Originally posted on 9/16/2010
Current mood: Blog-Bootylicious
Category: Life
I hate days like these. I hate those uber oversensitive days when I feel like the scared little wimpy kid that'll ball uncontrollably when someone says "Boo". I hate it when I get all "tender" at the smallest of unintended (self-perceived) slights. It's no secret to anyone who knows me (well), that I have zero tolerance and even less sympathy, for the chronically hypersensitive. My remedy for the ridiculously auto-offended is "Toughen up, dammit!" Who wants to constantly walk on eggshells when dealing with someone? Why should simply getting along with someone require so much work? How can one's need to always exert their own tender feelings outweigh someone else's tendency to simply 'not sweat the small stuff'? Personally speaking (for the flip side), I'm way too emotionally lazy to have to be on my Ps & Qs when discussing something as simple as the weather. I consider myself pretty self-aware, so I wouldn't say I'm completely devoid of a brain-to-mouth filter but I certainly have my moments. So if I know all that, why am I taking offense with any and all things I've encountered recently? I see hidden agendas in the newscaster's report on tropical storms. I hear whispered insults about me in all casual conversations in which I'm not personally involved. ... I sense sexist undertones in the way men say "Hello" to me. ... I see conspiracies when I get a reply text in 7 minutes instead of 5. ... Everyone is out to get me. Every messed up situation I encounter is another testament to just how little I 'measure up'. I'm a pathetic loser that everyone hates. I'm Booger Boy, the geeky school kid that no one talks to but everyone laughs at. I'm B.O. Betty, the stinky co-worker that everyone avoids because of a stench so repulsive, it singes eyebrows and nose hairs. I'm too chubby. I'm too nerdy. I'm too weird. WTF? That's the biggest crock of green leprechaun shit I've never actually seen, but can imagine in great detail. I'm not ashamed to announce my asinine emotional state to the world because I know it's so insanely out of character for me, I can only logically conclude that it will pass like any harmless 24 Hour Bug. / Frankly, I'm committed to putting ALL my business in the street if it results in me feeling better. Hell, just by writing up to this very point, I already feel like kicking my own azz for being such a big, blubbering baby. Okay granted, I know I might seem a bit bipolar to the general population. However, I also know I feel my much-needed internal drill sergeant coming back to reclaim residency just by virtue of accepting how ridiculous I'm being right now. - Hey, I'm not claiming my condition doesn't warrant strong medication but until I'm properly diagnosed by a °board certified medical professional, my Bipolar Blog Therapy will just have to suffice. Besides, I just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror (walking away) and my butt looks kinda good in these pants I'm wearing now. ~And NO I'm not joking.~ I actually walked back to the mirror a few times to make sure my eyes didn't deceive me. To my posterior pleasure, it was round, brown bulbous beauty♥ staring right back at me. No matter what the medical professionals say, Bipolar Blog Therapy is good but Bipolar Booty Therapy is bigger and better.
°Not certified by the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology. Proudly certified by the African American Board of Bulbous Bootology.
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