Thursday, July 19, 2012

Oh what a week...

I had another round of drama with the VA. I had to be evaluated for Individual Unemployability. Since I can't work due to my disability, I needed to apply for this extra benefit. I completely forgot that I'd applied for this months ago.

I had to go to a civilian clinic contracted by the VA, and according to the internet these folks are infamous for screwing over veterans. Of course, the VA said they use them to get a fair independent opinion. Pshaw and other noises of disbelief.

At any rate, I had to be evaluated by a male psychiatrist. I found out that I don't respond well to male psychiatrists. I don't know who I feel worse for, me or him. I was already freaking out before I even got into his office. I could not look that doctor in the face while I answered his questions, and I could barely speak above a whisper. By the end of the appointment I had covered my face with the clipboard of paperwork so he couldn't see me. I have rarely felt so pathetic in my life. I had already taken anxiety medication by the time I got there, but I was still having panic attacks. It makes me tired. So unbelievably tired.

I find myself fantasizing about finding a small dark hiding spot to cower in for a few days. I gave serious consideration to leaving town for a few days. I know I can't outrun my disabilities though, so I didn't bother. Still, it's tempting.

I've let my short attention span run rampant lately, and I've started a few projects. I started a short story, smutty and ultimately tragic. I also started cleaning out some closets. It's always a bad sign when I start organizing things. It's how I try to work out a really good mad. It's also probably a metaphor for trying to straighten up my life. Later, I'm going to start throwing things out again. Good times.

You don't know, because you can't see me, that my working space is cluttered beyond all reason. I like it that way. There is a pile of stuff on my right and on my left with just a small space around my computer that is reasonably clear. I have a ridiculous and unnecessary collection of office supplies. My favorites are sticky notes and pens. I have post-its for any and every occasion, and I start getting edgy and anxious if I don't have enough pens. "Enough" in this instance being approximately a metric fuck ton. I have pens in jars and drawers and little cubby spaces. I've also got a stash hidden in my filing cabinet somewhere I think. Another stash in my purse. I also get unreasonable when my boyfriend starts borrowing my pens and not putting them back. I'm neurotic okay? I regularly sweep the house for stray pens and tuck them back into my little stashes. I hate it when I find pens in little baskets full of miscellaneous junk. How are you supposed to use a pen if it's buried under all kinds of crap? So my desk is the default position for finding a pen to use. Not to mention he always goes for my "good" pens first. I'm very particular about pens. I have strict standards for pens. I once spent months trying to locate the perfect pen. Succeeded too eventually. I have my regular, boring, ink pens. Those I don't mind other people using so much. I have my almost awesome pens, which are gel pens, that are reasonably ergonomic. I have my colored ink pens, which I use exclusively to annoy people with and to distract children. I have my perfect pens, which are expensive, and which no one, not even me, uses except for special occasions. I also have a collection of other pens that I got during my search for the perfect pen, which I don't mind other people using. It's the perfect pen because it is precisely the correct width, both in the tip, and to fit into my hand. It doesn't jiggle or make noises when you shake it, and the gel ink is smooth and perfect.

I have digressed. As interesting as my many eccentricities are, I had a point. Oh right, the week from hell. The experience at the doctor's office was traumatic, and has left me even more moody than usual. I'm alternately completely exhausted and full of nervous energy. I don't want to eat or sleep, and my concentration is shot all to hell. I'm restless and chronically dissatisfied with everything imaginable. Nothing pleases me. Nothing soothes my badly battered nerves. I might have to give up my morning coffee this week if it doesn't settle down soon. That would be bad. There have also been some minor family drama, but that is nothing new. I think there is a countdown in my head somewhere, counting down the seconds toward a royal tantrum of one sort of another. I hope I get it together before then.

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