HA!

Last winter I came home one night and wondered, “Why is there a pair of men’s underwear on my front porch?”  They stayed there for the longest, too, since I didn’t want to touch them.

This morning I opened the door to this:

Boys are weird.

I understand blurring other faces on your dating profile, but this looks so creepy and stupid!  Why didn’t he crop it?

His next picture.. just WHY.

Then there’s THIS guy…

It’s always sad to see a coworker get fired and sometimes exciting, if they make it a little dramatic.  I thought it would be both of those things when my buddy Robert got let go due to poor work performance and a bad attitude.. but then I saw what he left behind.  He made a frowny face out of thumb tacks.

..which was unintentionally hilarious!!

Hands down I drew the worst/best white elephant gift of the party.

How come every time I drive through Independence, I wind up wanting Gates for dinner?

Don’t judge my family because we determined the sex of my niece’s unborn baby by the old ring-on-the-string science..

I love my new kitty.  The place I adopted  her from said she was 6 years old, but the vet said she’s at least 11.  Well, she’s affectionate and beautiful no matter what her age.

But.  With the coming of spring I could not keep up with the mats in her hair and the shedding.  The vet said we should shave her and start all over.  So she went from this:

To this:

I try so hard not to laugh every time she walks into the room, but she looks like a school mascot with just the head on.

Thanks for asking about me!  I’m around.  I just put up some old college pictures on facebook and the contrast with pictures of Andrea at college are embarrassing.  Our room was U-G-L-Y!

The hell?

Poor Andrea…she’s resorted to hanging dark clothes from her blinds.  Summer sunlight is disruptive to sleeping until noon.

How weird (…crazy?) is it that the last post I wrote before flying into the cuckoo’s nest was about the Psych Museum?  It was over a month before and, no, it wasn’t planned.  If someone had told me in March that I’d be in inpatient treatment end of April, I would’ve been taken aback but I can’t say surprised.

It’s been a rough couple of years.

I love how the euphemisms for mental health treatment have changed.  Depending on what era I pick, I like to say either “I went to the country for some rest,” or “I went mad,” or “I was locked away in a sanitarium,” or “I had a nervous breakdown,” or “I went to rehab.”

One counselor, alluding to the fact that active addicts end up incarcerated, institutionalized, or dead, periodically would say to us:  “Welcome to the institution!”

My favorite is what I heard my ex-boss said about me:  “She’s delicate.”  I just think it sounds cute, but frankly, it was accurate.

Remember the schizophrenic’s embroidery project from the museum?  Little Miss “Love Me I Am Crazy?”

There was also “Wait for me I am lonely.”  And “Hair on fire.”  And “Because you mine and I saw you in the purse house.”

Then this:

I can relate to that.  Really all of them.  And I rather liked being “the sick girl” – delicate… helpless… needy.  It was what I knew.

Doesn’t matter what I’m comfortable with anymore, though, because the pain from that type of comfort became greater than the pain of change.  Whoo boy do I plan to keep changing.  Then one day I’ll embroider a phrase for myself:  The Strong Girl.  Fool.