my hand is a wimp.

looks completely normal. hurts like a mother. yes, i have freckles on my palm.

So here's something awesome slash really embarrassing:  I think I need to have my hand x-rayed.

Now, I've always been super accident prone in general and incredibly idiotic when drunk, so I've had my fair share of injuries. Usually bumps and bruises, occasionally something that needs ice thrown on it, every once in a blue moon something that needs inspection by a medical professional.

It all just kind of comes with the territory. Give me a simple flight of stairs one step and I will easily find a way to fall up/down it, no matter my mental state.

So naturally the knowledge for this tendency to accidentally hurt myself is usually enough to prevent me from further putting my person into harm's way or, god forbid, seeking out injury/tempting fate.

With a few exceptions.

About two months ago I was driving along, throwing a fit in my car like the two year old I am at heart. I decided it would definitely help me calm down if I took my aggression out on something physically. Because that's so far really helped me the past 25 years. Right.

So, being the typically non-militant gal that I am, I wasn't really sure how to actually accomplish this, plus I am severely impatient, so I just closed my fist and took and jab at my radio display without really thinking.

Yeah, nothing.

But you know what? I'm not a quitter. So I decided to give it another shot.

This time, I was stopped at a light so I really wound up and punched the thing, for good measure.

Holy shit you guys.

Have you ever punched something harder than your hand with all your might or even half of your might? It's fucking dumb, first of all. Second of all, I broke my radio display, so that was stupid. Third of all, I'm the asshole punching shit in my car which doesn't bode well for my mental stability. And I mean, this was purely out of curiosity anyway, kind of an experiment to see if I would feel anything.

And I did. I felt like an idiot.

Plus I hurt my hand.

You see, at first it just felt kind of bruised. Like a good little hand, it never got swollen or REALLY hurt. So, I thought we were in business and everything would be fine except that I'm apparently unstable and do idiotic things.

But no. I mean, it's been two months now and we're still not swollen or unbearable, but making a fist really hurts and holding a pen really hurts and basically touching anything with my pinky sends shooting pains up my wrist. I'm guessing that's not a sign of healing.

Here's the other thing. If you're going to do stupid, impulsive things, there is usually a price to pay for it. Since I'm moving across the country in less than three months, and I am literally saving pennies and cannot afford to pay this price. Granted, I have insurance so it should be mostly covered, but insurance isn't magic money, I will still have to pay up to my deductible.




YAY!

I totally didn't need to eat until my move!

So anyway, I'm thinking of trying to rig up a splint on my pinky finger for a week or three to see if that does any good since the pain isn't killing me now, what harm will a few more weeks do? Believe me, I know how idiotic that sounds. I know. Too bad. I'm stubborn and poor.

Let this be a cautionary tale, the radio display in your motor vehicle will  likely win a fight against you.  

nothing appears to have gone awry. yet the entire right side of my hand hurts.

don't try to fight the radio. it never works out. the reason i look so miserable in this picture is because i was actually in pain. super lame.

i think i've mastered self indulgent rants.

When someone asks me "What do you want?" my reaction is usually an (un)healthy mix of anxiety and nonsensical rambling.

 

Which internally computes as anxiety and guilt.

 

Unless it's something easy, like "Bacon or sausage?" (bacon, always, always bacon.)

 

I guess in a broad sense, it's not so hard to pick out a few of my heart's desires. Just as long as it's not me specifically, as long as we're talking about stuff everyone wants- like a funky little house in the woods, more vacations, a fulfilling career, more dollars in my bank account, smaller pores, etc... If it's that stuff then I guess we're still on the right track and I'll gladly participate. But when I really truly get put on the spot about what I want, it tends to set me into panic sweats. 

 

The kicker? I have no fucking clue as to why that is! 

 

Let's talk about my childhood and my parents for a minute, really dig into the stuff where people tend to harbor their issues. At the root of in all, we're talking supportive, loving, providing people. Both in time and in resources. I lived a childhood that can be honestly described as abundant for christsakes, do you have any idea how few people come out of childhood referring to that time as ABUNDANT?? Me neither. But I can't see how it could be very many.

 

All in all, my parents were a good team, socially adept, encouraged me to play outside and read books, weren't afraid of screaming matches where the entire family got to participate, made me do chores/eat my vegetables/write thank you notes, and told me that when I grew up, I could do anything I dreamed of. Except become a Democrat... which I did anyway.

 

Sorry Mom and Dad!!

 

 

(Not really.)

 

 

Sure, everyone in my family is basically a borderline alcoholic, sure my mother is overbearing and makes herself the victim in almost every situation, sure my parents raised each of their four children completely differently so there was no consistency in discipline or rules, sure my dad was largely absent because he traveled for work all of the time, and sure I feel like I'm constantly disappointing them by not winning a Nobel prize, who doesn't? Still, the good stuff needed to create a healthy, assured, adult was all totally there, and for the most part, that's what I am. Besides all the rest of the stuff I just mentioned only adds to my character, and my character is one of my favorite parts about me!

 

So basically, I'm cool with my childhood. I don't feel like I was deprived of anything too drastic. (Anymore, because doesn't every teenager feel like they're being deprived of something crucial for living? I know I did. That's another way I was totally undeprived of a normal upbringing, I totally felt deprived at times!)  One could even argue that my parents went above and beyond their duties by fully paying for my college education, out of state no less. Whats that you ask? Student loans? Nope! I'm totally free of those shackles! Color me spoiled and hurl insults at will!

 

 

But, I'm not a teenager anymore. I'm not in college. I'm twenty-five years old. I graduated from college almost four years ago! I drive a Jeep! I have health insurance! I have a job that requires biz-cas attire! I pay my own bills! My boyfriend loves me and willingly cooks me dinner every night! My metabolism isn't completely shot yet!

 

 

I've made it, right?

 

 

So why the fuck do I feel like the walls of my life are crumbling all around me? I'm totally discontent, to the point where I can't even engage in a conversation about what I want without freaking out.

 

 

 

Ok, here's a problem that will probably become obvious: I have absolutely no idea what I want to do when I grow up, if that's even really a thing, growing up. Also, sometimes I have no idea who I am.

 

 

How is that possible? How can I have lived on this earth for this long and have no inkling of these basic personal facts?

 

 

I feel not only pitiful, but whiny and fucking ridiculous. I lead a pretty good life, there is no reason I'm so miserable. But why is it that after reminding myself of that fact, I still feel miserable? I've been in a funk for OVER two years now, and I have no idea how to pull myself out of it or get on a new path.

 

And I think one of the main reasons for this is that I have no idea what I want.

 

It's kind of ironic to say that about myself, because I'm pretty self aware, I also go to great lengths to attain things that I set my sights on- and I rarely fail. When I hone in, my efforts are of almost super-human strength.

 

But I don't know what I want. I'm not honed in. I'm sitting listlessly in my cubicle, commuting through a city I don't want to be living in, smiling fakely for the people in my life, filling my time with whatever can hold my meager efforts and attention span, like entire television series. And waiting.

 

Have a mentioned waiting? Instead of putting in the effort to figure out what it is that I actually want in life and going out to fucking kick ass, take names, and go get it, I've taken to waiting for it to appear. At least now I'm starting to become alert to how flawed THAT logic is.

 

I'm aware that I sound like a lazy little bitch that can't handle life's blows in my direction.

 

Trust me, if I'm not annoying you, you probably need to check your pulse. I annoy the piss out of myself.

 

I just don't know how to find it. That, IT. You know? That thing that I will do and do and do and pour myself into for the rest of my days. I don't know what I want.

 

I don't know how to find it.

 

I don't even know where to start.

 

And it's driving me fucking crazy.

 

Whew. Done.