Happy Friday the 31st! (That’s Friday the 13th backwards)


Happy Halloween! I know I haven’t really been posting much, but I figured I could take some time away from my day to wish you all a wonderful holiday. I wish I could go out and go trick or treating, but I suppose I can stay home and give out candy…in my awesomely wonderful panda hat!! Look, look at it’s awesomeness! Also, please ignore the insanely boring averageness of my face. Just feel honored to be in my presence.

wpid-20141031_142714.jpgHappy Halloween guys and gals!

I’m a quitter

I left my job. The one at the drug store. I still work with the animals. Because I like animals. They don’t complain like humans do. I’ve determined that retail is not my thing. Technically my animal job is retail, but I don’t actually work at the register. I take care of the animals and occasionally assist customers looking to adopt or buy things related to pets. It’s hard work and I’m running around a lot, but it’s so much more fun than being a cashier and stocking candy every day.

Really, it just wasn’t working out. The whole situation was bad. My coworkers were bad. My managers were never on the same page. The scheduling was bad. My coworker quit not long before me. You know what she said to me on her last day?

“The only reason I took the job is because I needed the money for college. It’s not worth it. Get out while you still can.”

So I did.

And I feel better. Not great, but a bit less stressed.

It’s nice. I’m not going to get as much money, and I get that. It cool. I’m looking to get trained in a couple different areas in the store anyways, so I’ll get more hours. Until then, I’ll just rely on the boyfriend to support my every need. Because that’s what good girlfriends do.


I’ve just been down lately. Sad? I don’t know. I don’t really have much to be sad about. I’ve got two jobs, I’m working on moving out, I have a wonderful boyfriend and a family that loves me. Empty maybe. Tired. I’m not really sure what to do anymore. I’ve been taking my medications (got them changed for the third time) and while they do help, I still feel the same. Just more muted. Like there’s water in my mind, distorting my thoughts so they’re not as vivid, but they’re still so obviously there. I can’t stop thinking. I think about everything. What I do. What I did. What I’m wearing. Who’s looking at me. What’s wrong with me. Bad things. Thoughts no person should have. I can’t relax. I can’t stop.

I’ve got so many things wrong with me. Sometimes I wonder if the people I knew would still like me if they knew exactly what goes on in my head every single day. The things I do. The things I want to do. The things I’ve been trying not to do. I try to help others. I don’t want people going through this. It’s awful and it takes the life out of a person. I feel like a hypocrite though, giving out information that I myself can’t even take.

I tell people I’m doing alright. I’m getting better. And sometimes I think that I am, just slightly, but most of the times I know I’ve gotten worse. Sometimes I think that I’ll finally be brave enough to tell someone close to me about everything. All the things I’ve done. All the things I’ve thought. How I see myself. Sometimes I am brave enough. But those times are when I’m alone, and as soon as I see someone, I just chicken out. My parents want me to see a therapist. I get it. I do. But I just can’t muster up the courage. It’s hard enough to talk to my boyfriend who knows a lot about what I’m going through and what I’ve gone through. I still keep things from him. I shouldn’t, but I don’t want to scare him away and it makes me sad when he’s worried about me.

Someday I’ll open up completely.

But probably not someday soon.

I’m terrible with names

I went to the store today to buy some apple juice, because I’m sick, and because apple juice. Duh. While walking towards the entrance from my car, I casually nodded at a teenager in a orange vest collecting carts in the parking lot.

“Hey Emily!” he said.

“Hey!” I replied back in shock, unsure. I continued walking, thinking long and hard about who he might be. He knows my name, I thought. Shit. Did I go to school with him? I don’t know. Maybe he thought I was someone else? A different Emily? I’ve never really considered myself to be a memorable person. Huh.

It wasn’t until I had paid for my items and returned to my car that I realized who the mysterious stranger was.

He’s my best friend’s brother. Who I’ve known for nearly six years. Who I helped move. Who I’ve argued with and greeted and watched grow.

Six years.

I’m blaming it on the sickness.

I’m spreading the misery

I’m going to go ahead and give you a list of reasons (see: excuses) as to why I haven’t posted in a bit.

1. I’m sick

2. I’ve been gone without internet access

3. I’ve been working

4. I’ve had little to blog about

5. I’m just an overall mess

6. Some other random excuse

They’re all true, though. I am sick. I’ve been sick for the last week and I’m still not better. Sad. It’s rather annoying. Especially at work when I’m ringing up customers and hacking up my lung tissue while bagging their items. And when I talk to them, it ends up coming out as a really hoarse whisper and then I cough some more and hold my chest because it hurts and throw on some hand sanitizer to give the impression that I care about my personal hygiene when I’m sick. I don’t. All I care about is sleep and being able to breathe.

I am so tired. I feel so drained. I was able to go on a short vacation out of town with the boyfriend because we both needed the break, but I just spent the whole time sick and dealing with major heartburn/acid reflux. Oh. It was awful. I hope he gets sick. I need to spread my misery to everyone.

Cough cough. I just spread it to you.


Things I want to do with my life

A list of things I’d like to achieve by the time I turn 21:

Get an apartment. I’m in the process of looking now, and am going to one of them tomorrow to check out the units.

Buy a chinchilla (or two). The boyfriend and I have been looking and the main thing stopping us is the the apartment issue (and the cost a bit, but that’s something we’re working on).

Buy a dinosaur onesie. Enough said.

Wear said dinosaur onesie. Specifically while barhopping as soon as I turn 21. Or just downtown. In the fall, since I don’t want to sweat to death. Thank goodness my birthday is in September.

Reach a specific weight. Ugh. So much work. Worth it, but the process sucks.

Gain more makeup skills. I’ve gotten so much better, but I want to be the very best, that no one ever was!

Find the courage to rock dark red lipstick. I just recently bought Rimmel Lasting Finish in Bordeaux. The color is gorgeous, and I think it’s the right shade for me, but I’m just not brave enough to wear it.

Buy a little black dress. Possibly wear it with the red lipstick.

Go to a fancy restaurant and treat myself. Maybe while wearing the dinosaur onesie, if I don’t get kicked out for scaring the other customers with my awesomeness.

“She’ll be 19 in three months!”

Why do people have to make a big scene over the littlest things?

An older woman and her teenage daughter walk up to the register with a couple items. The woman asks for a pack of [brand] cigarettes. I make a quick judgment call and decide not to card her daughter. I feel fine with that choice. I asked her to point out the ones she wanted, and explained that I’m still learning where they all are.

“Christ,” she says bitchily. “They’re right behind you.”

Alrighty then. I figure if I can just ring her up quickly all will be ok. Mediocre, even. I get them, ring them up, and ask if there’s anything else.

“Yeah a pack of those [brand].”

This is when the daughter speaks up. “Actually mom, I wanted the [other brand]. They’re the same price.”

I smile at her, and say, “I’ll have to see your ID if you plan on getting cigarettes.”

She smiles back while her mom seems to want to throw the register at me. “Oh, of course! I just need to run to the car.”

“I’m old enough to buy them,” her mom says angrily.

“Yes, but she might not be.”

“It shouldn’t matter. I’m the one buying them!” she snaps. She starts to reach for the cigarettes on the counter. I pull them closer to me.

“I’m sorry. I can’t give you these until I confirm her ID.”

“She’ll be fucking 19 in three months! And one of these is mine for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s the law. I can’t confirm that. I can either sell them both to you after seeing her ID, or I can deny you this portion of the sale.”

“Found it!” daughter says happily, but looking slightly embarrassed.

“Thanks, I appreciate you doing this,” I say as I start to ring up her cigarettes. I smile at her and hope she knows I have nothing against her.

“She shouldn’t have to. I’m the one buying them, goddammit!” She’s actually yelling at this point.

“It’s the law, ma’am,” I simply remind her. “I can get fired over something like this.”

“Mom, it’s fine. She’s just doing her job. Let it go.” The poor girl looks like she just wants to disappear. I offer her another smile.

Her mom is still glaring holes into me, perhaps wishing my head would explode into smithereens. I wonder if that’s covered under worker’s comp.

I’m finally able to get them rung up and out the door. “Thank you for your patience and have a wonderful night.”

“You too,” the daughter says sweetly.

Her mom says nothing, but her eyes scream, “Fuck you fuck you fuck you.”

I take a deep breath and turn to help the next customer in line.

The only reason I didn’t deny her the sale or tell her to get out of the store was because her daughter was very polite and seemed mortified by her mother, the grown woman, making a scene over a laminated card. Hey, I would’ve even made the sale to the daughter instead, and told her mom I wasn’t going to ring her up, but I really just wanted to get her out. She’d already wasted more than enough of my time.

But seriously, what is with people? Do they think that bitching at me will make the transaction go any faster or that I’ll decide, “Oh, you’re absolutely right. Please, degrade me and walk all over me. I deserve it.”

No. Not even.

Look, I’m sorry your fish died, really…

…but that’s no reason to get pissy at me when I tell you why they died in the first place.

Especially after you asked me to tell you.


One of the nice things about the pet store I work at is that customers can bring in their water samples to get them tested. Most often this occurs when a fish dies and they want to make sure the water isn’t at fault (thus putting any other fish/aquatic creatures at risk of reaching the same fate). Two people came in to return a couple of fish, and asked me to check their water. Not a problem. I get the return done and ready for the cashier, and start on the water.

“We tested it earlier,” the man tells me, “but we wanted to get it done here too, just in case.”

Easy peasy.

“We also want to get some more fish.”

“Alright, you can let me know as soon as you know which ones you want.”

We discuss the fish.

“I want the gold ones right here,” the woman says.

“The tequila sunrise or the blonde delta?” I ask, unsure as neither of them really qualify as being ‘gold’.

“What’s the difference?”

There’s a tag right on the tank that shows the fish and tells a bit about them, but whatever. Don’t read it. “The sunrises are the yellow and red, and the deltas are the orange with white.”

“Oh, I guess I want the dollar fish.”

Those would be the sunrises. I confirm this with her.

“Yeah, two of those.”

I get all her other fish, and return to grab the last two. I hate catching them, They always swim to the corner where the net won’t quite reach. I manage to get one of them and put it with the other fish.

“Oh, um, is that the one you’re getting for me?”

“Yes?” I answer, unsure. “You wanted the dollar fish, right? The sunrises?”

“I wanted the gold ones.”

“In this tank we have deltas and sunrises.” Seriously. Where was she getting gold from?

“Oh, I guess I want the deltas.”

Well. Fine. Not a huge deal…had I not confirmed what you wanted multiple times prior to this. I put on a smile, let her know it’s not a problem and go about changing the fish out. Poor things. I probably stressed them out a bunch.

Now that that’s finished, the man asks me if I figured out what was wrong with the water. After showing him the results of the test, I explain what the different colors mean.

“Overall, your water is pretty clean. The pH is a little low, but that can be fixed pretty easily. I did notice that your ammonia levels are very high. They’re definitely in the harmful levels, and that’s most likely the cause of the your fishes deaths.”

“Yeah, that’s what we had found out before. We bought some tablets to help.”

“Did they seem to make a difference?”

“No. What should we do about it?”

“Well, I’d recommend getting a liquid instead. Something you can put in the water. How often do you clean your tank?”

“I haven’t for awhile. Maybe every couple weeks.”

“Oh…Well, you should definitely clean it more often. All the build up of waste and grime could have easily brought your ammonia levels up.”

“Well,” he says, suddenly snippy, “I clean it. I have a filter.”

“Yes, but like I said, if you want this to get fixed, it would be best to clean it at least once a week, if not more because of how many fish you have in it. You may want to go ahead and do a complete clean before you put these new fish in. The biggest thing is going to be scrubbing it down and putting in fresh water. That should make a big difference.”

“Hmph, I think I’ll just stick with the tablets.”

And then they left. With four more fish that may not make it through the week. Fuck.

Doctor’s Appointment Update

Just got back from my appointment. First things first, I hate the scale at the doctor’s office. According to it, I’ve lost about 8 pounds in 5 weeks. That’s wonderful. That’s great. I’m proud. But according to my scale, I’ve lost closer to 14. So, yeah. Happiness diminished a bit. Still proud, but that’s a big difference and I’m not super stoked about it.

I’m getting a new antidepressant. Even though I really like the one I’m on, it’s not doing much to help so he thinks it would be best to try something new. We discussed my increase in panic attacks, and he prescribed me something to take when I feel one coming on. Hopefully it’ll help a bit. I got my blood drawn as well to check my nutrient levels, thyroid, and vitamin D. I told him I haven’t been eating as much and we both want to make sure I’m at least getting the proper nutrients. I should hear back in a week with the results.

Ugh. My body is so fucked up.

Short ramble

I can’t seem to stop having panic attacks. I get to see my doctor tomorrow for my six week checkup since I got my antidepressants upped, so I’ll mention it to him. I don’t really want to, but I will. Makes me feel bad because my mind is always against me. I don’t know anymore. Can’t seem to stop crying. The boyfriend drove an hour to see me a few days ago after I had a complete break. I appreciated it. I don’t really feel any better though. I know my doctor is going to ask if I’m seeing a therapist yet, and the answer is no. I should but I just don’t want to.

Sorry, I’m rambling. I’ll let you know how the appointment goes.