Yesterday was weird.

I officially quit smoking (again) almost two days ago and have been quite the Testy Teresa. Clients are annoying me more than usual, I have constant headaches*, and I'm not getting as much sleep as I'd like. I have restless leg syndrome, which really just sounds like some asshole's attempt at getting people to feel sorry for him/her. But it's not as fun as it sounds. You know that feeling you get when you want to run (fight or flight kind of situation, here)? That's kind of how my legs feel at times. If I stretch, it kind of alleviates the sensation, but only for a little bit. And it's not really helping the sleeping part of things.

But yesterday was ... just weird. I can't really explain it. It seems rather run-of-the-mill day in Jujuland, but things were off. I got into work late for various reasons, one of which being that, no, I don't really want to get out of bed right now, and then clients were just obnoxious. One guy called just to see what I was doing. Another girl, who was rescheduled last week (during my three days out for sickness) because she wanted to get all of her verifications so she could just be done with the interview process, came in with nothing. None of the shit she was supposed to bring that she was TOLD to bring last Wednesday. And she didn't even really seem that fazed. Which, okay. Whatever. Then another client felt it was necessary to preach to me about the good of baseball, which okay. Whatever. All in all, I got all of my clients interviewed and for the most part taken care of.

Then I went to lunch.

And came back.

Oh, vacations.

This weekend, Three and I decided, "HEY, LET'S GO BACKCOUNTRY CAMPING!!"

For those of you not in the know - as I was - backcountry camping is basically camping in the wilderness. I didn't actually know that was what it's called, because, well, I thought that's what camping IS. I was wrong. It's isn't the first time.

We already had all the gear we needed. When Three lived in Colorado, camping was his main thing. If he wasn't at work, he was camping. And you have to be outfitted properly for camping out there; it's ridiculously dangerous if you aren't prepared. For our quasi-honeymoon, we flew to Buena Vista, CO, for a week, where we didn't bathe for a week, hiked, cooked, slept in sleeping bags, etc. It was awesome. So we figured, long weekend (the first weekend he's actually gotten off in a while), sure, let's go camping.

We picked out Mount Mitchell State Park in North Carolina as our destination. It's about thirty minutes outside of Asheville, NC, and seriously, it's beautiful. The Carolina mountains are, of course, no Rockies, but they have a certain appeal to them. Maybe it's the trees that are not aspens or freaking evergreens?? The first night was awesome. There was naturally outdoor sexytimes, campfire-cooked foods, stargazing, etc., and when we woke up this morning, we were ready for some hiking and picture taking. We chatted up the park ranger to see the best places to go and got excited about scaling Mt. Mitchell. This, however, was not to be.

Today I return to work.

It's been an annoying past couple of days. Why? Because I've been sick and/or recovering from said sickness. I went to the doctor yesterday in what was a ~~*//{[MILESTONE]}\\*~~ moment: I finally got a primary care provider, after relying on my father's doctorly abilities from my early childhood up until, well, now. The new doc is pretty nifty. We get along famously and we even out-talked each other until the very end of the appointment, and he was all, "Well, shit, I have other patients to see. Meh, they can wait another five minutes."

But anyway, the sickness. Generally uncomfortable and leaving me with very strange sleeping hours. I went to bed around, oh, 2:00A and then had to get up and go into work at 7:00A. That was fun. (I'm lying. It wasn't fun. I'm still tired.) However, I still was able to watch enough Miami Vice and Magnum P.I. than is probably healthy. I started reading "Let's Pretend This Never Happened" by Jenny Lawson, which is quite possibly my favorite memoir ever. I also got some writing done on my mom's computer*, although I found out that my computer (RIP Pfiona) has a lot of files that the computer people may or may not be able to salvage. Which means, YAY I LOST SHIT I WROTE. Ugh, it just pisses me off. And when you're kind of high from a fever of 103, your ability to cohesively express your anguish over such an event just kind of comes off as comical, even to a husband who is normally pretty sympathetic.

Me: Oh, my GAWWWWDDDDDD, I swear, this is just. Ugh. I can't. My computer?? Do they even HAVE Scrivener??
Three: Scrivner?
Me: My life is OOVVVEEEERRRRRRRRRR.
Three: I'm going to go play some Reach.

I mean, I can't really blame him. Scrivener is apparently only available on Macs, but the documents I saved there are really the only things I care about getting off of Pfiona. All of my music is ostensibly on iCloud, or whatever the fuck they're calling it, and I don't really download a LOT of stuff. Although, now that I'm thinking about it, I have a lot of photos (that aren't technically mine but I was using them as references for artwork and whatnot) that I kind of would like to keep. Crap. No, no, Juj, stay strong. Sigh.

ANYWAY.

So after the quasi-mental breakdown, I kind of retreated to the internet, where I sat there and poured over the blogs I have missed since the Great Unemployment Era of 2008 - 2009. I used to post so often. Some of my best friends now I met during this time ON THE INTERWEBS. I miss it; I miss talking to them on the daily. Don't get me wrong; it's nice to have a job and benefits and whatever, but ugh. I want to write. I want to work from home. I want to do so many things OTHER than dole out the food stamps.

Grumblegrumble.

*Seriously, Mom, I know you read this blog, and while I don't really apologize for using the word "fuck" a lot, I  will recommend that you insert "fudge" or "poo" or whatever you'd like. But regardless, I thank you immensely for letting me use your not-dead computer. Mwah.

I have an addictive personality.

It's why I don't gamble. You know that episode of Archer, where he goes to a casino and starts betting for the first time? Yeah, that would be me. I enjoy something and just want to keep on doing it, until the world is destroyed or I have no money left. Or possibly both.

I'm also frequently attacked by flights of fancy. Once I put my mind to something that I arbitrarily want to do, nothing can stop me, save a giant tsunami or something, but I'm pretty sure that would just piss me off and harden my resolve. Take my current obsession: fairy gardens. I'm not even kidding. I want one. I want to make one and invite tiny little sprites to come live in the tiny little mushroom homes that I've put in the damned thing. There are apparently TONS of websites dedicated to this. Again, I'm not even kidding.

Pinterest page for fairy gardens
The Fairy's Garden
Fairy Gardening

And that's only the first three that come up under a Google search. I guess it's like porn: there's a page somewhere for everything.

Back when I was unemployed, in between submitting applications and trying, in vain, to get an interview ANYWHERE, I was watching one of the old episodes of Sesame Street with the Twiddlebugs. Don't remember the Twiddlebugs??

Here you go:

Basically, a nuclear family consisting of Papa, Momma, and two kids, except they are Twiddlebugs and they live in Ernie's windowbox garden in a milk carton. They are kind of dumb, as they can't figure out how to hang a photo (or stamp, since they are small) or how to get to the zoo (they offer that swimming there might work, but hey, their brains are not so big, so ...), but they are darned cute. As I was sitting there, contemplating on whether or not I would want these things to be teaching my future children lessons on common sense, it hit me: I was going to make a Twiddlebug house. My mom was understandably perplexed at this, since I was at the time 26 (and also probably going insane), but she humored me. I emptied out a Celestial Seasonings teabag box and set about making a little house. I even painted the walls and cut out cardboard furniture, little rugs, etc. It took me days but, at the end of my project, it was the cutest little Twiddlebug house that ever did Twiddlebug. I think my mom threw it away a few months later, although it isn't until now that I suddenly want the stupid thing.

But see, this is my life. I suddenly get a hankering that is simultaneously random and calculated. I buy books that I fully intend to read but end up either stopping in the middle and moving onto another one or I never start in the first place. I make plans to plant my own little herb garden, and I have all the supplies but don't actually find the time to put the seeds in the soil. The passion for whatever currently has my attention slowly dies and I go onto the next thing. It's why I'm kind of surprised I've been at my job for almost three years. Not that I haven't threatened to quit on numerous occasions, because I have. The declarations have steadily increased to a daily occurrence, as of late, though.

I'm just addicted to the rush of something new, I suppose. But then there are the comfort addictions. I've struggled with smoking since I was 19 years old. It's not a good habit. It stinks and really isn't all that fun to begin with. I quit cold turkey last June, right before Three and I went on a week-long trip to camp in Colorado, but with all the stress of bankruptcy and moving and my stupid job, I have relapsed on several occasions. I obsessively play certain video games over and over again. I'm currently on a Mass Effect binge and am having dreams about that universe. It's weird.

The thing is, I don't think this will change. I mean, it's how I operate. I'm rarely bored, which pleases my Gemini moon, and my life is never dull. Just ask my supervisor, who thinks I should write a book based on my life from the past few years. Shit just HAPPENS around me. For the longest time, I couldn't figure it out and actually tried to make my life more boring - just in case you're wondering, it didn't work. I've just come to accept that part of my life will involve having crazy things happen because my brain is wired slightly differently than everyone else's.

I am, for the most part, okay with this.

Things That Terrify Me

1) Reborn dolls. It's the dead eyes. And people - as in adults - collect them and, like, put them in bassinets and shit. JUST LOOK AT THESE THINGS. Tell me they are not eating your soul right now.

2) Falling down stairs. I actually imagine myself falling down the stairs each time I walk down a flight of them. I have no idea why. But every time I make a successful, non-falling down run? HUGE sigh of relief.

3) Lightning. It could strike ANYWHERE. You don't know.

4) Basements. If you've seen the first "Home Alone," you know what I'm talking about. I still have my dog come down to the basement of my parents' house, even during the day.

5) Flying cockroaches aka palmetto bugs. They are roaches. They fly. Enough said.

6) Any scene with excessive gore. However, I can handle in real life blood better than most doctors. Huh.

7) "Watership Down." If you've never seen the cartoon, count yourself lucky. You might never go to sleep again.

8) "Yo Gabba Gabba." Once when I was sick and at my parents' house, I turned on the TV and this acid trip they're calling a TV show starts yelling at me. I've never, ever wanted a rerun of Barney to show up as badly as I did that day.

9) Spiders. Oh, dear GOD. Even mentioning them makes me shudder.

10) Also, ticks. See above, re: spiders.

11) My husband leaving me. I cannot TELL you how many times I've had this nightmare. Three is very sweet after I wake up in tears, though.

12) Pictures/paintings of people - portraits, mainly. It's strange. I feel like they're watching me. When I was a young teenager, I had a hard time putting up posters of teen heart throbs out of Tiger Beat or whatever on my wall, because as soon as I'd want to put in my headphones and bounce around to music, I'd have to take them all down before commencing with the fun dancing. (I actually did do this so much that I finally thought, meh, fuck it, I'll just leave them down.)

Damnit, now I'm itching because I thought about ticks and spiders.

/runs away

Jillian Michaels is an evil genius.

I love to exercise. I DO, I DO. Running is my prayer time (or story creation time, or dialogue tryout time, etc.); yoga recharges me like none other; and I relish the feeling I get after doing an awesome workout of any kind. So when some of my friends were preaching me the Jillian Michaels gospel, I went, "Huh, okay."

I only watched maybe one of two episodes of The Biggest Loser, but from what I gathered, Jillian was the hardass "MY GRANDMOTHER WHO'S BEEN DEAD FOR TEN YEARS HAS MORE SPRING IN HER STEP" type of trainer, which I'm not too keen on, even if she did show her soft side every once in a while. But my friends were sold on her 30 Day Shred video, so I checked it out on Youtube. I watched it once before doing it and thought, "Hey, I can do that. It doesn't look too hard." Mind you, there are three levels and I was watching Level 1.

I put on my stretchy pants, tennis shoes, and sports bra, grabbed my three & five pound weights, and nodded my head in determination.

Let's do this.

Okay, so twenty minutes of that KICKED MY ASS. I consider myself a fairly in-shape person, although my workout regimen as of late has been walking from the bus depot to my work (which, to be fair, is a decent walk) and taking Zola to the shitting/pissing area in my apartment complex. The things is, I didn't realize how badly it had kicked my ass until the next day. I was all, "Huh, they said I would feel it instantly and I'm feeling okay right now," directly after doing the routine. I was actually really energized and proud of myself.

The next day?

OH MY GOD, MY ARMS AND LEGS ARE KILLING ME.

Seriously. It was almost as bad as when I hurt my back and broke one of the tiny bones in my ankle within a week of each other earlier this year. I have been hobbling around like I have a stick up my ass. And today is day two after Deathmatch with Jillian. And I told myself that I was going to do this every other day for two weeks. So I have to do this again today. Sigh.

I'm going to die.

So it's been a while.

I swear, the second I start to get regular with my postings, everything goes to absolute shit, as far as scheduling goes.

Work, as usual, has been testing my patience, but that's really not a giant spoiler here. I think the days that I don't come home ready to kill something are more newsworthy. However, things are about to get crazy there. We've had a kinda-breather the past few months since we stopped doing six-month certification periods, but starting in June? Yeah, we're basically screwed: back to interviewing 20 people for recertification and adding seven intake appointments each day. And we're supposed to be able to process everything else at the same time. Because we secretly have 48 hours in one day? I don't know.

But I digress.

If you remember, Three & I filed for bankruptcy earlier this year and we had our meeting of creditors last month, which was a surreal experience. Basically, we went into a court room with about 30 - 40 other people and bared our business in front of everyone. It wasn't too bad, though, and we were in and out in about an hour. Then we had to do this credit counseling course that was one hour and fifty-five minutes long, which was such a chore. A lot of the things in the course were already touched on in the pre-filing course that was MUCH shorter. But hey, we're pretty much done. Doing a two-hour course in exchange for discharging our unsecured debts is worth it. We're able to make a fresh start.

We also moved into a different apartment last month, which was a GIANT task, especially since everyone but my parents punked out on us the day we had to move. Both Three and I were exhausted for about a week following. But we are in a smaller, less expensive apartment in the same complex. The only complaint I have is our neighbor below us, a really loud college-age girl who has invited what seemed like an entire drunk fraternity over to her place and let them yell into the night twice so far. The last time she did it, though, she had the fire of God - also known as our courtesy officer - brought down on her. And her father was called because, ha, he's a co-signer on her lease, and if this happens again, she's getting evicted. I don't wish bad things on her; I just like my sleep at 3:00A on Thursdays. And Sundays. And well, all the days.

Anyway, this was mainly an update and an excuse as to why I've not been posting at all. I'm hoping to get back into the swing of things, soon, so I'll see you guys later!