I'll try not to repeat myself too much as I'm sure that most people who are going to read Things Hated are also going to read Things Loved (although based on the past, Things Hated is much better) and I posted earlier over there about my tentative return to blogging. While I hope that some of my friends/stalkers will actually read the blogs, my return is based on the idea that blogging will bring about some sort of cathartic relief that I need from the cloud of anxiety that looms over me. Take, for example, what just happened.
I'm sitting on my couch watching The September Issue (I'm 23 minutes in and know you'll be reading about it on Things Loved soon) and I hear my screen door open. A quick glance out the window (no familiar car out front) and the lack of keys jangling tells me it's not a surprise visit from Andy or Brad returning home early from work. My heart starts beating faster. I hold my breath. I hear a knock at the door. My heart is in my throat and I feel like throwing up. I think about ignoring it, but it's fairly obvious by the lights and the tv that someone is home. I get up. My legs feel like jello. I walk to the door and see a young man holding a clipboard. I consider that stabbing myself in the chest is an alternative to opening the door. I open the door. He launches into a campaign about saving the great lakes and eventually pauses enough for me to tell him that I have no money. He's very nice about it, I manage to wish him luck, and he leaves. I collapse back onto the couch, shaking and short of breath. That was about 5 minutes ago and I'm still slightly shaking. I've not eaten much today and know that this terrifying event will prevent me from doing so for the rest of the night. I logically know how ridiculous this is, but that's anxiety disorder for you. Unfortunately the only thing that I've found that helps my situation is (somewhat) illegal and expensive.
So that's kinda why I'm blogging again. I'm hoping it helps to write it down. This is a picture of Gypsy, Brad's cat. I don't currently HATE her, but Chonga does. You can't see it in my crappy cell phone picture but she's got a nasty scratch on her nose to prove it. I do my best to be nice to her but sometimes it's hard. She's kinda a bitch.
