Two days ago, I had a Holter monitor put on for 24 hours to see what kind of fuckery my heart was up to…

Let me paint you a picture… First, they swabbed my skin with the coldest rubbing alcohol I’d ever felt (or maybe it felt that way because it was so hot outside and my skin was hot). Then they take this tiny little piece of sandpaper to buff your skin so the sensors stick. Thank god the alcohol was dried off by that point… They stick these sensor pads on and wires snap fast to them. Then, I suppose to add insult to injury, they put on a shit ton of the clear first-aid tape. I had 3 in the middle of my chest right above my boobs and 2 on the sides at the bottom of my rib cage. Then I had to wear the monitor, which was a bit bigger than an old pocket pager, in a pouch with a cord that went across me like a cross-body purse. I couldn’t shower, which didn’t go over well with my germaphobe side, so I ended up sleeping in the recliner in my living room with all this shit on. Obviously I didn’t sleep well…

Actually, it wasn’t horrible… The worst part, aside from the tape and sensors irritating the hell out of my skin (so itchy!) was the stupid cord that split into 5 wires for the sensors. What a pain in the ass… I found out how much a pain in the ass it was the first time I had to pee. I had a fairly long T-shirt on and the cord dipped down so low that it didn’t pull my shirt up on that side. So when I went pee that first time, I stood there for a second, baffled, wondering what the fuck do I do with this annoying cord?! In the end, I flipped my shirt up with the unit and extra cord inside of it. Success! Or it was until I finished, anyway… You have no idea (or I hope you don’t) what a pain in the ass it was to have to wrestle with a cord hanging from you because you almost zipped it up inside your pants… Seriously annoying… I wore pajama pants after that.

No lie, this was me when I finally pulled those sensors off…

I timed it perfectly so that the countdown timer went off just as I pulled into the cardiologist’s parking lot. Damn, I’m good… Anyway, I yanked off the 2 at the base of my ribs, then said “fuck it”, lifted my shirt up and ripped the ones from my chest. Hey, I was wearing a sports bra (more comfy than my normal heavy duty underwire bra) so all anyone saw was my boobs trying to escape their non-supportive covering. So yeah, I gave people a show and didn’t care. I wanted them off! Then I realized it may not have been the best idea… From the heat and me sweating, the adhesive had turned into this slimy, sticky goop. Eeew… Thank god I have the common sense to keep napkins in the glove compartment and have a bottle of hand sanitizer hooked to my purse. It was so gross! But I’m finally free! And, as long as they don’t call me, all is good with my ticker.

I’m also free of my anti anxiety meds, for the most part. That’s something my family doc and my shrink are happy about. My family doc was especially happily shocked and even told me, “You go, girl!” Hell yeah! At this point, I’ve only been taking a half milligram of Klonopin in the morning. Daytime is when I seem to have the worst anxiety (coffee, even only a quarter caffeine, doesn’t help I’m sure). It was tough… I went through some withdrawal that wasn’t pretty. Even the CBD oil I was taking didn’t help that much. But now I don’t even use the oil every day! Don’t get me wrong, I still get anxious and have moments of panic, but I’m able to talk myself down 99% of the time. I’m relying on my brain to fix itself and stop being an asshole. And my hippie-dippy stuff is helping, especially patchouli. It’s a very soothing scent to me. Plus I have my singing bowl, I’ve been wearing various crystals and patchouli oil… I know, sounds whacked, but it really works!

However, these things sadly don’t relieve stress…

You guys all know what I mean by now, right? Yup, my “friend”, Morticia… Her name (her real one) has become like a dirty word, which is pretty much how I say it anymore. I’m not sure if she’s aware of what she does or not… But I just can’t anymore with her. I really can’t… The perpetual whining, bitching and changing her mind about Gomez (she’s like a fucking yo-yo), the constant moaning and groaning about how she doesn’t feel good and what’s ailing her, always the same things. There are times when I tell her it’s just her nerves. Anxiety and depression can do weird things to you physically. I just wish she’d listen to that bit of knowledge. Several times the doctor put her on anti depressants and each time she whines that she doesn’t feel good on them. The truth is that she doesn’t want to take them. She wants Xanax… Yeah, crawl into a bottle of pills or booze. That helps a lot… *eye roll*

I spoke to her yesterday morning and she told me she called off work. She was convinced she woke up with a fever (though she was unsure as she has no working thermometer) and her job bullied her into coming in against protocol with this COVID shit. Not that it’s hard to guilt trip her… Anyway, they ended up letting her go home at 10 because she was still nauseous. Mind you, she’s nauseous every day, so not sure this is an illness. She’s also going through menopause, so I’m thinking hot flash and not fever. Well, she starts bitching about her foot since this has been an issue for a while and she’s convinced it’s broken. I suggested she see a podiatrist, but no, she calls her family doctor because she wants an X-ray first. Whatever… She called the doctor, then called me back to say she got a virtual appointment. Thank goodness it was a short convo because I had gotten another call that I really wanted to take. But more on that later…

Now, she knew this was an important call to me (though not why) and it makes me wonder why she tried calling me twice, about 15 minutes apart, while I was on this other call. Then I get this text that said, “Thanks a lot, now I can’t go to work for a fucking week”… Excuse me?! Exactly how is this my fault that you can’t work for a week?! So I texted her back, told her I was still on the phone and asked what was up. Don’t you know, she doesn’t fucking read her texts and calls me. Fine, I answered and told her I couldn’t talk long because I was still on the phone. Apparently, she told her doctor that she had a fever that morning (again, who knows if she did) and the doctor was convinced she had an upper respiratory infection, the dizziness she’s been getting is vertigo (which is an ear thing, not always connected with the nose) and insists she get tested for COVID-19.

So… she’s blaming me for her needing to get a COVID test… And this is my fault how, exactly?! Listen, you constantly bitch about all your aches, pains and every fart twisted, constantly stating you don’t feel good at all every fucking day, I’m going to give you the best advice and tell you to go to the doctor. Anyone would do the same, am I right, dear readers? You feel that bad, go see a professional to get a physical. I didn’t force her to go, didn’t drag her kicking and screaming or put a gun to her fucking head (though sometimes I wish I could). Don’t put all that shit on me, okay? That’s all your dumb Munchausen’s ass. And then she wondered why I didn’t pick up my phone later on. Gee… I don’t fucking know. Maybe because you nastily blamed your problems on me?! Idiot…

I’ve also been taking notice to other things…

One issue she bitches about is how Gomez constantly puts her down. Yeah…? So I guess that makes it okay for her to turn around and, in the same breath, put me down. Oh, I don’t think so… Even though I don’t like to show off my big brain, I do have one. I know my IQ and it’s well above average. Hers is not… Yet she acts as if I’m the moron here. Nope, don’t think so, not having it… She also puts my doctors down for scaring me unnecessarily, which they’re not, and for me being worried about things. So… it’s okay for her to worry about shit, but not me?! Talk about a double standard! Besides, at least I know I’m fucking nuts… I whole-heartedly admit it, quite freely. I’m not ashamed of it. I own that shit. I can’t say the same for her. And, until she can, I don’t want to hear her shit. It’s going to get ugly real soon… I’ve flipped on people and made them cry before and don’t feel bad for it. Wait… it’s coming for her…

So… the important call I was on…

Imagine my surprise that, when I was talking to Morticia, I got a call from my friend, Anakin, who I wrote about sometime in December. We haven’t spoken since that awful fight. Honestly, I’m glad he waited this long to call me. I needed time to cool off and take care of my own stressful issues and he needed time to get his shit together. Admittedly, I was a little surprised that he apologized for everything, telling me he let everyone down including me, that he knew I was only trying to help and he shouldn’t have snapped on me and yelled like he did. I understand… I explained to him that he was still having issues coming to terms with his father dying, then he gets his heart broken; he was feeling overwhelmed and just snapped. I do the same myself. After 41 years of friendship, I can forgive him for that, considering the circumstances. Despite what he shows everyone else, I get to see the real Anakin, who is really just a scared little boy in many ways. I get to see the weakness he won’t show everyone. So we’re all good again. I’m glad. He’s always been a great friend and was there for me since we were 6 years old.

Sometimes, in life, you just have to stop and smell the flowers…

Which is what I’m trying to do right now. I don’t know if all this shit going on with my heart is the reason or if it’s because I’ve pretty much gone off my anti anxiety meds (for the most part). But you want to know something…? Life is too short to worry about things like some stupid fight you had with a good, lifelong friend. I’m not usually the forgiving type. It depends on how badly I was wronged. At the time that Anakin and I fought, I was going through some tough times myself. We were both overwhelmed by our circumstances and I couldn’t see the logic of why he was so pissed at the time. It’s hard to think logically when you’re in a bad state yourself. I can’t always be so strong for others all the time when wrestling with my own demons. I’ve come to accept that fact… I’m only human, though I don’t always show it. So, when on the path of life, I’m not going to forget to stop and smell the daisies.

As for Morticia…

Well… it may be time I say “sayonara” to her. She’s been such a huge source of my stress, which is what makes my heart go wonky (the stress). I’m already down on myself (my shrink got upset when I said I was fat the other day) and I don’t need her trying to make me feel more down on myself. Not that she succeeds, but it’s annoying that she’s trying just to feel good about herself. We’re not in high school anymore, get the fuck over yourself. So I think it’s time I cut her loose. Go whine to someone else about all your issues, real and imaginary. Go make someone else feel bad about themselves because you’re not getting anywhere here. Go sell crazy some place else because I’m all full up here… And learn to own that shit… I’m tired of listening to all this shit. It’s as if she wants me to fix her life. Sorry, only you can do that. I need to focus on me and fixing my own life. And remembering to stop and smell the daisies…