (than usual), b) my birthday is 98% of the reason, and c) I should be better after the 18th or so. There’s little I can do but suck it up and ride it out, because I’m not interested in upping my medication to deal with this annual onset of the crazies. I don’t like it, but .. y’know. Whaddya gonna do.
So, I’m not shutting down my blog. It wasn’t an idle threat based on the lack of comments, or a cry for attention, or because there are trolls afoot – it’s entirely because I’ve been screaming at the pancakes again. It’ll get better, though. It has to, or I’ll go hoarse.