Comment spam is always annoying, but now it’s just plain mean:

Your previous posts were real rubbish, but this is good. This one is brilliant. Your blog is getting really better.

.. as left on a post more than a year old, that wasn’t really anything all that. How rude! I’m torn between being sad and being amused.

My dissatisfaction is high these days, and my inability to do anything about it is only leading to more crusty angst all up in my parts. I am full of conflict because my friend Wyatt got a pug this week because his fiancé really wanted one – obviously, Wyatt loves her more than my husband loves me. I am happy for their pug and for them, but I am devastated that I still do not have a pug because Ed hates me and doesn’t want me to be happy and also clearly enjoys having an angry, vindictive wife who likes to play with fire and shares his bed. It also does not help that Ali and Doug are looking at adopting a puggle, which, while not a full pug, is still half a pug more than I will ever have because of my hateful, horrible husband. Everything is neck-deep in suck.

In fact, the suck quotient is higher than usual because while I am here wallowing in my sad, pugless state, Ed is living it up in Whistler for the weekend on a work retreat. So not only do I not have a pug, I cannot even fight about it with Ed because he is not here. I am bubbling over with cranky and there’s no one for me to throw things at. Really, how inconsiderate. Fighting about my lack of pug won’t really make me feel better, but maybe if I scream and cry and rage again this time he’ll realize that I really do want one and stop being so pig headed and stubborn about it.

Or I could just sell all his stuff while he’s gone and get a pug anyway!

Actually, that won’t work. It isn’t a money issue; it’s a big mean dumb jerk husband issue.

Bah.

Bah.. who was I kidding. Not a lot is very much fun, anymore. I have no friends, no life, no *anything* .. I’m the incredible invisible girl. I wish I knew how to fix this mess I’m in.. I’m stuck in a rut that’s 21 years long, and I don’t know how to get out. I’m going crazy. Just how much time can one spend entertaining themself, anyway? I’m empty, I’m hollow, I’m just a shell.. life sucks, here in invisible hell. Hah!

I wish I was happy. I wish I could feel more than hate and hurt. I wish I wasn’t so damned *pathetic*. Hello, world? I’m still here.. for god’s sake, please notice me. Please..

I have absolutely no idea what I was so upset about, but it was evidently pretty epic to my 21-year-old self. The worst part? This is the least embarrassing journal entry I could find that I wouldn’t want to medicate myself for sharing. Ouch.

Other things I have learned about myself from 12+ years ago:

• While I often claim my current writing style of “stream of consciousness bullshit”, it’s nothing compared to what it used to be. I tend to write in a conversationalist style, but evidently I used to do this back then, too – except I ALSO used to write the little pauses in my “speech”. Almost every sentence I wrote had “hmm” “err” “huh” or my personal favourite, “AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” in it. Luckily, I outgrew that. It is incredibly annoying to read, and I want to reach back and punch myself (and disable the exclamation point)
• I had a terrible, terrible habit of starting a new text file every single time I wanted to write – I don’t have one journal; I have a hundred or so of them with no easy way to sort them. This is also annoying.
• This post is #600 since I switched over to WordPress at the end of October 2006. That is many posts.
• I am tired of being sick.

As you were, then. If I can find a PC with a working floppy drive, I might be able to find the journals I wrote at home on my IBM PS/2 – usually written while my mother was screaming at me for one thing or another. I am dying to read those. I bet they’d be an abusive riot!

I really thought I was feeling better, but the violent uprising of last night’s dinner said otherwise. I’m currently wallowing in day number 5 of my marathon intestinal woes, and I am pretty damn tired of it all. I also don’t get sick days yet, so my gastro difficulties are not just annoying but damn expensive. There is nothing good about my being sick, let alone the surprise appearance of my womanly flows over a week early. I give, okay? I am crying uncle. I’ll learn it in another language if you want, just lay the fuck off with the things oozing out of my body.

I’ve been trying to hunt down my teenage angst in honour of the Teen Angst Poetry night that I can’t attend. I know I have years upon years of angsty teenage journal entries, but I was never really one for writing poetry – but I thought I’d look anyway, just in case. I didn’t find much in box number one and two and I really think I’m going to have to fire up the Mac Classic to find some of the textual gold I know I have from the days of yore. I did find almost all my report cards from kindergarten through “graduation”, though – and it was highly amusing to rediscover that I was apparently a mouthy little weirdo. In almost every report, the teacher of the year said the same thing – Kimli is a good student, but she is talkative and disruptive. Occasionally there will be examples of my burgeoning personality – I’ve already mentioned the “write about something other than Transformers” entry, but there were others. It’s also interesting to note that I hated PE since day one. My report cards were pretty much the same – A, A+, B+, B, A, A, A+, C+ – guess where the C came in. Even as a wee mouthy weirdo, I saw little purpose in running laps. Take that, organized exercise!

I am so bored. I think I’ll haul out the Mac Classic after all; see if I can’t find some early 90’s pain to rehash and laugh at.

I have hives, mysterious bug bites, cramps, relationship woes, bad hair, watery burning eyes, and paranoia.

My discomfort is enormous.

HEY LOOK! LET’S ALL WATCH KIMLI GO NUTS!

This is insane. My eyes are crossing from all the job descriptions I’m staring at daily, and I’m getting nowhere. I still haven’t heard back from the interview I had on December 20th, and I’m wearing holes in our floor by pacing back and forth. I wish they would just tell me NO already so I can stop worrying and hoping. I am FREAKING OUT and it is simply no fun at all.

I have cabin fever like you wouldn’t believe, but I don’t want to go outside because I might spend money and I’m paranoid about running out. I am grumpy and angsty. THIS SUCKS.

I need a job. I need to get out of this apartment. I need something to look forward to. I need to hire Bill Kurtis to narrate my life for me. Alternatively, I need to stop watching so much A&E.

I need change.

This just in: life isn’t fair.

I am seriously bummed out and demoralized and angsty and sad.

Josh got laid off yesterday. That sucks, and believe me, I can sympathize. Getting laid off isn’t any fun, regardless of the circumstances.

Except less than an hour after Josh was laid off, he got a phone call with a job offer.

I’m happy for him, I really am. But FUCK. I’ve been out of work since October. I’ve sent out countless resumes, been on at least a dozen interviews, and nothing. I had a promising interview almost 4 weeks ago that I’m still waiting to hear about. I had another one that went really well two weeks ago, but again with the waiting. Josh had a second interview on Monday, got laid off on Tuesday, and got an offer from Monday that same day. That worked out awfully well, and is super cool.

SO WHY can’t that happen for me? Where’s my luck? When is it my turn for good fortune? I’ve tried everything – and I do mean everything. Fuck, I gave my resume to the mailman because his son knows a guy. I’ve contacted every agency in town, and the best I was offered was a two-month holiday contract with the one company I don’t want to work for. I have so many skills and I’m so good at what I do – why can’t I find a job?

Just .. fuck.

I know that a lot of you have been telling me this from day one, but please believe me when I say it was something I needed to figure out on my own:

My brain? It ain’t right.

I’ve made the decision to go back on my anti-depression medication. Yesterday when I was at the doctor getting a refill of my anti-baby and anti-Ronaldo pills, I had the random doctor (I really need to find a doctor of my own instead of just using the walk-in clinics) write me a prescription for 75mg of EFFEXXX0R!!@#!!@!1. So, I’m back on it. Now, let the good times roll!

As obviously smart and charming and beautiful as I am, for some reason I still feel a huge stigma (stigmata? now that would be something to write to Ma about) against being on medication for being sad. I KNOW that’s not what it’s about. I KNOW it’s a chemical imbalance, and I KNOW there is no shame in fixing what’s wrong. For every other person out there on medication for depression, I applaud them mightily for taking the steps to have a better life. It’s awesome. Good for you!

Then there’s me, and I think I am a giant failure for needing brain pills to get through the day.

How much sense does that make? None, that’s how much. I can be a right bloody idiot sometimes, and this is definitely one of those times.

I know I had some of you up in arms about my decision to take myself off the crazy pills, but I really did need to see if I could do it. I think I needed to see what my life was like before the medication; remind myself that while things may suck right now, you wouldn’t believe how much worse they could get. I spent about 3 months off the medication, and things were .. not good. When I wasn’t angry, I felt dead inside. When I wasn’t a zombie, I was thinking about bus tires. Last weekend, when things were as bad as they’ve ever been, I came to the conclusion that the only reason I couldn’t kill myself right then and there was because I had dinner reservations on the 18th. That’s alarming for two reasons: that I’d started to think about offing myself again, and that wow, I really have no life the only “good” thing I could think of was that I had reservations for dinner. That isn’t normal. That isn’t me. Why the hell would I want to kill myself? I have a SCOOTER, for christ’s sake. Ain’t never seen no zombies riding around on scooters, snacking on the living.

So, things were bad. I am hoping they get better soon. I only started taking the medication again last night, so it’s a little early for me to start breaking out into song with every step – except this morning I woke up in a good mood, something that hasn’t happened in .. months. It’s quite possibly psychosomatic, but I’ll take it. Bus tires are dirty, and it’s wet out there.

*cheese*

For the last two years, I’ve been lucky enough to have been invited to go to Las Vegas to attend the CES and do commentary for the Fatal1ty shootouts at the Creative Labs booth. This year I haven’t heard from them and I know there’s going to be a booth, so I sent an email to my contact asking if they wanted my awesomeness again this year.

The email almost immediately bounced back – my contact is no longer with the company. This makes me sad, because I have no way to get in touch with him and he was an awesome guy. It also means that I don’t get to go to Vegas (doubly, since I had a different opportunity to go but I waited too long to see if I would hear from Creative). I like Vegas. I like doing the CES, even with the terror and body image trauma it brings. I am a sad Kimli.

Between not being asked to return for the CES, my inability to get a job, and the communication issues in our circle of friends that results in Ed and I not getting invited to group hang outs, I am actually a VERY sad Kimli who is rapidly sinking into the Land of Complex.

Booo.

I had loads of holiday spirit late last week, but it seems to have dried up. Now I am just sad and grumpy and thinking about canceling Christmas all together because people pooped all over my fun. Harumpf.

We rearranged our living room, and now it is enormous. We could easily hold a Twister tournament in here. Of course, I’m in a bad mood so all I can think is that the cats now have more places to throw up, but this might be because a cat just threw up.

I can’t think of anything else to say that isn’t incredibly negative and angsty, so I will just say nothing at all.