And I'm sorry I have to address this...

Dear Exes of Past, Present, and Future,

Please stop saying you're sorry to me!

You call, text, e-mail, etc. (whatever), months, sometimes years, later to apologize. For what? It obviously didn't bother you to treat me like shit at the time that you did it, or even for some time afterwards, given the length of time it took you to finally get around to contacting me to apologize. 

I have no real use for your apology now, so why bother to hunt me down just to give it to me?

Oh, I see. It's because you feel guilty about the way that you treated me. Now that I can only fathom that karma finally came around and bit you in your selfish, mean-spirited, narcissistic, duplicitous ass and gave you a large helping of the way you treated me all those eons ago, you finally get it. Sometimes, the way you treat others, when you act out of regards only to your own selfish wants and needs, hurts other people. Join the damned Broken Hearts Club.

I'd say congratulations on having some personal growth for once in your life, but since I've lived with this sacred knowledge my whole life, all I can say is:  It's about damn time.

Because your apology isn't really about me and my feelings. If it were, you'd let sleeping dogs lie and not contact me any more. I don't contact you any more for a reason:  because you are a bad, selfish, self-centered person with no regards to my--or anyone else's--feelings.

But, no. You contact me, drag up rather painful memories and feelings that I've managed to successfully bury, just to say that, at last, you're sorry. 

Sorry for what? Again, given the length of time it took many of you to get around to apologize to me, it took a long damn time for you to develop half a conscience and develop some tiny inklings of remorse. It apparently didn't bother you for a long damned time that you were nothing short of a phenomenal asshole to me. Why bother to care about my feelings now? You didn't care about them at the time, or even for quite some time later, so why do you care about them now?

Oh, I get it. You're sorry you hurt me. Yet, when you come around, dredging up unpleasant feelings and memories I would much rather forget, and I get upset at these recollections, you have the nerve--yes, the nerve--to chastise me for being upset and for questioning your ulterior motives.

That proves that your apology wasn't about me at all. It was about you. You and assuaging your self-righteous guilt. 

Because if that half-assed apology was even remotely about me and my feelings, you wouldn't have given it in the first place because I didn't need it. I moved on with my life. Yes, when you drag up unpleasant remembrances in my life, the pain is still there sometimes. It's hard when people have made you feel second-rate and small and unworthy--it hurts every time it comes up on its own, without your martyrish apologizing to remind me of it. How dare you chastise me for the way I felt and still feel, though not as strongly, all this time later? Here's a hint:  when you apologize to someone, you don't get to choose their reaction to the apology. Especially when they know you're only giving it for self-serving reasons. And if that apology was truly about me, and not about your own selfish desire to soothe your own selfish little soul, you would've been contrite and humble, not arrogant and caustic and critical. Sometimes, part of apologizing is having your ass handed back to you on a plate. It's a learning moment--as in, you should never do it again. To anyone.  

But you know what? I don't let your bad treatment of me in the past define me or my interactions with others. I am used to people in my life making me feel worthless, and I just get up, brush the dust off my shoulders, put one foot in front of the other, and keep going, day after day, with the hopes that someday someone will treat me well. 

I don't get half the apologies I need from who I truly need them from on a daily basis, so I sure as hell don't need yours. Your insincere, self-righteous apology was not only not needed, it was not appreciated. I don't give a damn about what you think about me because you clearly don't give a damn about what I think about you since it clearly doesn't bother you to treat me like an asshole in the first place. 

Your apology is like a steaming shit bicycle to this beautiful mermaid. You can take it and keep it cuz I sure as hell don't want it.

Guess what day it is. Guess. What. Day. It. Is.

Now, get out there and vote, fellow Michiganders!

#MISuperTuesday

Really?!

I'm super annoyed with my regular doctor's office right now. They tried to get me to go to the Emergency Room for a non-emergency problem. Not cool. And I'll explain why.

First, the problem I called them about:  For about the last week or two (I haven't really kept track of how long this has been going on), I've been experiencing moderate pain that goes from the base of my skull, down the right side of my neck into my right shoulder, and down the rest of my arm into the saddle joint at the base of my right thumb. It's hard to open and close my hand because it is weak and painful. Since I am staggeringly right-handed, this has been a bit of an inconvenience in my life, but I am able to get through it every day and still maintain some level of functioning at work and in my personal life. 

Now, anyone who has regularly read this blog/anyone who has any knowledge of me on a person-to-person level/anyone who cares to go back in the historical archives of this blog will know that I've been to an orthopedic surgeon who specializes in hand, wrist, and elbow problems in the past two years for breaking both my right and left wrists, roughly a year apart from each other. Clearly, I've got some ongoing issues with my hands and wrists, so the fact that this part of my body would be bothering me again should come as no real surprise. 

When I called my regular doctor's office to make an appointment, they had me speak to the nurse practitioner on duty, and she told me that I needed to go to the ER for a complete workup on this problem. 

Bullshit.

Given my past history with injury/problems with this area of my body and the fact that I've been dealing with this issue on a constant basis for about one and one-half to two weeks, this is not an emergent problem! Yes, I know a sudden onset of pain and weakness localized to one side of the body is usually a serious symptom of a stroke, but if I were truly having a stroke, I would've been dead by now given the length of time I've been dealing with this problem without any other medical attention other than taking ibuprofen and forcing myself through my day. All they would've done in the ER is order some baseline blood and orthopedic tests and tell me to follow up with my regular doctor. Which is what I was trying to accomplish by calling my regular doctor in the first place. 

The fact that the nurse practitioner told me to go to the ER for this problem really galls me because, first and foremost, I am not dying/having a stroke or heart attack/not in labor/bleeding out/experiencing a severe allergic reaction/not an accident victim/running an extremely high fever. This is an ongoing, albeit annoying, problem, but clearly, it is not life-threatening. (I am, after all, taking the time to vent about this on this page as opposed to calling 911.) In fact, in my line of work, many people experience pain/injury to their hands/wrists. At least two other co-workers and two bosses at my job at the craft store are routinely in and out of braces/splints for carpal tunnel syndrome issues. This is more than likely what is going on with me given my history of problems with this area of my body and the nature of repetitive injury that other people in my line of work seem to suffer from. Therefore...

I DO NOT NEED TO GO TO THE FUCKING ER!

All I would do in the ER is sit there for a really long time (think hours) because I have a non-life-threatening problem, only to get a few blood test and possibly an x-ray and be told by the attending ER physician that I should see my regular doctor. I figure I'd save the complete sucking away of my precious time on one of my few days off from work by just calling my regular doctor and making an appointment to see him. 

I did not appreciate when the nurse practitioner at my regular doctor's office said, "Well, if that's how you feel about it," in response to my rather firm but polite reiteration that, no, I'm not going to the ER for this problem because it's probably a tendonitis/repetitive motion injury and not something more serious and life threatening because I've worked in the ER in the past and going to the ER for a non-life-threatening issue is really an abuse of the ER system. 

Yes, by federal law, no ER is allowed to turn away anyone who shows up for any sort of treatment, no matter how minor, but just because you have a hangnail while your regular doctor's office is not open or is all booked up with appointments for the next week doesn't mean you should go to the Emergency Room! The whole concept of an Emergency Room is that they treat emergencies:  life threatening allergic reactions, childbirth, serious accidents, sudden high fevers, severe and sudden onsets of grievous and intense pain, heart attacks, strokes, and the like. Basically, if you can live and tolerate your medical problem until your regular doctor's office is open and can work you in, you shouldn't go to the ER. It's just that plain and simple. People who show up to the ER with non-life-threatening complaints like "leg pain for two months" and "itchy bumps on genitals" (two things I have actually seen people admitted to ER treatment bays for) just clog up the ER system and cost all of us extra money, since most tests that could be ordered on a routine basis by your regular doctor cost at least three times as much as those same tests when ordered by an ER attending physician on an emergent basis. 

But the tone of the nurse practitioner at my regular doctor's office was like I was inconveniencing their medical practice and that because I have Medicaid through my state, I shouldn't care about having to go to the ER. 

Well, guess what, bitch, I do. 

Just because I receive financial medical assistance from my state government due to the funding provided by the Affordable Care Act (a.k.a. "Obamacare"), I don't believe in just pissing away government monies by going to the ER for a non-emergency issue. I respect people whose taxes help pay for my impoverished butt's medical care, and referring me to the ER for a non-emergency issue is a disrespect and abuse of my fellow tax-paying citizens' monies. 

It's also a disrespect of how you apparently feel that I, as a Medicaid recipient, should spend my time. I work very hard at a low-paying job, trying to save what little monies I can in order to attempt to improve my current lot in life, and I get very few days off. The fact that you feel that I should piss hours upon hours away in the ER on one of my precious days off instead of coming in for a 15 or 30 minute appointment with my regular doctor during a time that is convenient to me is disrespectful. Just because I am poor and don't have a regular 9 to 5 job doesn't mean my time isn't as valuable and precious as yours is as a person who holds a substantially better-paying job than myself. 

I might be poor, and I might be on government assistance, but I am not lazy, stupid, worthless, and undeserving of care and respect. 

I am a human being. 

You should treat me as such. 

Cogito ergo sum

Yep, it's that time of year again...the time to look back at everything you did (or didn't do) over the past 365.25/366 days and take stock of your life.

I hate that bullshit.

To me, the past is the past. There's no changing it, so don't fret about it. The future is totally unpredictable, so don't stress about it. All we truly have is the present. So you should make it count. And shit.

I've been in a substantially better mood lately. The new meds help. Ritalin, ironically. No, I wasn't diagnosed with some latent ADHD or anything, the psychiatrist in his infinite wisdom thought a small dose of a stimulant might help me out a bit. It does.

But that gives me pause. I take pills to make me a reasonably happy person. Is that right? Am I really that much of a dysfunctional "Debby downer" that I have to take highly regulated and tightly controlled medication to make myself tolerable to myself? Or is life really so craptastic that I need something, a chemical something, to make it livable? Either way, not a good outlook for the longevity of my liver.

The Christmas retail season at the store where I work was crazy and relatively profitable for myself. Some weeks I got very close to working 40 hours. That's when it really pays to be an hourly employee, even if you only make shit-fifty an hour. Kept me outta trouble and my mind off my worries. The Ritalin definitely helped me keep up with the frenetic pace, late nights, early mornings, and the inescapable "Christmas creeps" who crawl out of the woodwork to make the season merry and bright. 

But now things are going to slow waaaaaaaaay down. Like I'll be lucky to pull in 10 hours on the clock per week slow. It's probably time to start looking for a second job. I like the craft store just fine, but when they only schedule you two days per week, then call and tell you not to show up for one shift and that the other one's hours have been slashed in half, you start to really feel the sting and burn of perpetual brokedom. Last year in January and February, I had a couple of paychecks that were $64 and $48 after taxes. Mind you, I only get paid every two weeks. Yeah, feel the burn of perpetual poverty. 

So, on the hunt for a second job I go. 

The old romantic life is highly unsatisfactory still. I think I could come out of my armor-plating a bit and go on a date or two, but I don't seem to have any interested men in my vicinity. The last time I gave out my number (albeit, with bitchy intent), I got put in my place pretty good, so I'm not apt to try that one any time soon. I'm also not going to join any dating web sites. The last time I was on one of those, I had endless declarations of undying love from a bunch of men older than my father, which I find repulsive and creepy. So, yeah, that ain't happenin' either. So, in other words...

I'm not only hunting for a second job, I need to collect some more cats while I'm at it.

Wish me good luck, godspeed, and a free truckload of kitty litter!

If you can't beat them, join them?

I'll just come out and say it:

Everyone's been in a crapass mood lately. 

Even me. 

It's hard to go to work and have everyone--everyone--in a snipey, ornery vibe. Everywhere I go, people seem to be wearing their crabby pants, too.

Me? I've just been suffering with a general ennui. And anhedonia. 

I'm going to the doctor to have my meds reevaluated, to see if that could be the problem, but some of it is the people around me. 

I'm too sensitive to others' moods, vibes, auras, whatever you want to call them to not be brought down by all this negativity. It's like it's bombarding me from every angle. 

It also doesn't help that I've gradually lost the joie de vivre that I took in so many simple pleasures. 

Perhaps it's the waning bits of sunlight that are hitting this half of the world this time of the year. The days are getting shorter, you know. 

I normally love autumn, with its fresh, crisp air and multihued, crunchy leaves, but right now, I'm just not feeling it. 

I'm not feeling a lot of things right now. And that's troubling.

I hope I'm not starting into a downward cycle. Those are the worst, and so hard to come out of.

But right now, it feels that life is merely a chore, a set of motions you go through on a daily basis with little end result until you die. 

I want my joy back.

I'm done...

I'm done. 

With dating, that is.

No, this isn't going to be some happily ever after-type post in which I tell the world that I'm finally involved with the man of my dreams. 

It's quite the opposite, really.

I'm done with dating. 

I don't want to date anyone else, at least not for a long time. A very long time.

I've been burned too many times.

I'm tired. Sick and tired. Sick and tired of being lied to, led on, manipulated, cheated on, hit, and left for other women. All. The. Time.

I wish I had some happy dating stories, but I don't. 

I'm 31 years old, and I've never been in a serious relationship. 

I frequently find out I'm the other woman in many of my dating relationships (if you could call them that). My moral standards require me to terminate the relationship at that point. I've never regretted that part of those situations. I'm no homewrecker.  

I also frequently get left for/compared to other women. I frequently get blown off as soon as something--someone--comes along that is, in ways unknowable to me, somehow better. 

It hurts. 

It hurts when even guys who are well-known for being generally good souls treat me like dirt, like a tissue meant to be used temporarily and disposed of just as quickly.

It hurts when a guy that you didn't want to be anything other than friends with says, "I don't want anything serious with you because my head and my heart are still with my ex." I didn't want anything other than friendship, and now you tell me I'll perpetually be in second place. Thanks, I needed that. Like I don't already have enough issues with my self-esteem.

That's why I prefer to be ignored by men. It hurts like hell to be perpetually lonely, but it hurts worse to be hurt. It doesn't even matter if you do get the rare apology later for the dickish behavior, the pain is still there, gnawing at your psyche and soul.

That's why I'm so standoffish and bitter. I'll never be good enough, so why bother? 

It's easier to be alone. 

It's easier to be the crazy crocheting cat lady who stays at home on Valentine's Day with her 30 cats and latest crafting project. 

I don't want that fate, but the alternative is much, much worse.

So, I'm just going to stay in my corner, all alone (except for my cat), and do what it is that I do best:  make other people happy. 

Happy crafting, everyone.    

Esty site up and running again...

BiteCat Jewelry

Go. Visit. Shop. Now. 'Merica. (Or something.)