Day Fifty Three: Shhh, Demon’s Sleeping

Some days, my body knows I’m anxious before my brain gets the memo. This afternoon, I looked down and realized, “Oh shit. Wasn’t I wearing nail polish this morning? I swear my nails were completely painted. And how long have I been eating this granola? Jesus, the bag is half gone.”

Do you have any idea how hard it is to ghost eat granola? Not granola clusters. Loose granola. The kind you have to scoop and carefully put into your mouth so as to not get it everywhere. And I didn’t just chip my nail polish. That shit was gone.

Then came the fun process of determining the stressor. I tried to speak gently to myself so as not to spook the anxiety demon, sending it into a panicked frenzy. “Hey there cupcake, something bugging you? It seems like you might be a little bit worried about something.”


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Anxiety demon. Usually at least good for a quiet but high pitched squeal.

When you rent a room in your brainship to anxiety, silence is troublesome. There is always something to be worried about, some fresh nonsense to be offered up as an unwelcome distraction. There’s never silence.


Except for today. Despite every sign that the silly sprite was plotting some fresh hell, the silence remained. I had a perfectly fine day and am having a wonderfully lovely evening. So I’ll ignore the lip biting and the sighs, the telltale signs that something is brewing, and enjoy the silence and the chance to paint my nails a new color without first facing the cold and fumy remover. But I’m watching you, brain.

Day Fifty Two: Sunday Night Suck

The Sunday Night Suck sucks. You know the one. That one where the week hasn’t even started and you’re already exhausted. Where your blog is a stupid obligation that you don’t want to fucking deal with and you look horrible in every picture that was taken of you over the weekend and all you want is a grilled cheese but your boyfriend chooses to point out the irony of stressing about your weight while wanting to eat your feelings after you’ve had three slices of pizza and won’t make you a damn grilled cheese without judgement and then gets mad when you politely(ish) point out how unfuckinghelpful that is.

The Sunday Night Suck, where you can’t even enjoy Kimmy Schmidt because I’m sorry but HOW ARE THEY PAYING FOR RENT AND FOOD AND CHRISTMAS TREES and she is so adorable but HOW CAN SHE AND DONG GO TO THE POCONOS WHEN I HAVENT HAD A VACATION IN THREE YEARS?!

The Sunday Night Suck, made even worse by the inability to get excited about the nearing of the end of the semester because there is no break between spring and summer semesters and syllabi are already up and assignments already given and books to be purchased and there are still final projects to do and soon it’ll be back to two classes a week instead of one and there is no end in sight.

The Sunday Night Suck, when apparently wanting a grilled cheese at 10:30 p.m. is the equivalent of “being kind of crazy right now.”

The Sunday Night Suck. So full of stupid feelings. So devoid of grilled cheese.

Day Fifty One: What the Ham Sandwich?

19 days. 19 days of 8+ hours on Pitt’s campus, and I’m finally done. I do not have to go to Oakland tomorrow.

Whiskey just punched me in the eye. My dog, not the liquor. He didn’t hit my eye with his paw, he put his paw IN my eye. These are the risks of cuddle time. Can this be blamed for the short post? Probably yes. My eye hurts and the computer light is not doing it any favors. Is this the real reason? Probably not. It’s been a 14 hour day of many, many people to end this 19 day stretch, and there is UKS to watch.

Day Fifty One: Nope.

For the first time since I started this, I don’t want to do this anymore. It seems that this is pointless and I have no voice and nothing to say and this has all been a giant waste of time. Even on days when I had nothing to say and no energy at all, before now I have found worth in this. Today, though, I feel like this isn’t worth taking time that I don’t really have in the first place. So there’s that.

Day Forty Nine: Love Trumps Hate

It seems clear that the most talked-about thing out of Trump’s mouth from his visit to Pittsburgh will be, “How’s Joe Paterno?” Of course, the answer is “He’s quite dead.” There will be six days of jokes about this and then a general agreement to move on, with that one dude in your office continuing to make jokes about it for a few weeks past funny.


What about the rest of it, though? The dumb shit said by the egomaniacal caricature can be forgotten as the worthless nonsense that it is. The thousands of people who showed up to join in the hatred…what do you do with that?

Move on. Pretend it didn’t happen. Don’t talk about it, because that isn’t polite conversation. Don’t talk about it, because it’s easier not to know. It’s easier not to know that your cousin or your friend supports a racist, misogynistic, Islamophobic, bigoted, et al. human being. Or worse, that they are. Wake up tomorrow, spend the first several hours of work talking about it, then move on like it never happened, because that can’t happen, right?

Except…it is happening.

They chanted, “Build that wall.”

Fuck. What does it take for a human being to have that much hatred? And for so many at such a young age? What happens to a people to make them say, over and over, “I like that he says what he thinks,” which seems to translate to, “I’m sick of not being able to be a dick without someone yelling at me for being a dick.” Why would anyone want that country?

But despite all of that, there was so much good. There were many more messages of love and support chanted today than of hate. And that’s a fucking win. It feels so small in the face of all of that vitriol, but it isn’t.

So what do you do tomorrow, when you’re on the bus and in coffee shops and at work and thinking, “I wonder if they’re here. I wonder if that person is a hatred-filled Trump supporter? I wonder how many people in this room were there last night?” Be absurdly and aggressively nice. Show love and kindness. Do something nice, no matter how big of small, for a stranger, for a friend, for your family, for anyone. Do what they won’t do.

Let’s all do all of that, okay? But can we also maybe go to a batting cage and hit things really hard? I don’t know where a batting cage is and I do know I would be terrible but that sounds really satisfying right about now.


Day Forty Eight: It Finally Happened

In the last 48 days, I’ve come thisclose to forgetting to post something several times. Yesterday I did. It was a total accident and not me slacking off, but I still feel weirdly really guilty about it, especially because it has been a very long day and I don’t feel like writing tonight. Oh, and Thursday/Friday/Saturday are all 15 hour days, so no idea what those posts will look like.

But then…tomorrow there is Trump, a block away from my office. That may provide enough to write about for days, or leave me entirely speechless. It’s hard to say right now.