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Haha, so much for having this be a daily thing.
So last night I'm up late. I watch 2 episodes of Intervention on tv. The first one was about that asian chick from star trek - apparently she's addicted to fentanyl lollipops. She says things like "Don't put that on the table, what if I need it? You know I can't make left turns." She claims that her parents posess an energy that causes her great pain, and claims her life is in danger because of it when they're around. She says she's in so much pain; yet she can run away from people when they try to help her. IDK. Whatevs.
The second one was about Huffing inhalants. They're going on with the stories of people who have died and how sudden it all seemed... and yeah, it sucks. But the whole time I'm sitting there thinking that I could be one of them. I've got every reason to grab a bottle of booze, grab a handful of pills (my mom wants to hang on to pills that have expired for some reason - "because someone else could use them" - so of course we have a nice variety) or get myself kicked out of the house and go live on the streets. Yes, there's days when life on the streets would be way better than being here. I could so easily pick up a habit and use it to keep my troubles at bay; at times I think they'd actually like me better if I did.
But I don't. Why? Because I'm better than that.
I know that if I decided to become a drunk, I could blame it for all kinds of bad behavior. I'd get into fights, wreck people's stuff, embrace my halucinations. I could track down anyone who had ever done me wrong and go off on a drunken tirade about how shitty they were to me. I could beat the crap out of my dad at the slightest provocation. I could go sit outside a certain persons house at night, occasionally lighting a bag of shit on fire and tossing it at their porch. I could go to California and confront my uncle, and basically tell him that he's exiled from the family. I could tell him that if he or that certain other person ever set foot at my grandmother's house again, I'd literally ram his car out of the driveway with my truck. I'd make him pay to fix my truck of course, pleading temporary insanity due to extreme emotional distress. I'd be mean, stubborn, ornery... and I'd be drinking the hard stuff. After all, I believe in doing things full on. None of that half-assed stuff for me.
I know that from my medical knowledge, I could calculate a dose of pills that would put me out of commission for weeks. I know too much for my own good sometimes. Who knows why my mom thinks it's ok to let my sister take some pills that I had left over from an old prescription. I decided one night to clean out the cabinet downstairs because the vitamin/pill shelf was getting overcrowded. All I wanted was some Motrin cause I had cramps. So I go through the bottles on the one shelf, and pull out one prescription of my dad's that's a little old. No Motrin there, so I decide to go check the box we keep in another cabinet. Blamo, old prescriptions galore. So I pull them out and put them on the counter, with a note saying that I cleaned out the cabinets and people should decide if it's really still necessary to keep the old pills. Well... did I ever catch hell. Both my one sis and my mom went off on me, going on about how my sis has problems with her knee so she needs the pills with codiene and my dad's old ibuprofen... My point being that if she's in so much pain from her knee, either take her back to the doctor for it or get her a prescription of her own so that people know what she's taking. At least then she'll get the right dose and she won't occasionally get sick from mixing it with her other medications.
*sigh* I'm starting to run out of steam here...
So then after Intervention comes Hoarders. A show that deals with folks who have severe hoarding habits (obviously) that usually threaten their health and living situation. My mom and sisters often joke that they should put me on that show. Well, when you have enough things to fill up a house in your tiny room, of course people are going to think you're a hoarder. If you'd fuckin' loosen up and let me put some shit around the house (and have it be safe where I put it) it would look normal. Or even just give me the larger bedroom. Take Al's shit out of it; god knows why we still have it. Take her bed down - she doesn't sleep here anymore. Get her dresser out of the room - the only thing it's used for is hiding Laura's booze. Take all her scrapbooks, yearbooks, and clothes over to her house and let her deal with them. SHE DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE. Have all her mail sent to her new address. Hey, then that would give you enough room on that bookshelf downstairs to put Laura's books; and you wouldn't have to take my mailbox out of there. I could actually be included in the family mailbox line.
And now I've fully run out of steam. My thoughts are now wandering to feeling like I should get out of these pajamas because I feel stale. I should probably get into my clothes for work so that I'm ready. Oh, and I'm kinda hungry. But of course, nothing good to eat downstairs.
Ah, such is my life.
Current mood: aggravated.
Current music: Shinedown - "Sound of Madness".