THE CAPSY APATHY IS CAPSY

I WANT TO TYPE THIS WHOLE THING IN ALL-CAPS, but don't worry. I won't. I WILL JUST TYPE SOME OF IT IN ALL-CAPS.



There isn't anything really to be capsy about, but there is so little to be capsy about that it's like we've come full circle right back around to capsiness again. It's like when you are feeling so apathetic that there is basically an apathy party in your brain, except that comparison totally doesn't work.

Eff it. I've got a serious case of the Capsy Apathy. THE CAPSY APATHY IS CAPSY.



I woke up with this sort of numb feeling that edged on depression, so I drank some coffee and nearly passed out on my keyboard with ennui. At that point, I thought I might be having an issue with basic sustenance, so I ate a banana, and then one of my cats ate some of the banana peel, and then he puked it up all over the foot of my rolly office chair, and I still didn't feel anything except grey while I sopped up cat vomit. So, it wasn't a sustenance issue. DAMN.



And the sky was grey and under my eyes looked grey and the film of cat hair all over my kitchen-table-cum-desk was grey.

I SAID CUM. AND THEN I YELLED ABOUT IT.



I had a cheque in my purse to deposit, and, despite my apathy-swiftly-turning-into-gloom, I still liked money, so I went to the bank where I had to use the machine because all the tellers were busy or on lunch, and then I went to a posh shoe store where I was roundly ignored, and then I tried on weird-fitting clothing samples, because it's always best to try on clothing sample rejects that make it look like you're smuggling wilted potatoes under your shirt when you're feeling gloomy, and then I tried to have lunch at a cafe that was closed, and then I tried to buy a cinnamon bun at a place that doesn't bake them on Thursdays, and then, in order to round off this rousing adventure, I went to Shoppers Drug Mart and bought fifty dollars worth of vitamins.

YOU DON'T GET TO FEEL GOOD. I'M DRAGGING YOU DOWN WITH ME.



It's weird to go through so much of a day feeling so invisible. Oh, except for at The Gap. A fantastic saleslady there actually saw me and helped me and somehow coaxed me into a pair of heavily discounted khakis.

Thank you, The Gap saleslady. YOU MADE ME FEEL HUMAN FOR ELEVEN MINUTES.



I seriously felt like I was in one of the old black-and-white Twilight Zone episodes as a character who slowly ceases to exist to the rest of humanity but is doomed to walk through her city invisibly, her sanity wasting under the complete and utter withdrawal of human love.

NOPE. NO MELODRAMA HERE, FOLKS. MOVE ALONG.



Did I mention it was windy? It was windy. It was so windy, in fact, that my purse was blown up and into the back of my head more than once. This was so I could both feel invisible AND look really cool in public. It was like the universe was smacking me upside the back of head and shouting YOU'RE SO EFFING AWESOME, SCHMUTZIE.



Anyway, I really like my new pants. The saleslady told me that almost no one else liked them, which was why they had so many on sale. I'm one fashionable human being, people, in my largely disliked khakis. You should go to The Gap and get a pair. WE COULD BE FASHIONABLE TOGETHER LIKE MOVIE STARS.



How was your day?

My No Good, Very Bad, Crazy, Sore-Boobed, Stressed, Disappointed, And Sick Day

A couple of days ago, I just thought I was crazy because I am crazy. The early bits of autumn weather that start creeping in with the shortening days is usually a warning sign to watch my seasonal depression issues.

Then, my boobs started to feel like someone had been using them as mini punching bags, and my fingers bloated my wedding rings right off, so I thought I was probably just a little bit crazy with a whopping main dish of PMS.

But, then! Then, I freaked out because the floor was damp under my feet in the kitchen. Can you imagine? What horror. I yelled about how horrible that was that my feet had to actually touch damp floor until I realized that my crazy was getting kind of out of hand. I took stock of myself and realized that, while I was still just a little bit crazy with a whopping main dish of PMS, I was also really stressed out about a pap smear redo that I had been called in for. Being that I had a hysterectomy due to cervical cancer three years ago, my stress was pretty understandable.


This was my semi-casual funeral attire style choice
for my pap smear appointment today.

Then, I woke up this morning with my little bit of crazy, my sore boobs, and my stress and went down to my doctor's office, but guess what? She didn't show up, the little minx! So, I re-scheduled my pap smear for next week and added disappointed to my list of ailments.

Then, I went and engaged in some fantastic retail therapy, because I was a little bit crazy, sore-boobed, stressed, and disappointed, and I deserved it. I managed to spend a mere $127.29 on over $510 worth of clothing at The Bay. Wha-cha!

Then, I had to take two sit-down breaks on my way home, because I was suddenly not only a little bit crazy, sore-boobed, stressed, and disappointed, but now I was also SICK, because why not throw more really crappy stuff into my crap bag of a day? I sat on benches and tweeted about nothing and huddled under a sweater and secretly snuffled tears into my collar, and I absolutely did not tackle a strange man for his cigarettes when he walked by sucking on that smoke that bathed the breeze in its sweet, sweet deliciousness.

I've decided to spend the rest of today blowing my nose and watching crap television while snorting vitamins C and D through a dollar bill, except not really, because I am a normal person who swallows them in pill form with water.

The End.

Hot Thai Food, A Sticky Offhand Comment, And The Postal Service

The Palinode has been out of town working for a couple of days, and, as is my usual bachelorette style, I am living like a hobo in my own apartment. I am right this second drinking out of a coffee mug that shows three days of old coffee rings, which I am telling myself brings out the full-bodied flavour. My front right jeans pocket is pulled inside out. I just ate a sandwich made out of peanut butter, the grainy scrapings of old honey I found in the back of the cupboard, and the leftover heels of an old loaf of bread.



Because I am magically chaotic, I managed to turn our kitchen into a deplorable mess in less than 36 hours, so I picked up some Thai food on my way home last night. I ordered it hot, because that's how we usually order it, and because the Palinode likes to sweat where he's bald when he eats. The food turned out to be so hot, though, that I found myself sitting on the couch and contemplating sucking on sugar cubes to kill the heat.

"Ho, baby!" I called out. "Is this Thai food ever hot!"



The Palinode, being 257 kilometers (that's 159.7 miles) away, did not answer, and then I felt instantly lonely, and then I felt depressed about my loneliness, so I took my computer to bed in a small fit of faux-lovelorn drama. Of course, not being actually lovelorn and knowing that the Palinode would be home in less than 24 hours made it a very short fit, and as I lay back against my pillow waiting for sleep, I remembered something my mother told me 23 years ago.

I was lying in bed, home sick from school with the flu that day in 1988, when my mother came in to the room to see how I was doing. She looked like she had something serious to say, but as soon as she saw my face, she started laughing.

"What's so funny, Mom?" I asked.

"The way your face looks right now when you're lying down [hahahahaha], you're going to [hahahahaha], you're going to [hahahahaha], you're going to have to have sex in the dark when you grow up," she said.

She was referring to the fact that I have a naturally round face that changes shape a bit when I lie down. Strangely, her comment, although it has followed me for 23 years, has never made me feel awkward about having sex with the lights on, but I do think about it like a knee jerk reflex every time I recline even slightly.

I lie down on a beach towel. You're going to have to have sex in the dark. I kick back in a reclining chair. You're going to have to have sex in the dark. I lie down in the bathtub. You're going to have to have sex in the dark.

The only time I don't think You're going to have to have sex in the dark when I lie down is during sexy times. You'd think I would, but I don't. That's how we know I don't have issues.

And then I turned out the light and didn't have sex in the dark, because the Palinode was 257 kilometers away.



And then I woke up this morning, very excited yet again about the mailman, because I am nothing if not excited about the mailman for some reason, and then I was suddenly not so excited about the mailman, because I remembered that ours hasn't bothered to deliver magazines to us for months, and our postal workers might be going on strike, and all I really want is for my Etsy orders to arrive so I can wear my dorky punctuation earrings and tinted lip balm.

I'm sorry Mr. Mailman if your job is sucking so much that it requires a strike, because I was once a striking worker myself and feel your pain, except that my pain was much worse because my stupid union called a strike during a cold snap and I had to march around for four hours straight every day in -40°C (that's -40°F) weather. Really, though, I'm not that sorry, because I'm the selfish sort of person today who just wants her earrings and tinted lip balm and magazines already. You are stifling my ability to foster my inner gender slave, goddamnit.

The End.

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