This is the life of a manic depressive. I don't actually have Bipolar Disorder and I am certainly not trendy enough to diagnose myself, even though Dr. Web M.D. has. Who is Dr. M.D. to judge me anyway? He probably doesn't even have a PhD! Going back to what I said before: I now envy a website than is primarily used for self-diagnosing the plague... things are definitely good.
Mania is fun, though, kids! 3-4 hours of sleep is all you need and then you paint on your wall. My landlord may not appreciate my choice of medium but it's a masterpiece!
I call this piece, "Eyes on the Pr-eyes". What inspired this piece, you may ask? Poor decisions; my specialty, not to brag. Regret is a big motivation. I hate people who say life is too short for regrets. Seriously. First of all, life is pretty freakin' long! You can live to over a hundred years, that's 36,500 days. Do you know how many hours that is? That's... just kidding, I'm not doing the math. The only people who say that are the ones who re-post things on Facebook like, "Everyday is a gift, that's why it's called the present." I am sure whoever made that quote was hoping your present would involve spending hours in your bedroom switching between 'sharing' Facebook posts and looking at celebrities while crying because you can't shove the back of your toothbrush far enough down your throat to induce vomiting.
Did you just cringe or think, "Wow, harsh"? You need to go outside. Can't make this stuff up.
Humans do retarded things that they shouldn't. If they don't regret it, they don't change and they don't correct! Who wants to live in a world where everyone thinks every stupid choice they made was the right way to go? That's my job!
Choices I've made this week:
1. The woman at the supermarket yelled at me for tying my foster dog up outside. She says, "I would NEVER tie my dog up outside!" I replied, "I would NEVER work at a supermarket. We're even."
2. The Jesus Freak in the train station was giving out God pamphlets. He says, "Do you want to go to Heaven?" I replied, "Will you be there?" He says, "Of course!" I replied, "No thanks."
Come on, if you were me, you wouldn't regret those conversations either.
Now I don't know if I want this blog entry to be about mania/depression or regret. Both have been on my mind lately. I could probably incorporate both, right? Come on, old girl, you can BS this like you have done with everything your entire life! GO TEAM! I suppose I could say, what has been a great assistance in keeping me awake during my mania has been regret. Zing! It's true but I still get Whitey Points for that, no?
The issue I regret? Fellows, lads, men, males, testosterone whores, sperm purses... boys. Not boys as in all of them! This isn't my coming-out speech (although, I tend to think several people are waiting on the day in which I make that announcement...) This is one boy and one boy only. This is where all the males reading this entry groan and turn off their brains. Not that they cared in the first place, being that I am not them. For those of you who are a little slow, yes, I just called men self-involved. Especially since I already dismissed the possibility of lesbian visuals.
This guy situation is not sappy at all, though. Quite the opposite, actually. My problem is my lack of interest in romance. Flowers, candlelight, edible panties, it all disgusts me! Actually, I could go for some edible panties right now.I got the munchies. I feel like one has to be very confident that they're getting some action if they're going to wear those things. Otherwise, you're going through your date with candy melting around your lady parts mixing with your nervous sweats and everything else that is happening down there. If you're doing it right, there will be tears in that concoction as well. I digress, though. Point is, I don't want a guy to write me poems about butterflies with diabetes, text me pictures of kittens eating rainbows, or to call me their sweet buns o' love. I suppose, though, these are the things I have to tolerate in order to be with another person. I have to see them more than once a year. I have to stop joking about dead people. I have to actually pretend to like them. The irony in all of this? This guy, RegretGuy as I shall call him, he made me want all of this stuff! That's why we didn't work out.
The odd part is, this took over a year to hit me. Finally, a friend convinced me to get my feelings out on paper. While this isn't paper, physical paper is as scarce as teen celibacy. I am now writing this, I have thought about the situation for an accumulation of hours, and I have beat myself over it... the one thing I haven't done? Tell him. Do you know why this is? The movies. The romantic comedies have taught me nothing worth knowing except two things: 1. Betty White being in a movie does not automatically make it good. 2. If he isn't flying away somewhere and the two of you have not been involved in some semi-humourous timeline of events involving your free-spirited parents and a weird pet, you're not supposed to do anything about your feelings for him. I can deal with that. Plus, I'm not as brave as a parent allowing their child to play with Elmo. Too soon?
Regret discussed. I can now move on with my life. What else is there? I regret BEING BORN! That's not true. I don't blame myself for that. I also regret watching all the Comedy Central Roasts available on Netflix. I feel like my life would be much happier if I hadn't wasted over an hour of my life watching Charlie Sheen get loved upon by funny Jews. "Ha! He called the guy a Jew Kike. It's cool, we love you!" Now, I understand that everything actors do is just a publicity stunt and I understand that I hadn't even heard of Charlie Sheen until this roast but... well, actually, I guess I can't fault him. He did his job and made his money. I bow out. In which case, I regret typing the name Charlie Sheen in my blog and I still regret watching the roast.
There are some things that you shouldn't waste all your time and efforts feeling bad for. Actually, most mistakes aren't worth worrying about! However, regret can't be seen as intrinsically bad, either. If you can figure yourself out and maybe even still make a difference, it's worth pondering. If there's nothing you can do about it, pick up your Depends and get over it. I assure you, whatever story you tell people about that mistake you made 5, 10, 30 years ago, you told them it already and they do not want to hear it again. They really don't care, despite the repetitive 'AWs' and concerned faces. If you're like me and you can fix your mistakes but are too lazy to, you should probably just go self-mutilate or something... I don't know.