Tagged: temper tantrum

The Mental Breakdown- Scarlett O’Hara’s birthday part 2.

This is a followup to yesterday’s post, which was written in quite the haphazardly, slapdash fashion. If you haven’t read it yet, I suggest you do that first, to avoid confusion.

***

…catering headquarters. I was, for obvious reasons, in a bit of a state at that point, and there wasn’t anyone left except for one poor kitchen boy, who took one look at me and got the hell out of my way. I realized I was going to be late for this meeting I had to go to, so I threw things back where they belonged, reparked the stupid, honking big van, and sprinted to my car.

I definitely sped down to the studio. I think if I passed any cops they could probably sense the crazy that was happening in my car, so they got out of my way.

Got to the studio, 5 minutes late. Varenka unlocked the door for me and let me in and I run into the room and sit against the wall.

Do you ever have those moments where you’ve been running around all day and you just stop and sit down and all the sudden all you want to do is go to sleep? That’s kind of what was happening to me, but I’d had three cups of coffee at work (it’s free! Yay!) and so I had exhaustion jitters. I was semi-falling asleep against the wall, but I couldn’t get my hands and feet to stop jerking. It wasn’t so much like I couldn’t sit still as that my extremities were twitching. During this semi-serious conversation about changing your life. We’ve all been there, right?

I’m pretty sure at this point I may actually be dying, but I pick up the packet of paper I’m given and flip through it in an attempt to look like I’m paying any sort of attention. I seriously couldn’t tell you what we talked about if my life depended on it. I think cucumbers were involved? I don’t know.

The meeting ends. Sprint home. Get changed. I actually had time to play through one song before I headed down to the gig. I also realized I hadn’t eaten in about 8 (9? 10?) hours, so I slammed a Lean Cuisine (Santa Fe rice and beans, nummers). Then I realized it was Scarlett O’Hara’s birthday and she told me to look cute and wear heels, so I rechanged into a dramatically less comfortable outfit, ran to my car, and sprinted (sped) downtown.

So I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I sort-of play in a band aka a duet aka my friend who is in an actual, real band lets me sing with him sometimes. I play the ukulele, because I am a giant cliché. My friend (let’s call him Captain Apollo) basically has to coddle and cosset me into doing this, because I apparently have no problem talking to giant groups of people, but I would rather pull out my toenails than sing in front of people in public places.

Captain Apollo talks me through soundcheck, and we get everything set-up and then I go drink what is rapidly becoming my regular pre-show order of a Labatt Blue and a shot of Jameo.

At this point my friends show up with Scarlett O’Hara, and I realize that I’ve neglected to properly prepare them for the atmosphere that is this bar (let’s call it the Battlestar). So they walk into the Battlestar and they’re all prettied up and Varenka is wearing actual, real live pants which is an extremely rare event for her, and we’ve all got heels on and whatnot, and this is one of those divey-er types of dive bars where the average clientele have knuckle tattoos and you’re almost encouraged to draw obscene things on the wall. It’s bit of a surreal moment, and they’re all looking a bit deer-in-headlightsy, even Rory, who rocks a poker face like no one else I’ve ever met.

However, I have no time to comfort them because just like that Captain Apollo is summoning me to the stage. I play my 7 song set-list, which went pretty okay, and get off the stage, and the girls are raring to get out of the Battlestar, like, yesterday. So we rush out of there.

We wander around for a bit and end up in my least favorite bar in town, which is apparently pretty heated on a Thursday because It Is Bumping.

And that’s when I just lose my head.

I think I’ve done a pretty decent job at explaining how Thursday was just a bit of a shit-show for me thus far. So imagine, if you will, coming fresh from the day I’ve had with barely any time to sit down, let alone take my foot off the gas pedal, and getting immediately thrown into a club packed full of sweaty strangers who are trying to rub up on you and chat you up and buy you drinks. It was not pretty. Varenka and Scarlett ended up getting tequila shots which I did not partake in as I was driving, and they seemed to be immediately okay with the situation. I backed myself up against the wall and clung to my Red Bull vodka for dear life.

I think I lasted about twenty minutes before I had to get out of there, internet. I was about to have a breakdown that would rival any toddler you know. Imagine a five-year old just had to pick up all her toys and eat brussel sprouts for dinner and then her brother gets a bigger slice of cake than she does. That was me. I was tired, uncomfortable, overwhelmed, emotional and I. Just. Couldn’t.

I lit outta there like a race horse on speed, people.

Moral of the story?

There is none.

Life is full of struggles.

Ugh, internet. I feel like death today. I feel like sick on a stick. I feel like someone replaced my innards with a small, moving replica of the Macy’s day parade. There is a tiny mosh pit happening in my head. I have opened and closed my refrigerator at least ten times today without eating anything. 

Visual representation. Extra points for guessing what the floats are.

Visual representation. Extra points for guessing what the floats are.

It’s one of those days where the mere thought of being productive in any capacity is making me want to do a literal full blown temper tantrum, complete with screaming and stomping and throwing things, but I am above such things (also that much movement right now might actually kill me). As such, I so did not want to write this blog today, internet. I’m legitimately sitting here writing this and pouting like a petulant child because my life is so hard. However, I shall persevere, because there is a tiny little voice in my head among the angry white noise screaming SUCK IT UP LOSER.

It’s so funny how sometimes I rebel against myself being productive like that, even though I know the pay off will be worth it. Even though I know that whatever I have to do will take less than half an hour and I’m not really doing anything anyways and I’ll feel so much better just getting it over with. I think a lot of people can sympathize with that feeling. That’s why Netflix is still a thing, right? So college kids can watch just one more episode of 30 Rock before they start that paper?

I can absolutely feel the pull of Pinterest at the corner of my mind right now, but dammit, I’m not giving in.

The thing is, I started this blog thinking I would fail. I actually assumed that I wouldn’t make it a full week and I decided not to tell any of my friends and family for a few days in case I didn’t pull through, but here I am, two weeks in, still going strong with a full cache of drafts and scheduled posts. And I feel so much better about myself then when I started this craziness. I feel so much less like a lazy schmuck, living in my parent’s house, working part time jobs, and whats changed? Nothing, apart from the fact that I’m writing everyday and keeping a promise I made to myself two weeks ago.

I guess the moral of the story here is that I knew this day would come – the I-would-rather-gouge-my-eyes-out-then-write-a-post day and I’ve survived it. I wrote despite having a backup post prepared in case of emergency. I wrote despite the fact that I am in bed possibly dying (WebMD says it’s probably brain cancer), and I’ve only checked Facebook once (okay, three times, but I had a notification). And now that I’m nearing the end of this post, I feel pretty damn good, because for the first time in a long time, I’m sticking to a routine, even though I wasn’t feeling it today.

Moral of the story? SUCK IT UP AND GET MOVING, INTERNET.