The Big Three Oh

I’ll be doing a blog post all about the wedding (that happened) and the move (also happened) soon enough. 

I thought I’d start with this.

See, I turned thirty on November 17^th. 

My dad likes to say, “You can’t trust anyone over thirty, or people who work for the government.” 

I’m both.   

He’s kidding, but I started to think about how different thirty is now than it was in the 60s.  

Mostly, I just don’t feel like an adult yet.  I don’t think that has much to do with my age though.

I like that I can still enjoy what I’ve always enjoyed. 

Gaze upon my Bat-Belts!  This isn't even half of them.  

I wear these to work.  No one cares!  Or notices. 

I like that I can play.

I’m proud that I HAVE come as far as I have, regardless of trauma from all directions for so long.

That being said, I still have a long way to go.  I’m aware of that.  

I know there are things I still don’t like about myself, and those awful things are going to be the hardest to overcome. 

I’m happy with my body now, and my confidence is so much better than ever before.

I’ve learned to stand up for myself, though I still struggle with that from time to time…

I’m eating better and better every day, while still being careful about my allergies. 

I can BE careful without it ruling my life, even when I'm scared.  

…and that’s just really cool.

Still though, there are so many times where my imagination takes over and goes from “being creative” to a true sign of the mental illness I’ve faced for so many years.  

The dark, mirrors…  I’m actually terrified of a lot of things to an incredibly embarrassing degree.  

I’m thirty now, and I still take the whole Bloody Mary thing too seriously.  It’s another level of sad.

Now it’s a matter of not wanting to see the endless darkness that may or may not reflect something that I just can’t perceive when the lights are out…

I already told you about the time as a kid where I left a bathroom like the little chicken I am during the era of Spice Girls and pogs.  

(As a side note, we were doing a dance thing in a PE class once, and I was elected to be Scary Spice as I was the darkest one with curly hair.  That’s how bleached white our fucking middle school was.  Fuck.  Sure.  “Close enough.”  …  These days, I would take it all as a compliment, though I’m not sure how she would have felt being played by a Slavic Jew.  Really, I wanted to be Posh anyway.)

Seriously though.   

Under the bed was scary enough that I just put my bed straight onto the floor to avoid having an under-the-bed at all.   

The closet…  Ugh.  Especially when the door was just slightly open?  

All the way open or all the way closed.  That’s what it had to be.

My sister solved this problem for me by simply tearing the doors off of my closet in a fit of unbridled and seemingly entirely random rage.

Doors slightly open at all, ever…  For whatever reason, my brain immediately goes to, “Yeah, but what’s looking in?”  

Why is there ANYTHING looking in?  What??

Walking to the bathroom at night encompasses all of these things in some way or another, especially that first mirror-in-the-dark bit. 

This was all before the food thing became… a thing.

The worms and ants almost-phobia may have to do with the hidden nature of them, just as the dark poses for everything else.  

And yet again…

Ants though…  They’re like the Borg. 

And worms like maggots, eat the dead.

Realizing I’m very much alive, am I just afraid I’ll find out the hard way?  I’m more afraid of my own reflection in the dark than seeing someone other than myself…  Maybe it’s all existential.  

Fear and phobias are interesting things when they start to rule your life.

I was always super anxious about everything, but I very rarely expressed this openly.  I felt like a had to keep myself with a steely expression for my family, so that no one would know that I was scared or in any pain.  

That may have been a fear too.  I didn’t want to be a burden, and I didn’t want them to feel bad.  

So… I just pretended I was fine for as long as I could.

This led to weirdly humiliating moments, because it translated as being shy when I wouldn’t just speak up and say, “This is really shitty.”  

Good example? 

That time I had a mat in my hair. 

Why my parents didn’t just take a fucking scissors to my hair is beyond me.  It was in the back and under all my other hair.  No one would have noticed.

The whole thing was kind of my own fault anyway because I didn’t want anyone to touch my head.  

I was little then…  Elementary school I guess?   

And my head was an unruly mess of curls and tangles.   

Dad would (jokingly?) chant, “Rip tear!  Rip tear!” as he tried to brush my hair.   

I have since learned to either start from the bottom 

or just cut it all off.

So there we were at the hair stylist. 

The lady gathered everyone around to see. 

So, there I was, SURROUNDED by random people staring at my head.

“IT’S A PERFECT DRED!” she kept saying.  

I did not do this on purpose.  I mean, good to know, but having all those people stare and touch me, and have to sit there in silence pretending I wasn’t scared and embarrassed…  

Ugh. 

You know what?  I’m exhausted enough, let’s stick to the hair for a minute. 

Lemme tell you ‘bout my hair. 

I found my first single grey hair in middle school.   

Since this was the era of being called “Witch Girl” and being made fun of anyway, I decided to be how I wanted to be.  

Fuck ‘em.

I’d rather be poked at for things I choose than the things I have no control over.  

Cue my Rogue-style blonde chunk right in the front of my head.  

This was then blue for a while, various shades of “strawberry”, and green for a very short while.   

It’s hard to keep green without it becoming a variety of snots.

Eventually, I dyed the underside of my hair red, so when it was up in a half-ponytail you could see it… 

I very rarely did that though.

Finally, there was the black and red stripes. 

“Make it look like it’s bleeding.” 

When that proved too hard to maintain, straight red or maroon happened.

There were some mishaps, such as the orange frizz…  

  

And some disappointments.  

 “We have… semi demi purple?  It’ll wash out in a day or two.”  

I have since stopped dying my hair due to a combination of fear, lack of funds, lack of time, and straight up laziness. 

I have a few more grey hairs now though. 

You know.

Cause I’m thirty.

Duck Season, Rabbit Season, Allergy Season

As you may know by now, I'm allergic to everything.

This season is particularly bad and it is affecting every part of my body.

Even my hair looks particularly shitty for no reason:

And then, of course, I'm just constantly leaking:

In fact, by this point, it's less my nose and eyes and more my ears:
 

I am so very attractive!

Between that and the puffiness and the dry skin, I wind up feeling like I look like a Cro-Magnon made out of clay:

A week ago, I was at my friend's house for gaming.
I like to roll dice and hit imaginary things.

The problem was that allergies had hit me HARD and I wasn't willing to take an antihistamine.  My logic was that we game pretty late anyway and I'm always half unconscious by the end of it.  I didn't want to add to that by being half asleep from the beginning.

So, I decided to tough it out.  This meant bringing a trash bag and a roll of toilet paper for my snot:

I actually went through that whole roll in a couple days.  So much snot.

The other side effect of not being entirely prepared for my seasonal allergies is that I got loopy:

 

And then passed out anyway:

 


In fact, I was so very loopy at this game that my roll of toilet paper became my favorite toy.  This happened because I realized when it was smooched, it was smiling:

Then, I managed to somehow dissect it, taking out it's cardboard to create a stand:

This was also, at one point, a hat.  …Later on, Rob also used it as a hat almost instinctively.  Yes I <3 that man of mine.

Speaking of my Knight in Pinstripes, he considers himself to be immunize to any damage.  He proudly states this often and every time he does, I think an anvil is going to cartoonishly fall on his head and break his whole body just to prove some Karmic point.  It has not done this so far.

However, he is an ex-smoker.  This means his face used to be pretty much clogged with random chemicals and he wasn't breathing so well, but he was used to it.  Now that he can breathe and smell, suddenly places he used to tolerate and parties that were bearable are now just as utterly disgusting to him as they are to the rest of us.  On top of that, now he suffers from seasonal allergies.

He is a little like Captain Hammer in that since he doesn't generally experience physical discomfort, it's a big freaking deal when he does.

So when he started to have a few cold-like symptoms from allergies, he flipped out and kept asking if he had a fever.  He acted like he might be dying. 

Mind you, his symptoms were over in a couple days.  Me?  I've been having migraines, my body and my mind are all affected.  Of course, I'm also allergic to everything.

It seems the big culprits affecting people this year are mostly:

Dust is not such a big deal for me.  My indoor allergies are not NEARLY as bad as my seasonal outdoor allergies, and those in turn are not as bad as a couple of my food allergies.  Still, there is something to be said about the overall allergy load.

If I'm already having a set of reactions from one thing, I don't want to add to that.  My immune system is already in over drive.  It winds up like the straw that broke the camel's back.

...
 

By the end of this season, I typically have just melted into a puddle of semi-recognizable goo:

BUT!  In this crappy allergy season, at least I'm not suffering alone!


*cry*