May cause dizziness in Mental Masturbation in Montréal: Confessions from the Boulevard

Still very-very-very up and down, black and white, yes and no, in and out, left and right, fuck and off. Except now it's even bigger'n'better due to chronic-fucking-AGONY.

Begin backstory-deetz:

Two YEARS ago (!!!) I quit smoking, started eating more mindfully and commenced hauling my ass off the couch on a daily basis. A year into it, I even managed to start running.

RUNNING. ME.
RUNNING. What.

I don't understand it either but it had a little to do with barely hanging on by fingernails while the rest my life - and, what's-left-of-my-mind, went off.the.fucking.rails. And since I'm ADDICTED TO DRAMA AND MISERY AND ENDLESSLY REHASHING THE PAST AND IDENTIFYING AS A VICTIM GIVES ME A YOOGE BONER, here's a brief synopsis, but not in any particular order because my memory is fucking-gonzo, she digressed wildly...

Also: point-form because some people have actual lives to lead.

ALSO-also: brevity, people. Jesus. Note that if you say "Jesus." backwards it sounds like "Sausage." You are welcome.

• Seanie-boy went nutz. (Weird, right?!) Like, nutz-f'realz including some jail-time and a 90-day staycation in the boobyhatch. (Still processing this one! It's been a doozy!)

• The Woman Who Gave Birth To Me got sicker and sicker and sicker but still refuses to fucking die, already. This triggered a whole-buncha-shit and long-buried trauma and when does it END, ferfuckssakes? Jesus. (Sausage.)

• Various friendship implosions - the kind that I kinda-sorta knew were coming because I can only be your emotional-toilet for so long before I eventually OVERFLOW AND SPEW YOUR SHIT BACK AT YOU.

• 25-ish years of marital BLISS finally caught up with me and I almost p-in-v'ed someone whom, in retrospect, is indubitably dry-heave worthy. (See: aforementioned "... what's-left-of-my-mind, went off.the.fucking.rails." et al.) To sum up: Ew. ALSO: DODGED THAT BULLET, PHEW!

• Ohai, early-onset menopause! You should SEE my beard! And, in the interest of the preservation of the integrity of TMI, my vadge will now be played by a dried apricot.

• Speaking of fucking cunts, I quit my job as an indentured servant/free therapist for Mrs. Swell and was then systematically denied every.single.goddamned employment and/or retraining and/or disability benefit us taxed-to-the-TITS socialist-Canucks have built a (TOTAL SHAM) democracy on. STOP HARPER!!!

• Oddly enough, I got a bit depressed and manic-panic-anxious and pondered why life is so gosh-darned confounding. Golly.

• Drug-addict-with-a-heart-of-gold brother got sick and nearly died. Three times and counting, now.

• Peter. Peter who?

• Sell house, move to Montreal. Alone.

And that's just the shit I can actually remember.

End backstory-deetz:

Two YEARS ago (!!!) I quit smoking, started eating more mindfully and commenced hauling my ass off the couch on a daily basis. A year into it, I even managed to start running.

RUNNING. ME.
RUNNING. What.

Naturally, no good deed goes unpunished, said the pessimist.

I've just been diagnosed with osteoarthritis in: my knees (the right one, in particular, is an ANGRY BALL OF FIRE... NOW WITH 100% MORE PATELLA-FEMORAL SYNDROME, YAY!) my hips and my lower back (NOW WITH 100% MORE LUMBAR DEGENERATIVE DISC DISEASE, YAY!). So, yeah. I'm feeling... a little... uhhhh... how you say?

... totally.fuckin'.pissed.

Here's why: I quit smoking/started eating better/started walking/running to IMPROVE THE QUALITY OF MY SHITTY LIFE. It helped me sleep when PTSD nightmares plagued me for MONTHS. It helped me feel strong and capable when I was at my least-strong and least-capable. I lost 40-fucking-pounds. It was the best shape I've ever been in. EVAR. It spurred me on when I was thinking about leaving Peter and Hicksville and moving to Montreal - where I would be without a car and using public transport and my own two widdle feets. It was a much-welcomed lifestyle change - which further fueled my confidence that I could - and would - DO THIS THING, GODDMANIT - I"M TRYING TO SAVE MY OWN LIFE, HERE!!!

And now? I'm basically disabled.
I'm in so much physical pain I can't see straight. My doctor (whom I'd like to SMASH WITH A CUDGEL... RIGHT IN THE KNEE!!!) finally broke down and called in some NSAIDs - but only AFTER she made me feel like a drug-seeking JUNKIE when I told her the (GODDAMNED) tylenol just wasn't (FUCKING!) cutting it anymore (YOU BITCH!). And now, said NSAIDs (lulz!) are making me feel all pukey and gross even WITH the accompanying prescribed anti-pukey and gross med.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I wait and wait and wait to see an orthopedic surgeon. (!!!) Oh, and the physiotherapist? That's 18 MONTHS from now.

And, since I'm on a roll, here... I ALSO have a "suspected aortic mass" in my belly. I've had two small-bowel obstructions in the past and, given the family history of colo-rectal cancer, aggressive-as-hell Crohn's disease and whatever-the-fuck-nearly-killed-my-brother-three-times (all belly/gut related surgeries), I'm a little... perturbed. Still waiting waiting waiting to see the gastro and I just booked an ultrasound for... JULY. And I feel lucky! The other places were booking for NOVEMBER - which, y'know... I could be DEAD by then, no biggie.

Jeez, Quebec... you're starting to resemble Ontario!

To cope, I've been a shrieking harpy to Peter and then, when that wears off, I soothe myself with mountains of junk-food while I sit on my ass, with my throbbing knee propped up on a pillow - weeping.

It's... unsettling. Also: painful. Also: I've gained back 20 pounds and none of my clothes fit me.

The stress is making me want to... SMOKE CIGARETTES!!! Ahahahahaha! Actually, I'd never start smoking again if only because of the STENCH of it. Take my (inconsiderate-cocksucker) neighbours, here... COULD YOU CRACK A FUCKING WINDOW, YOU PRICKS?! I can smell their second-hand smoke when I'm sitting on my ass, weeping.

Jesus. (Saus.... never mind.)

Basically, I'm seriously miserable and feel like I've suffered E-fucking-NOUGH. I also feel really crappy because: junk-food and because: Hi, I'm Susan and I'm a YOOGE hypocrite!

Lemme esssplain... before Festivus, during one of my regularly occurring shrieking-harpy-tirades, I told Peter:

"You ALWAYS choose old behaviour! You ALWAYS go back to the bullshit! You ALWAYS do the same thing and expect different results! Whyyyyyyyyy do you do this? Whyyyyyyyy are you like this? Whyyyyyyyy can't you change? Whyyyyyyy WON'T you change? That old behaviour keeps you stuck and when you're stuck, there's no room for change or improvement or whatever... blah, blah, blah...."

(HOW has he not murdered me by now? I don't even KNOW.)

And, oh!

LOOK!

I'm doing the exact same thing!

I'm overwhelmed/depressed/insane/retarded/injured/what-have-you and what do I do?

REPEAT PATTERNS OF OLD, UNHEALTHY BEHAVIOUR.

SURPRISE! It's so involved, being me.

AND NOW! THE FUN!

a) Those completely-drenched-like-I-fell-into-the-lake, wring-out-your-sheets and then take a shower at three-in-the-morning hot-flashes have mercifully stopped.

Bloodwork says: "Susan, you're officially a crone!"

Susan says: "Fuckin' fiiiiinally."

b) I start Repetitve Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation tomorrow! That only took SEVEN-AND-A-HALF MONTHS! What?! I'm happy! Okay... I'm... pleased. rTMS, bitchez!

c) The gruelingly-long, arduously stupid, unnecessarily complicated process of assigning my lease is nearly over!

Fuckin' French bastards! (<--- said with great affection, keep your pants on!) Here in Quebec, if you want out of your lease you have to do EVERYTHING A LANDLORD IS SUPPOSED TO DO TO SECURE A NEW TENANT - AND! YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR THE PLEASURE! I dunno. Is this how leases work? I've never been on a lease and if so, THIS IS WHY. Holy fuck. Them-there new tenants'ses references better check out or I'm gonna have to CUDGEL THEM. Here's hoping! And then, they can move into this NOISY-AS-FUCK, (smokey!), OVERRUN WITH HUGE, LUNGING, SHIT-EVERYWHERE DOGS, RANCID SHITHOLE, I mean...
lovely apartment that's close to all services, stores, the park and two metros! ahem

x) Peter arrives on Tuesday to:

• Find us a new place to live in one-of-two more desirable and convenient neighbourhoods in a building that doesn't allow HUGE, LUNGING, SHIT-EVERYWHERE DOGS.

Je vous déteste et je déteste votre fucking chiens!

• Talk me down off various the-pain-is-making-me-crazy(er) ledges.

• Fix my wagon good with some deeeeeeeep dicking.

y) ALL THE SNOW HAS FINALLY MELTED!!! I saw crocuseses (crocii?) tulips and daffodils the last time I dragged myself by my HANDS to the store for (junk-food) milk! Longest-fucking-winter-EVER - or, was it just me?

z) The babies are doin' okay. Sean just finished his winter term - top o' the class (again!), sober, fairly-steady-and-in-control.

Jake is recovering from the shit-storm that was his fuckin'-awful job and is feeling better/responding to the medication his doctor ordered.

And Drewzilla is in the home-stretch, yo! Graduation looms! Also - a possible trip-to-NYC to meet intarwebz peeps... more on that later.

Okay! TIME FOR PILLS!!!

(Final edit of the other six edits you didn't see: I rilly-rilly don't like this interface. Yes, I'm a whiny-bitch who complains about a free service, so what? I just don't like it. If that incredibly strange EWS-guy from OD would hurry-the-fuck-UP with HIS site, I'd already be there. (See: other six edits and shit) In fact, I'm probably going to end up over there because it's basically an exact duplicate of OD in terms of user-ability (is that even a word? you know what I mean.) Except: it's called ED. !!! Which stands for EASY Diary and NOT Erectile Dysfunction. As you were. okayloveyoubye.)