The Girl Who Cried Breakdown

so. guys. guess what? i had another breakdown yesterday. big whoop, right? at this point, you're probably thinking "is she for real? all this girl does is have breakdowns." but this was the anticipated Y2K of breakdowns. this was why everyone was stocking up water and gas supplies earlier this week. this is why people were building underground shelters on wednesday night. yesterday was the real-life version of me being the cartoon where the face turns fire-engine red and steam shoots out of the ears. it was frightening and painful for all involved. in fact, anyone who talked to me between the hours of 3:30 and 6 yesterday can pretty much attest that i was not doing my best impression of a rational human being. i was ranting and raving and i felt like the world was going to explode, first in my head and then around me.

scientific documentation of yesterday

i'm also PMS-ing. which is fine. but hormones can't take all the credit for my maelstorm of human wrath and filth. i think the problem is i have very high expectations of people to read my mind. and when they don't read my mind, which incidentally is written in 4000 languages, none of them legible, i freak out. freaking out basically means there is a frat party in my head wherein people are doing kegstands, breaking windows with chairs, preying on innocent women and new recruits, and basically everyone is wearing that stupid construction hat with the two beer cans on either side of it saying "MENTALLLLUH STTUH-BILITY...is...*pause for drunken pensiveness*...totally OREVRATED."

get out of my head, guy! you smell and you make things smell.

oh well. i think the worst is over. something happened after i left work yesterday that immediately put me in a state of calm. not even sure what (big help for the next time, right? sorry FEMA.) some kind of made-for-tv realization that i can't control other people. and then after that, i just threw my hands up when i realized i really didn't have to be a freakie outtie mess anymore. so i calmed the f down. and then went home and calmed down some more. oh wait. no. first i went to a super snobby grocery store to make myself feel better. and i bought the most pretentious bottled water known to man. hey, we all have our guilty pleasures. mine is SEI water (pronounced 'say') and RITTER SPORT dark chocolate with marzipan.

embrace me, i am the yuppie water

hey! i go great with yuppie water

in any case, later that night, i wore my bedtime pajama pants over my shirt all the way up past my boobs right under my armpits just to change things up. and my parents treated me accordingly like something of a village fool.

you think this is high-waisted? you should have seen me. anyway, isn't nipple exposure considered gratuitous, sir?

and then we watched the national spelling bee together (which i will comment on shortly) and balance was restored to the universe. that is, until the primetime special with diane sawyer came on about displaced foster kids in the U.S. and then i cut myself on the corner of my mirror because it's broken and therefore jagged. speaking of which, shoutout to glass shards for cutting skin with little to no pain. i approve. but the point of all of this is that there's a little good day waiting to be born in every bad day. sometimes it's ugly. an ugly-baby good day, but it's there. and it must be delivered. kicking and screaming.

awwwww who's a widdle good day? who is? yes you are. yes youuuuu areeeee, my widdle googywooshynumnum.