I Done Been

One of my lovely blogland friends recently wrote me an email asking how I am.  What she should have asked was, where you at biznatch?  Under a rock?  Or, more likely, a mountain of Tootsie Roll wrappers?  Where I really be is under a mountain of homework hiding under a mountain of depression hiding under a mountain of Tootsie Roll wrappers.  Also an impressive number of empty cheese containers.  BUT.  Recyclable.  So consider the earth saved.  Send your thanks in the form of cheese.

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I decided it would be a good idea to go back to school to learn medical billing and coding since the whole Master’s in social  work hasn’t done shit for me lately.  And this ain’t no Master’s program where you can fake your way through papers with a little finesse and a whole lot of bullshit.  No, this school actually requires homework.  Like every day.  For several hours.  Oy.  Add  in a little three-year old bipolar demonic action, a genetically enhanced dash of el depressioñ and a pinch of switching schools mid-stream and you pretty much got where I’m at.

Now is where the depressed lady in the room(me) talks depression talk.  Blah, blah, blah, life is hard, yada, yada, yada, cry me a river of JT’s golden tears.  Or if I were awesome like Tracy(and the sweet lady internet knows I wish I was(minus the tenuous self-esteem)(oh WAIT…))(revel in the awesome that is the triple parenthetical), I would illustrate my pain with a sweet little lolly figure smashed flat like a bug under the infinity sized weight that is MAH TROUBLES and everyone would laugh and nod knowingly because I got it all justright, captured the very essence of depression in just a few hilarious and authentic words and pictures.  And if I were Allie, you would have already read and internalized the awesome that I put down upon the page and you would simply in marvel in ALL THE THINGS I can express both poignantly and matter of fact-ly attheverysametime.  If I were Jenny, I would be rallying the entirety of the internets to perpetrate some madcap, whimsical adventure involving varmints of varying size, shape and degree of decompose, former science fiction badasses gone primetime and a hand thrown tortilla resembling Jesus’ third nipple that connects us all to the next one, like a zany world sized version of Dry Bones, makes us all feel exhilarated, out of breath and like we could eat the eye of the tiger for lunch and LOVE IT, and turn that depression upside down, on it’s ear and into furious happiness.

But I am none of those peeps and I can do none of those feats of magicks. Depressed people don’t write.  Or at least, this depressed person don’t.  Write.  Except to add things to the grocery list like milk, cheese, 36 bags of Cadbury Mini Eggs, self-esteem, a degree that actually allows me to obtain employment, toilet paper(to mop up all the tears).  And butter.  Because everything is better with butter.  Even tears.  Especially tears.

What I can do is whine in a semi-coherent fashion and play you musacks saved from Shazam.  To soothe savage beasts and SAHM’s in the ‘burbs.


Landslide.  Kills me every time in every version.  Although I am partial to what the Pumpkins do with it.  His voice fits the mood oh, so well.  But those kids bring it to a new place.  Even children get older, yo.  Deep.  This is the kind of song ripe for the wist.  And as I’m already swimming in the wist, the radio threw me down the well with this one.

And then, to keep it interesting, I got this.


All I can say I must be motherfucking Superman by now.  And yet I can never, ever open the damn jar of sauce.  Your theory is invalid, KC.  Although you kick more ass than any other AI alum.  And you are an empowerer of women, which makes you aces in my book.


Just because it’s awesome.  And I love y’all.  And I tend to think in threes these days.

8 thoughts on “I Done Been

  1. Everything really is better with butter. So I guess I should call off the hounds searching the hills for your lost body, and stop stealing all your cheese from the fridge (because I don’t want it to go to waste is all).

    Homework sucks ass, but when it’s done you’ll be all OMGBBQ I DID IT, and we’ll celebrate with a dance party. Depression sucks ass too, but we’ll get through it together. Promise. Misery loves company and cheese. Fact.

    1. Stop stealing mah cheese. I have put the celebratory dance party on my calendar. In ink. (It’s really in my phone, which has far less dramatic impact)

  2. *blush*
    You’re linking skillz sends my heart aflutter. You should teach a class. Or email me instructions. *cough* Honeslty I think it’s my computer. It won’t let me do stuff like reply on my own blog, (I have to do that on my phone.) or link, put emails from my gmail account in the garbage, or, when the new blogger takes over for real, post blogs. OOhh! Yeah! And when Youtube updates I won’t be able to watch that too, there’s a big warning banner when I go there now. The world is plotting against me.
    We’ve gone dairy free, so our butter is COCONUT. It’s interesting. G keeps trying to eat it. Just by itself. I can’t get her to eat most foods in the world, but if I leave the lid next to her from the coconut butter when I look up she’s licking it.
    I’m a depressive writer, when shit’s all going good I’m like; ugh, I have nothing to say.
    I hope you find your way out from under the mountain, (of tootsie rolls) and I’m glad to hear from you.
    How do you feel about Dots? They’re my favorite in the tootsie roll variety pack.

    1. I was reading this at a red light(don’t judge me, no kids were hurt in the reading of this comment) and I got the crazy-jenks giggles about the coconut. Shit’s not butter, yo. But maybe it’s the key to unlocking the non-eaters. On my list.
      Does your blogger not have a little link chain clickie on the toolbar? I think that it a standard thing on Blogger, right? You just click it and paste in the link. I’m not really sure how computers from the past work though, maybe they display only out of date software. Maybe it is some kind of portal to life in the not so distant past. If so, maybe you can go back and petition for Arrested Development to never have been cancelled. That would be a badass legacy.
      I feel very strongly about Dots. They should never be consumed by humans, except for seven-year-olds with wiggly teeth.

  3. aw hon I’m sorry life is on top of you at the moment. I’m here on the other side of the pond, thinking about you/sending good vibes when you don’t write and happy when you do.

    keep up the fight hon xxxx

    1. Thanks, I’m saving all those good vibes up for the next rainy day. Which, according the the Weather Channel, will be tomorrow. Oy.

    1. Been thinking of you too. If only I was still a Right Coaster we could let our respective hell spawn take over the house and pop a Pabst on the porch. (alliteration for the win)

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