Dead inside, sure. But not a MONSTER.

Y’all. He asked her AGAIN.

I’m not made of stone, for heaven’s sake — that’s a-goddamn-dorable.

I’m having feelings. I don’t care for it.

Y’all, I may be dead inside and stuck in heinous rush hour traffic, but even *I* can’t keep this dipshit look off my face listenting to Michelle Obama recount her early courtship with Barack. JESUS, people, I’m not made of wood. This shit is cuter than a Hallmark movie about kittens wearing tiny sweaters. COME ON. #IAMBECOMING

“What would we do, baby, without us? Sha la la la…”

I just got called “cold” and had Sad Singleton noises made at me when I mentioned to coworkers that I consider Thanksgiving weekend a short vacation, not family time, and that I hoped my family didn’t host dinner, because I’m looking forward to relaxing alone.

“Jeez, some people LIKE spending time with their families.” Hey, good for them. I am not one of them. Sorry, is my childhood trauma bothersome to you?

For me, Christmas is the family holiday. I will happily (well…) attend. But a pregame four short weeks BEFORE Christmas? Having my parents insist on family “closeness” now that they’re older, not realizing they were my age 25 years ago while they were inadvertently teaching me NOT to value family? Sorry it’s not my top priority as an adult.

(I know I don’t have to attend either holiday, but skipping both is more of an emotional hassle than it’s worth. Plus, ham.)

Thanksgiving weekend is for me to sleep, watch movies, and cook something delicious, not to drive 2 hours to make shitty small talk or silently ponder which mood medications my father should be on.

I can be thankful and reflective by myself. It’s better than being asked if my ex is seeing anyone, hearing how much my family misses him, and explaining to obscure relatives looking at me quizzically that I “recently” ended a long relationship. Oh, and don’t forget what a good mother I would’ve been, and how maybe I’ll change my mind — that is not at all like being punched in the uterus. (Also, c’mon, my eggs aren’t exactly fresh from the farm. They’re, like, Walmart eggs at this point.)

Besides, I promised a friend who’ll be spending Thanksgiving with HER family that I’d be her on-call getaway car if she needs an extraction (SEAL Team Smug!). So I’m not the only one not singing “Kumbaya” for family time.

BTW, yes, if you know me, “cold” is exactly the right word. I am a complete, dead-inside asshole, and people I love mean nothing to me. You nailed it.

 

Lexaprofessional

 “Do not drink alcohol while taking Lexapro.”

“Pfft. That’s for amateurs. ‘Bring me another mai tai!'”*

* If you know the quote, you’re probably my soulmate. Which is a shame, for I am dead inside and incapable of feeling feelings. Good on you, though.

The Catharsis of the Ugly Cry

I take weird pride in being able to — mostly — suppress anger or sadness. “Sorry, Brain, no time to break down right now. We have things to do, fine to be.” I don’t know what makes me think stoic equals strong, and I don’t think that of others, but it’s what I try for. Plus I usually need a little time to process things.

But obviously there’s a tipping point. Holding that stuff in for too long makes me tense, and when I finally blow up, it gets ugly (or amazing, if I’ve been suppressing sexual desire).

The upside? An Ugly Cry can be gloriously cathartic. Finally letting it out feels so, SO good, and then everything can start healing.

But I’ve been NEEDING to Ugly Cry for about a week, and haven’t been able to. It keeps trying to get me, like, on my way into work, and I have to put on my “fine” face and focus on things that need to get done. When I get time alone, there are movies and cookies and orgasms to be had. But I’m kind of starting to feel like a terrible person. Am I just dead inside, so easily distracted by baked goods and old movies?

Could I schedule a breakdown? Maybe take some sort of emotional laxative? (A disgusting metaphor, surely, but accurate. A Miralax for feelings — Feelalax. “Emotionally stunted? Ask your doctor if Feelalax is right for you!”)

Eventually I’m going to get hit with one of those sad animal commercials and just lose my goddamn mind.

Handle your business, Brain, or I’ll handle it for you. I’ll put on Up! and you’ll be weeping on the floor like a bitch 5 minutes in. Don’t think I won’t.