Saturday, May 24, 2014

The Chronicles of Rusty Door Handle a.k.a May Has Been a Bad Month.

This is about the time when shit kind of hit the ceiling all around me recently  and I'm writing this to remind myself that things sort themselves out eventually, because it's getting chaotic again and I have nowhere to look for answers except backwards and my own head which wants to murder me and then goes "look pigeons!" and then "why aren't you dead yet?" and back to "look a face! identify or die" it's exhausting and not even remotely funny: 

So, did I tell you about that time I rushed to get the door? And then my right boob got stabbed by the door handle which was sharp and pointy and felt like a knife?  No? Oh, well, probably because THAT JUST HAPPENED. And I'm in a world of pain and sticking ice into the ahem..sensitive region and guess which movie I was watching right before all of this happened?

OMG Elsa I can't let it fucking hurts! 

This is one cosmic joke I'm not laughing at.

Rusty Door Handle: Well what do you know...I'm a badass! AND I'

Also Rusty Door Handle sounds like a  name for a sex act. (These are the meds talking, please ignore) 

And what surprised me was how the pain refused to go even a few days later but what hurt more was the deafening noise in my head: 

My boob is still ouchy and so is my head and my whole face because I've been crying about things that are completely not worth your while. They are not worth my while either, but I don't think I mean that entirely. Because I like crying, apparently. And mostly  because the demons in my head are too convinced about the absolute pointlessness in me continuing to live.

Also, it's May Day and I'm at work. Work is a safe place, although you'll find me in the loo most of the time. I watch pigeons. We have a lot of pigeons right outside. And my boss is convinced they are making out all the time. I don't know why I just wrote that. It's not like I want to make out or anything. When your potential make out organs get hurt, you kind of look at that sort of thing with contempt.. I can't believe I just called my boob a make out organ. This is so not me....I'm romantic and shit.

Additionally, today has been the worst day for taking pictures. Do you have days like that? You're going about your business and quietly listening to your head and then you see something that you absolutely need to capture on camera and just when you poise your phone for this prize winning brilliance, your car moves and it's a blur. It's been happening repeatedly with me today. Just now, I saw this pigeon and thought it would be perfect to go with this post and then I realised my phone was charging and cannot sustain a picture taking session. Then the pigeon flew away to mock me.  Big Whoop!

 I'm feeling particularly lazy. Lazy is also a side effect of sad. Probably the only good side effect because I can read Allie's blog and pretend I'm working.

I just told my co-worker that I find the woman who cleans our office's face familiar. And then my co worker started clawing her face off because "this is too much". I'm sorry I wrote that sentence without any preamble about how I find too many people's faces familiar. Weird thing though, it's not without reason. Most of my guesses are correct. It's like my brain is on hyper alert while looking at random stranger's faces and then giving off this weird ass signal when I see them again ages later. It goes : " you've seen this person. You know this person. You must remember how. You must you must you must." Doesn't matter how I technically don't know the person really.But my brain convinces me that seeing is knowing. And it is utter torture. Then I figure it out eventually (or I'd drive myself nuts) and then I don't know what to do about that piece of information except share it and look like a gloating dweeb. I can't help it. It's like all this effort and then just keep it to myself? That seems like a waste. You need to know how I know this woman who probably used to clean up at my friend's place as well. 


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