Category Archives: If I was a dog I’d be dead by now

I blame the rickets.

I’m on day 7 of this mandatory low-carb, low-sugar diet-for-not-dying and everyone told me that I’d have the I-want-to-stab-everyone-carb-detox-flu for a few days, but then after that I’d have lots of energy and the cravings would lessen and they are right because now I have enough energy to loudly whine about how much I miss egg rolls rather than just whisper it softly to whichever pet is nearest.  Also, the cravings have lessened but I’m not sure it’s because I’ve beaten my addiction to carbs and sugar or if I’ve just given up on life and my brain is now huddled in a corner, angrily eating cilantro while yelling, “OH I CAN’T EVEN HAVE FRUIT ON THIS DIET? AWESOME.  I’LL JUST GET SCURVY THEN?  GREAT. THAT WILL FIX EVERYTHING.”

In an act of solidarity, Victor has decided to go on the diet with me, which seems incredibly sweet except that it seems crazy easy for him and he’s a dude so he basically doesn’t eat a sandwich for one afternoon and loses 87 pounds and becomes immortal.  Plus, when I whine about how HE HAS NO IDEA HOW HARD THIS IS he just raises an eyebrow, but I’m pretty sure that it’s harder for me because now I have rickets from not eating fruit.  I assume.

Also, I’m finding out that basically everything has hidden carbs and sugar in them and even foods that would feel like a punishment to eat are off limits for me.  Like, carrots.  I don’t even like carrots and I’m not allowed to eat them.  At this point I assume rain, oxygen, and forgetting to take your clothes out of the washer are all full of carbs and maybe I should just go on an all-heroin diet.  Except people really seem to love heroin so I assume it must be high in sugar or gluten.

Also, I went to my shrink today and the waiting room was completely packed and  it was very bleak and serious and I was looking on twitter and the top trend was telling me that today is #NationalEatWhatYouWantDay BECAUSE OF COURSE IT FUCKING IS and it seemed so ridiculous that I got the funeral-giggles (when you start laughing in an inappropriate setting and then trying not to laugh makes you laugh more and then you start snorting and you can’t stop because you’re in a giggle-loop-of-inappropriatness and so you just pretend to be crying because it’s easier to explain) and then everyone in the waiting room looked at me like I was insane and I was like, “Don’t judge me.  Y’all are crazy too” but then I realized that most of them were people who were there giving rides to other patients.  Also I’d brought a bunch of copies of YOU ARE HERE so I could give one to my shrink and leave the rest in the waiting room like Gideon Bible’s for crazy people but then I was worried that kids might see them and there’s some light cursing inside so I decided to just bring them all in to my shrink so she could just give them to unoffendable people who were having a hard time, but it looked to the outside world like I was carrying multiple copies of the exact same coloring book, which seems a bit insane.  So then I explained to the waiting room, “I made these” and everyone tried to avoid eye contact except for an elderly man sitting next to me who was all, “Well did you now?  Good for you” but in a sort of frightened/unintentionally condescending way, and it just now dawned on me that everyone was probably thinking that I was just bragging about coloring the exact same coloring book over and over and that I was probably bringing them into my shrink to show her that I could stay inside the lines.  Except that I can’t stay inside the lines and all of these books were obviously untouched and the spines weren’t even cracked so it looked even crazier and basically I think I scared everyone in the waiting room.  But also I probably made thems feel better about themselves (or their crazy loved one) because they weren’t hysterically cry-laughing to themselves while holding a stack of identical uncolored coloring books that they were bringing to show their psychiatrist.

PS.  My friend sent me this gif and this corgi is my new patronas:

“OH I DON’T NEED REAL FOOD. I’LL JUST LIVE ON THIS RAW CABBAGE.  I’M SO HAPPY. THIS IS FINE. EVERYTHING IS FINE.”

PPS. I’m not sure if this makes sense.  Sorry.  I blame the rickets.

I’m dying but probably the same amount as normal really.

Remember how last week I was in the hospital for stomach bullshit and the week before that I was looking at TMS (electroshock therapy lite?) because my head was all fucked up?  Well, I decided that before doing TMS I’d check to see if there were any other issues that could be causing this depression/sickness/body fuckery so my doc did a shit ton of blood tests and  she was like, “You’re all fucked up,” and that’s pretty accurate.

I literally lost track of how many vitamin deficiencies I have but I’m now taking an extra 8 pills a day just to get back to normal.  My hormones are off and I’m way low on testosterone (I didn’t even know I was supposed to have testosterone?) and apparently that causes fatigue, foggy thinking, depression and anxiety which is pretty much all of the things I’m made of, so I’ll be starting testosterone meds this week.

Also, I have things like “pernicious anemia”, which I just assumed was something Lemony Snicket made up.  But instead it’s something probably related to whatever is wrong with my stomach, or ulcers, or my antibodies that are all fucked up as well.

And add “pre-diabetic” to the list because WHY NOT, RIGHT?  So now I’m on  day 5 of a low-carb, low-sugar diet to “fix my sugars” as your grandma would say, and I’m shocked I haven’t murdered everyone in the house yet.  Last night I yelled “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.  SOMEONE GET MAMA A MASHED POTATER SANDWICH” and Victor was like, “Have some protein.  Protein is good for you” but I don’t think so, Victor, because my entire body is a protein and it’s trying to kill me. 

Long story short, things are wrong inside me and no one really knows the cause but maybe the diet, supplements, and meds will help.  Or they won’t.  Hard to tell.  But it could be worse and at least I have things to focus on that might make me better, and that’s a relief in itself.

I don’t have a funny ending here.  I blame the lack of popsicles in my body.

I would kill someone for a popsicle.

PS.  Bonus Dorothy Barker video to make up for this slightly whiney post:

Sometimes she forgets she left her tongue out.

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

Can you sue your own body? Because I have a good fucking case.

So.  I’ve been a bit MIA because after my emergency room crisis I was a limp rag and unable to do much more than just breathe this week.  Even sitting up to draw was too taxing (WTF, BODY?) so I spent the last few days reading, sleeping and crying to Victor about how sad my life is in spite of the fact that he’s working his ass off  while I’m complaining about my “napping struggles” and I’m like, “But I’m too tired to even watch TV.  PITY ME.”  And then I did literally cry and he did literally pity me because I’m not the crying type and so he realized it was serious.  But today I feel a bit better and I have more doctor’s appointments this week and next week, and I was able to stop taking the pain pills yesterday and maybe it’ll all just fade away like the pneumonia did?  I mean, with my luck it’ll just fade into something else, like radiation poisoning or unexpected leglessness, but still…a change is as good as a rest.  Probably.

Today though Victor insisted that I leave the house and we went to Luby’s Cafeteria and we were the only people under 70 there, except for the guy behind us who was about 40 and was a tough-looking biker who was very distracting because he kept taking obvious pictures of his food and I told Victor that he was probably a famous instagram star and he couldn’t find the right filter for his carrot-n-raisin salad,but Victor thought that he was taking a picture of his food to add it to his weight-watchers journal and I shook my head and we continued to argue about why the biker was taking pictures of his food, including:

  • Texting pictures of his fresh fruit to taunt his estranged brother who lives in a submarine and maybe has scurvy.
  • Beets remind him of a simpler time and he wanted to remember the moment so he could commemorate it with a short story or haiku  later.
  • He saw Jesus in his mashed potatoes.
  • He secretly wants to open an off-brand Hooter’s combined with a Luby’s and name it “Boobie’s” and so every day he comes and takes pictures of his food so that he can recreate it, stealing the menu one photo at a time.

Then I laughed and things felt brighter.  And now I’m actually blogging.  Sort of.  Mostly just to say why I’m not blogging, but I think it still counts.  Long story short, I’m less dead today than I was yesterday and I would totally eat at “Boobie’s”.

Also, books have been my life raft lately and there are a bunch of brand new ones out this week you should be reading. Priestdaddy: A Memoir (achingly amazing prose),  Confessions of a Domestic Failure, One Day We’ll All Be Dead and None of This Will Matter and We Are Never Meeting in Real Life.  The last one doesn’t come out for a few weeks but you should preorder it because it is painfully funny.  And since I’m still spending most of my days under blankets with a book, please share any new reading suggestions you have in the comments.

PS. Last week I challenged my friend (and fellow collector of creepy dolls) Bonnie to see who could rework this doll into the creepiest thing possible.  Mine arrived and I’ve been too tired to start deconstructing her yet, but she’s already slightly creepy to begin with and I haven’t even added the spider legs.  (SPOILERS.)

More soon…

I’m too high to write this but I’m going to anyway.

So yesterday I thought it would be fun to leave free books around town and then post pictures of them so people could find them, and I finished one drop…

…and then 40 minutes later I was here:

My God, I’m photogenic. So corpselike.

Long story short, an alien was chewing its way out of my stomach and I started fainting and I couldn’t feel my hands or legs, and then I died.  Except not the last part.  But it felt like it.  Plus the pain lead to a major panic attack so basically it was a great day.  Victor was out of the State (BECAUSE OF COURSE HE WAS) but luckily, my friend Maile was there to drive me to the hospital and hold me against my wheelchair when I passed out and she stayed with me during many tests and morphine shots and she wrote down all the weird stuff I said while I was high and messaged it to me in real time because she’s awesome like that.  Also, she took that picture of me at my request so I could prove to Victor that I was in the hospital because the morphine made me worried that I was dreaming this and apparently I thought Victor would be mad when all these bills came in from my dream.

Also, the nurse left this giant thing in my bed in case I needed to vomit and when I noticed it I was like, “This is the most unrealistic condom ever”…

…and then I started talking about cosmetic vagina surgery and about how I didn’t even know what it was supposed to look like best case scenario.  Like, am I supposed to want a giant labia, or no labia at all?  What are people asking these doctors for?  Butterfly vaginas?  Tiny moths?  Vagina dentata?  I asked the nurse and she was like, “Hell if I know.  That shit’s crazy.”  She was awesome.

Also, they said I had a very elevated level of lactate (?) and I was like, “That can’t be right.  I couldn’t even breast-feed and I’m lactose intolerant.”  But apparently this was something else related to infections or shock.  In the end they gave me a bunch of meds, including one for irritable bowel syndrome and that was the one that finally made my stomach stop trying to turn itself inside out so I guess I can add that to my list of “WHY MY BODY IS AN ASSHOLE”.

I’d explain this all better if I wasn’t still on drugs to keep the alien inside me quiet.  Sorry.

PS. My spellcheck tried to change “vagina dentata” to “vagina al dente”, which is taking weird to a whole new level.  Quit it, spellcheck.

*******

And now…time for the weekly wrap-up!

sid2

 

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

Shit-you-may-or-may-not-want-to-see:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Story Worth, which is a pretty cool idea I think I’m going to try myself.  From them:”This year, give Mom a StoryWorth Book to preserve her stories. Each week, we’ll email her a question about her life – asking her to recount her favorite memory of her grandparents, or whether she’s ever pulled any great pranks. All she has to do is reply with a story, which is forwarded to you and any other family members you invite. At the end of the year, her stories are bound in a beautiful keepsake book your family will cherish!”  Check it out here.

Let’s just hope spiders don’t read the newspaper.

So…yeah.  In incredibly repetitive news, I’ve been sick.  And I’m getting better but so. fucking. slowly.  The pneumonia is now just bronchitis and exhaustion but being sick for over a week kicked in my natural inclination for depression because my body is an asshole.  Today I made myself eat lunch and told Victor that when things get this bad for so long I start to think that I should have died a long time ago and that my body wasn’t meant to last this long.  Or that maybe I died a long time ago and I’m just too stubborn to realize it and that’s why my immune system is basically missing.  Then he was like, “Well, that’s bleak” and I said, “I am a hungry ghost who has forgotten she died” and he looked at me and said with the same intonation, “I am a horny goat who has something in his eye.”  And it was so ludicrous and ridiculous coming after my overly-dramatic statement that I started laughing in spite of myself.  And then I said that probably ghosts don’t laugh and Victor went back to his soup and was like, “Probably” and I felt better.

This doesn’t lend itself to a blog post very well but I still wanted to share in case right now you’re feeling the same.  You are not a hungry ghost.  Or a horny goat.  You are going to be okay.  And so am I.

PS. The news is scary right now and it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by it but just remember that a new study in the Washington Post shows that the current spider population could devour every human on earth in one year and still be hungry.  And that probably there’s a spider looking at you right now.  That doesn’t sound like it’s a good thing but it’s important for two reasons.  1) When I read this my first thought was that I needed to stock up on flamethrowers to stop the spider horde and that’s a good thing because it reminded me that I want to live.  Thank you, spiders.  I weirdly needed to be reminded that I don’t want you to eat me.  And 2) because it proves that just because spiders COULD eat us, it doesn’t mean that they will.  We’re still alive today in spite of spiders.  The glass is half full.  Of spiders.  But of spiders who won’t eat you.  Probably because they don’t realize that they’d have to join forces to kill us and they don’t know their own collective strength because they don’t read the Washington Post, but still.  The point is that we’re still alive, and spiders live on strings that come out of their buttholes.  We win.  It’s not a great win, but you know what?  I’ll take it.

PPS. I don’t know how to end this post.

PPPS. Tomorrow I’m going to BookPeople to sign some books people have ordered so if you want one personalized just go to their website or call them.  They ship all over the world.  I’m going to tuck a bunch of YOU ARE HERE tattoos into each them as well for as long as they last so be sure to check your book when it arrives.

PPPPS. This post needs a picture.  This is the face stuck in mine whenever I open my eyes.  Dorothy Barker, furry nursemaid, eater of spiders.

Too much medicine. Not enough. One of those.

Victor:  JENNY.  COME HERE.

me:  No.  I’m sick.  I’m dying.

Victor: You’re not dying.   What happened in here?

me:  I think it’s pretty obvious.  A happy ending happened here.

Victor:  WTF.

me: I don’t know.  I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop coughing and they looked lonely and it was 2am and I thought, “Hey.  Look at all these great dead animals going to waste.  Let’s make a family.”

Victor: *

me: I was on a lot of medication.  Or not enough.  I can’t even tell anymore.  But look how happy they are.  Plus, Dorothy Barker is totally into it.  She’s the overly involved Godmother.  Also, she might want to chew on the baby.  Hard to tell with dogs.

Victor: I don’t even know what to say.

me: Say “Congratulations on your beautiful new baby, sirs.”

Victor: I’m not going to say that.

“Never talk to us or our son again.”

PS. 11% less dead than yesterday.  Winning?

Not dead yet.

Hi.

I know.

I’m sorry.

And I’m sorry for saying I’m sorry because I know you know you love me enough to not want me to apologize but that’s just how I roll.

If you’ve been watching twitter you know I’ve been very sick.   I think it’s been a week but I could be wrong and I’m too tired to check.  Atypical pneumonia, which makes sense because when would I ever do anything normally.  I’m not in the hospital but I’m on lots of drugs and bedrest and the last few days have been filled with fever dreams and that depression that creeps in after a long illness.  I have stories but I’m too tired to tell them.  I have plans for fun things about You Are Here but I’m too tired to do them.  I’m sorry.  The first month a book is out is the most important, especially for the strange book that it is, so I know I’m wasting golden time to make sure it gets to people who need to see it but I can’t today.  Maybe tomorrow.  Thank you for having my back, for supporting the book.  Thank you if you have a bookstore and you are giving it space.  Thank you if you are a librarian recommending it to people who seem like one of us.  Thank you if you shared it with others.  Thank you to the whole team of people who helped make it a reality and I’m so sorry I’m not doing better at being here for it.  I am here.  Just…sort of trapped inside my chaotic, unreliable body.  And thank you for never wanting an apology but for understanding when I feel like I have to give one.

I promise that one day soon I’ll be back and we’ll color together and share pictures and I’ll tell stories and give away lovely thank you gifts.

Hugs,

me

PS. An unpretty but honest look behind the curtain.  Click the arrows on the image to scroll through and see my ever-present nursemaid:

Sometimes the darkness can be beautiful. But sometimes it’s a real bitch. Depends, I guess.

Hi.

I’ve been a little missing lately.  Not just here.  I’ve been missing a bit inside my head, which in some ways is good because my head is not always fun to live in.

I don’t know if the depression I’ve been dealing with off and on for the last few months has just worn me down, or if it’s one of my auto-immune diseases flaring up, or if I’ve just been lucky enough to get mono AGAIN, but whatever it is feels ungood.  And I know that “ungood” isn’t a real word, but my head is where I keep all my good words and it’s not working well right now.  The rest of my body is following suit and so now I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to do to feel better.  I’m taking my meds and getting light therapy and eating well better and taking vitamins and trying to be active and all the other bullshit that you have to do when you’re sick but you aren’t sure where or what the sickness is, so you have to do all the due diligence because otherwise the doctor is going to just wave me away because someone as broken as I am is sometimes expected to be miserable.  But here’s the thing.  I don’t want to be miserable.  I would like to be happy.  And sometimes I am.  Today I feel better and I can concentrate enough to write this.  This sounds small but it’s not.  It’s big.  And I’m taking it.

And I’m not alone.  I’ve seen so many people lately reaching out for help and I’m not sure if I just think more people are struggling because I am too and I’m more sensitive to it, or if there’s something in the air or in the stars that has made this year more difficult in general.  I’ve seen people I love doubt their own light and feel broken.  And maybe they are, but broken doesn’t mean worthless.  Broken hurts sometimes but it is also what makes us different.

Last night as I was going to bed I noticed that I’d let most of the lights burn out in the chandelier and I couldn’t replace them.  Not just because I was too tired but also because I don’t own a ladder that tall.  So the few remaining lights that still flickered on cast a strange shadow on the wall and in a way it was really beautiful.  Like an unconscious mural that painted my house with invisible hands.  And it was striking.  And strange.  And dark.  And haunting in a way that is (literally) a little hard to see and also a little hard to ignore.  And it seemed like a perfect analogy for how I was feeling.  If my head was working better I would be able to wrap this up more succinctly, but if I wait until my head is less broken I might wait forever.  And then you’d never see the strange, dark loveliness that comes out when things are little bit broken.

dark bloggess

Broken can be beautiful.  I’ll remind you of that if you remind me back.

I can’t tell if this happened because I have a medical issue or because I’m just really lazy.

Yesterday I went to pick up my meds and while I was there I handed the pharmacist my prescription for my ADD medication and she was like “Sorry, I can’t fill this one.  We can only fill prescriptions within 21 days of them being written” and I guess I can understand that but I’ve been walking around with this prescription for a month because I’m not really focused enough to remember to refill my meds if I’m out of my ADD meds and the pharmacist was like, “Yes, but you’ll still have to get a new one” and that sucks because first of all, the fact that I’m making my meds last long enough that my next prescription expired proves that I’m not abusing them or selling them on the street, so if anything I should be rewarded by getting more drugs.  Plus, now I have to make an appointment to see my shrink to get another prescription and I’ll have to tell her I kept getting too distracted to fill the prescription that I insisted that I needed because my ADD was making me too distracted.

But technically she already knows I’m irresponsible and have ADD so really it’ll probably just make her happier that she’s doing an excellent job diagnosing me.

Although she’s not really doing that great if she actually expected that I was going to fill my prescription myself within a normal time limit.  I suspect it’s a test and I failed it.  Or she did.  Maybe we did as a team.  I’m not good at evaluating right now because I’m low on ADD meds.

Someone please make an appointment for me with my shrink.  And remind me to get her to call in my meds this time.  And then take me to the pharmacist to get my meds before they call me with that ” YOUR PRESCRIPTION HAS BEEN READY FOR WEEKS AND IF YOU DON’T PICK IT UP SOON WE’LL RESTOCK IT.  YOU ARE WASTING OUR TIME” message.  And then bring me a cheesecake.  And take me to the post office.  And make me drink more water.

Jesus.  I need a babysitter.  For me.

I blame the meds.  Or lack thereof.

PS.  I don’t have a graphic to go with this post so instead I’ll show you the business cards I made for myself.

furiouslyhappycards2Please note that I forgot to put my name on them or a website or even what FURIOUSLY HAPPY is.  I think it’s pretty obvious I made them without the benefit of drugs.  Or possibly it seems more obvious that I am on drugs if I made business cards with Rory’s taxidermied raccoon face on them.  Depends on the kind of drugs, I guess.  But!  You can do this with them:

furiouslyhappycards3

They would come in much more handy if I ever left the house long enough to give out business cards, but at least I have some now, so…you know…baby steps.

 

UPDATED: Hey. You there. You probably need this.

Hey there.  You.

It seems like everyone I know is having a really rough month.  Me too.  But things are going to be okay.  Promise.  October is right around the corner.

Until then, here’s a kitten meeting a donkey for the first time.

aLQ84m6_460sa_v1

The only way this could be more adorable would be if Benedict Cumberbatch was riding the donkey, while hugging a sloth, who was giving a hedgehog a bath.

UPDATED:  My extremely talented friend, Darth, just sent me this:

Byfajx9IIAEMj_t

Granted, it sort of looks like Benedict Cumberbatch is making a tossed salad of sloths and hedgehogs while his donkey eats a kitten, but somehow it still makes me incredibly happy.

See, world.  It doesn’t take much.