Why "How are you?" is a terrible greeting

I work in customer service, as a cashier. Always have, likely always will. I love it on my good days, enjoy it on my mediocre days, and try to pretend the bad days don't exist, just like everyone else.

Standardly, a good exchange goes as follows:

Cashier: Hello
Customer: Hi, how are you?
Cashier: Good, thanks, and you?
Customer: Good.

and we then proceed to stand there awkwardly as I scan things and don't talk. Or I try to make conversation about what they're buying in a completely non-judgmental way (which is not exactly easy sometimes).

It's not just at work, either. Any time a conversation is started, there's a 90% chance it's starting with "How are you?" and about an 85% chance that the asker will feel awkward if the answer isn't "good". Who wants to hear about the struggles of every person they meet?

But we always ask.

Here's why we shouldn't:

People are becoming more accepting of mental health problems, which is wonderful. I'm not sure if they're more common as well, but they're definitely more open and talked about than they used to be, which I, for one, greatly appreciate.

But, unless you actually know and care about the person you're talking to, when you ask them how they're doing, it's a formality and not an honest inquiry. And I don't say "you" to point blame in any way; I do it too.

So we ask people how they're doing, expecting the answer to be short and positive, while being aware that not everyone's doing so great.

My theory is that we do this, partially as a blind habit, but also partially to reassure ourselves that everyone else is doing alright, and the world at large is fine, even if my little corner seems to be going up in flames.

What if we stopped forcing this down our own throats?

What if we stopped telling ourselves and everyone else that life is grand when, in actual fact, it's not?

What if we allowed ourselves to admit that there's pain in the people around us, and tried to focus more on healing than acting?

Granted, not everyone's in pain all the time either, and surrounding ourselves with that idea will bring us down farther faster.

The state of random strangers' lives is too much for us to care about, is basically what I'm getting at. I heard a while back that there's more information in one newspaper today than a person a hundred or so years ago would have learned in their entire life. I have no idea how accurate this is, but it is believable. I mean, this is the Information Age. But with so much being thrown at us, we have to filter the necessary from the trivial, the interests from the irrelevant, and, when we get right down to it, the remembered from the forgotten (not that we always have much control over that).

I remember when, as a small child (5-8 years old) I was sitting in the school office, calling home because I was feeling sick. The office staff handed me the phone. My parent asked "How are you?" and I said "I'm good, you?" out of habit. At ~6 years old. Needless to say, this was met with confusion, but my point is that at a young age I'd already learned to not think about this exchange.

The actual reason I wrote this? I'm sick of having to choose, on my bad days, between being socially awkward (telling strangers that I'm really not doing well) and lying to people. It's exhausting. On a bad day, I'm doing well to make it into work due to illness. To go into work and then be asked to make that decision every couple of minutes for most of five hours (or more) is enough to drive me to tears.

I'm open to any suggestions on a replacement. "Did you find everything?" has failed due to a combination of (1) I don't know where most things are, and (2) many of our customers have been shopping with us regularly for years and know the store better than I do.

Selfless, Selfish, and Self

"Be there for others, but never leave yourself behind." ~ Dodinsky

Most people that I'm aware of agree that selfish people are assholes. That feels like an established fact.

Therefore, to not be an asshole, thou shalt be selfless. Sounds logical. I'll accept it. (for now)

Before we get any further, let's define some key terms here.

• Asshole (noun) : Someone who is unpleasant to be around
• Selfish (adj.) : To be self-centered; to be focused on your life, and to be oblivious of the lives of other people and the environment around you
• Selfless (adj.) : To consider everything and everyone that is not you to be a higher priority than yourself

Theoretically, if everyone looks out for everyone else, the system looks like it should work, right? Everyone's being looked out for. Everyone's covered. No-one's an asshole.

Except.

*gasp*

Except.

It doesn't work.

Why? Possibly because a couple of assholes spoil it for everyone. Possibly because nobody can focus on literally everyone, so someone is probably getting more looked-after than someone else.

Possibly because nobody knows what you need quite like you do.

If someone is hungry, typically they feel it. Their stomach likely aches. It may grumble a bit, but that could also be the digestive process saying "seriously, what did you just eat?" If I'm hungry, you don't know unless I tell you.

But then I have to talk about myself and my needs and not be focused in on yours. Then I'm not being selfless.

You may be jumping ahead here, saying it's not a binary option but a scale. I'm going to keep talking like it's a binary option. Things are more easily discussed when black and white. The colour will come soon though, I promise.

We need to be selfish in order to adequately take care of ourselves. We need to be in tune with ourselves and what we need in order to meet those needs. We need to meet those needs in order to have the ability to help other people meet their needs as well. We need to help each other be selfish so that we can all have what it takes to be selfless.

Picture a scale (the type used as a symbol for justice (or libra, if you're into zodiac)). Too much selfishness and you're an asshole. Too much selflessness and you're depleted. But then, if you take away the framework that holds up either side, who knows which side weighs more?

The framework is self-awareness, closely associated with mindfulness. It's the ability to discern which of your desires are wants versus needs, and what, of other peoples' struggles, you can take on and help with.

Once you have the framework, keeping the scales even is a simple matter of paying attention. Building the framework takes effort, yes. And I'm not saying that taking care of your needs are the only time you're allowed to be selfish. There are basic human needs (food, shelter, water, etc.) but then there are also the more complex needs that vary from person to person, such as alone time, social time, down time. Some people need to feel accomplished. Some people need to be able to relax. Some people need to be able to talk about things, others need to be able to think about things without talking. These are still needs that must be met in order to be refreshed and ready to help.

Let's face it: if you're drained, then you have nothing left to give, and all you can do is take, and then you start to drain others.

If you need to rely on other people to meet your needs, you might not have the ability to reciprocate.

If you're too selfless, you'll become selfish. And selfish people are assholes.

Just a Dream?

For as long as I can remember (and then some, or so my mother says) I've had difficulty differentiating dream experiences from awake experiences.

For the past few years, one of my most common dreams is that I'm getting back together with my ex.

Believe me when I say, this is a very unsettling combination. Now, the dreams have changed as time has gone on. It started out with him relenting and allowing me back into his life. Then there was a time when I had demands to be met, he said no, and we still got back together. There have been dreams in which his mother is trying to reach out to me. More recently, it's been that we got back together, but neither of us was really trying, so I called it off and went back to my current partner.

Regardless of the specifics, it tends to rattle me pretty well.

Last night I had a new dream:

• I felt overlooked, as I was supposed to learn something, tried to say I understood it, and was constantly cut off and told I was wrong without even getting a chance.
  
• I felt targeted as I was having a bad day, someone else knew this, and did something unpleasant anyways.
  
• I felt ignored as I watched an award ceremony happen to acknowledge things that I had also accomplished.
  
• I felt like I'd been suckerpunched when my ex was acknowledged in the ceremony, despite not even being part of the group.
  
• I felt guilty that I was focusing on what a rough time I was having and not congratulating others and being happy for them.

And then I woke up. I had just experienced the worst emotions of the past few years, and then I woke up.

How does one go about normal life upon waking up from that? And yet, it was just a dream. It wasn't even real.

But the experience was.

I experienced that dream. I experienced those emotions. I experienced the confusion upon waking up. (I even experienced looking for mushroom pizza flavoured m&m's, but that one's easier to get over.)

Mindfulness was the only option. Acknowledge the experience, and then acknowledge that it was a dream and real life isn't nearly so terrible. The emotions are valid, but can be let go.

Real life emotions are valid, but can be let go.

All emotions, as we feel them, are valid. All emotions, however deep, can be let go.

I Just Wanna be a Bitch

A lot of people get confused or concerned when I mention that I like being called a bitch. This is understandable. The two main adjectives that I strive for as personal descriptors are "cute" and "sweet".

But the third one is "strong".

"Bitch" takes it too far the other way, possibly. But for a considerable portion of my life, I thought that saying no was rude, and that having a backbone was a severe discourtesy.

Let's just say that my ex-inlaws would not like me as much now as they used to.

In my ex's family, it was very much "mother knows best" and "if mother's not happy, nobody's happy". Nobody argued it. It was a fact of life.

I came from a very different family background. One where my parents listened to and respected each other and us, and we were expected to do the same.


One Sunday after church (which mother didn't attend due to work schedule, but everyone else was expected to no matter what), then-boyfriend and I were heading out to go to work when he got called back into the house for a minute. I waited. He came back out and passed along the message from his mother that if I didn't do something about my hair, I was not welcome back at their house.

I was livid.

I mean, she couldn't even tell me herself?

And, after all, it's just hair. My family didn't care about appearances. I hated brushing my hair, so I usually tied it back in a ponytail. (Now I brush it and then tie it back, but it looks about the same.)

So I agreed to the terms and didn't return. We didn't break up or anything, but I wasn't fixing my hair, so I wasn't welcome back at their house, and I wasn't about to go where I wasn't welcome.

A couple of days (or weeks, this was years ago; I don't remember) went by and his parents started asking about me. Why hadn't I been around?

I asked if the statement had been apologized for. His response: "I've never known her to apologize for a thing in my life."

I tried to stick to my stance, but he insisted I was making to big a deal out of it, and I was being unreasonable, so I backed down.


When I call a friend of mine "bitch", or ask them to so call me, it's not a slur. To me, it's almost going back to the root of the word. To me it means "I know what's important, and I'll stand up for it as fiercely as I have to," like a dog with her puppies.

I still tend to submit and dodge confrontation, but I'm working on it.

One of these days I'll be as much a bitch as my pup!

Finally, a Happy Beginning

I know, I took quite the Christmas break! And then I tried to get back to this, and had a bit of trouble, but now it's been a few days, so let's hope it sticks this time.

All that to say, I don't think I've told you this story yet, but feel free to tell me if I'm wrong.

I moved out from living with my one roommate when the situation got to stressful for me (she was renting out a few rooms in her house, and roommates were constantly changing. Also, Christian environment and I was trying to break free from that). We're still good friends, but we both agreed that it would be better for me, and for our friendship, if I left. So I moved in with another friend. One who I tried not to have a crush on, because I knew that our friendship was more important.

But I hated being single.

Absolutely loathed it.

So, one day, I'm getting super frustrated with the whole dating idea. I've tried dating apps, I've tried going out to meet people, and it seems everyone who wants to date is mostly interested in one thing: sex. You know, that one thing that I can't handle.

New roommate hears this whole rant. Doesn't really know how to respond. I apologize for expressing such frustration. We move on.

Next day I'm playing video games when they come home from work.

Roommate: Pendragon, can I talk to you?
Me: [notes serious tone of voice, pauses game, puts down laptop] Sure, what's up?
Roommate: About that rant yesterday [(not exact phrasing, but along those lines)] ... would you consider.... us?
Me: [so absolutely excited I'm literally speechless]
Roommate: [panicky]
Me: I'd really like that.

And that's how I started dating my partner.

But that's not where the fun ends. See, we'd been close friends for a number of years. My family knows them. I have a playful, joking nature. I'm not just going to tell people "oh, btw, Roommate and I are dating now." No, I'm going to be as dramatic about it as possible.

So

Dad messages me, asking if I'd like to go see a movie on [insert date here]. I respond "Sorry, can't. I've got a date that night."

Dad messages me later [after the movie date], asking about seeing the same movie the following week. I respond "We could, but I was considering instead inviting you and Mom over for dinner to meet my new partner."

So parents show up. In fact, Dad drives Roommate/Partner home after work.

I pull supper out of the oven, saying "food's ready, shall we eat?"

Parents look confused. Mom says "I thought we were waiting for someone."

I try to look confused, and say "Everyone's here."

They catch on. Much happy excitement ensues. Mom even says "I told Dad this morning, I knew we were coming to meet your new partner, but I wished it was [Roommate]"

Later that night, after parents leave, I call my sister to tell her. I do so within earshot of Partner.

Sister: "So who's the new person?"
Me: "What do you want to know?"
Sister: "Have I met them?"
Me: "I don't keep track of every person you've ever met!" [note: this is true, albeit unrelated from the question]
We continue the conversational dance for about forty-five minutes, until she goes "I think I know who it is!"
Me: "Who?"
Her: "I don't want to say, in case I'm wrong"
Me: "You're not faking me out like this. Just guess and I'll tell you yes or no, no judgement."
Her: "Is it..."
Me: "..."
Her: "[Partner's name]?"
Me: "Yup!"
Her: "Yay!"

Long story short, I'm in the healthiest romantic relationship I've ever been in, and my family (and my partner's family) are all in favour.

And now, because I can't actually deny the fact that I'm a hopeless romantic without lying (much as I'd like to), a couple of my favourite love songs:

At the Beginning (from Anastasia)

So It Goes (covered by Marianas Trench)

The Worst of Tinder, Part 2

At last, the long-awaited sequel to my tinder misadventures!

So I met this guy on tinder. (Never saw that coming, did you?). He talks super sweet. He also says that, if we get together, he won't do anything without first asking permission. I like the sound of that. We meet up for coffee.

Meeting up was, by the way, the only way I could convince him that I wasn't a dude in drag. Apparently someone had met up with him before and he'd been unaware that the other person was also male. Anyways...

So, meet up for coffee, go back to his place for a movie. This seems to be standard behaviour, despite not knowing each other at all. Part of me wanted to message my roommate with his address in case anything happened (this would be called the smart choice), but the other part felt, however accurately or otherwise, that she'd disapprove of my going to his place at all, and I didn't want that judgement, so I sent nothing. (Don't worry, I'm still alive)

We put on Braveheart, as I'd not seen it before. (I still haven't). We got comfy, sort of watching but more getting to know each other. We start making out. He starts asking for a blow job.

Wait, what?

I don't know if you've picked up on this so far in my blog, but I am much more comfortable when the pants stay on. Now, some people may be arguing (incorrectly, in my opinion) that he bought me coffee, so I owe him something. Except he didn't. We met up at the coffee shop, but he'd already ordered when I got there. He asked if I wanted anything, but I'd said no.

And now, here we are, him not asking "is it okay if" but "could you please". I said no, we just met, I barely know you, etc.

He kept asking.

This was not asking permission, this was borderline begging.

I'd like to say that this was the last I heard from him.

I felt highly uncomfortable after this "date" (does it count as a one night stand if you talked online for a few days first, and you didn't have sex the night of? Asking for a friend...)

Little did I know that this was the start of the worst week of my life.

So, that was Monday.

Tuesday I blocked him. I also had a psychiatrist appointment to find out what exactly was going on in my brain (I knew "some sort of anxiety disorder(s)). The appointment was educational, but not exactly pleasant.

Other typical bad-day shit happened. Wednesday was also not great. Thursday I felt I'd been to hasty and maybe I'd given him the wrong impression, so I unblocked him. He was livid that I'd blocked him. I apologized. Whatever. Also, he had this non-competition thing in his head. If we were seeing each other, even if we weren't labelling it or it was only once or something, neither of us would see other people. So we weren't in a relationship, but we were exclusive. So I couldn't break up with him, but I felt like I had to in order to consider anyone else.

I told him life was super-busy right now, and I may not be able to talk much, but if he wanted to, he could send me messages.

Friday.

I went to work, got home, started to hang out with my best friend. Parents called. My dog was moving uncomfortably, she'd probably dislocated something, they were going to take her to the emergency vet clinic (this was around 8pm, so our normal vet was closed). Would I like to come along? Of course I would. She's my dog. I may not have lived with her much in the past few years, but I still come along to every vet appointment and come visit.

Best friend gets his parents to come early to pick him up, but he's still there when mine arrive. I'm freaking out, because that's what I do any time anything is remotely wrong with my dog. He and my roommate try to calm me down, but to no avail.

I get in the car. Choclate (my dog)'s eyes are wild, but she's barely moving. This isn't something dislocated. Parents try to calm me down. Resilient-brain kicks in. I'm not freaking out. This is an emergency situation, I need to think clearly and logically, and do everything I can to comfort my puppy.

We get to the vet clinic and I pick my dog up to carry her in. My dad offered to, but she's my dog.

We sit in an appointment room while the vet takes her to the operating room to figure out what's wrong.

She had a tumour in a place that it's hard to detect. It burst. She was in her last hour. We went back and petted her, trying our best to comfort her as she died. The vet didn't have to put her down; she died within 15min.

Worst fucking night of my life right there.

It's almost two years later and I'm still tearing up writing this.

Now, remember tinder guy? He's been messaging me, but nothing important. Stuff like "what are you up to" or "how's your day going". I briefly told him I'm not up to talking and why. He complains that this is being very one-sided and he feels like I'm not putting any effort into it.

Okay, wow.

First off: I told you I was super busy and I might not be able to talk much.

Secondly: My dog just died.

Thirdly: It's not me, it's you.

And this time, he stayed blocked.

I Can't.... Sorry, What Was That?

I've heard from numerous sources that the male brain is capable of thinking about absolutely nothing. I'd like to challenge that: so's mine.

When my anxiety gets too high, thinking stops being an option. I'm on high alert and my (fight or) flight instinct kicks in and nothing else could possibly be worth considering.

I first noticed this when working at [national fast food / coffee chain], I'd be trying to take orders and it would go something like this:

me: Hi there, what can I get for you?
customer: [says something clearly & audibly that I just plain don't hear]
me: [looks at screen to type in order] .... I'm sorry, could you repeat that?
customer: [says literally the most common order]
me: ok.... sorry, that was a large coffee, anything in it?
customer: [repeats themself again]

And it's not that my brain considered this customer a threat. It's that my brain was processing every possible sound around me equally, and fast food places are not quiet environments.

But then, it also happens in quiet environments.

As soon as my anxiety wakes up, my mental processing power vanishes. I have a couple of apps on my phone that are mindless and relaxing games - no ads, and the point of the game is to organize things, which pleases my OCD and helps me calm down. Sometimes, in the time it takes me to pull out my phone and unlock it, I've forgotten why I'm doing so, so I'm just staring at my phone, mind completely blank, feeling frustrated because I wanted to do something but the thought ran away before I could act on it.

One of my biggest problems in this time, as I've vaguely hinted, is sound. I've seen the question asked "If you had to lose one sense but could choose which one, which would you choose?" or some variation of that, like "If you could only keep one sense, which would you choose?". Touch is my favourite, because I'm a klutz and I need to find my way around somehow. Also because I enjoy food mostly based on texture rather than flavour. But a very close second is my sense of sound.

I almost always have music on, unless I'm having trouble focusing. I can navigate to some extent by sound; it's how I'm most aware of my surroundings (my eyes are terribly inobservant). When I was a kid, I could tell what type of vehicle (car, pickup truck, van, etc.) was coming around the street corner by my house based on the sound of the motor.

But I wouldn't mind being slightly less in tune with my sense of sound (pun not intended, but now I'm keeping it!). Sudden loud noises cause me physical pain, from the crown of my head down my spine. Things like: something falling down, my dad sneezing, traffic noises outside. It all depends on how heightened my anxiety is; the higher the anxiety is, the more the sound hurts.

To end on a lighter note, I'll explain why my dad's sneezes are included in this with a fun family anecdote.

If you've heard me sneeze, you know I'm loud. My dad is close to twice as loud. His dad was twice that again.

My grandparents lived in the country, on a stretch of highway. Not a super-busy highway, but it had its share of traffic. My dad was visiting his friends, who lived just down the street, probably ~200m. They were packing up a board game. Grandpa was working in the honey house (behind the house) with machinery going.

Grandpa sneezed.

Dad's friend said "God bless you Mr. [Pendragon]."

Keto Cookies!

I have friends who are on a keto diet, and they were coming over, and I wanted to bake. I looked up what the diet entails (low carb, high fat) and came up with these.

The texture is similar to shortbread, and they are very bland unless you flavour them. I used cacao nibs in all of them, and then varied them between plain, raisin, dried dragon fruit (which does not necessarily bake well - do not recommend), and chocolate chips.

They will also come out fairly dry, so I recommend serving them with tea or coffee.

Ingredients:

• 1/2 cup butter or coconut oil
• 1 egg
• 1/2 cup almond flour
• 1/2 cup coconut flour
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1 tsp baking powder
• something to add flavour

Instructions:

1. Combine ingredients
2. Roll dough into small balls, place on cookie sheet
3. Bake at 350F for 8-12min

How to Get the Most Out of Counselling

I've been seeing counselors off and on for about a decade. If you pay attention to what's going on, it's difficult to do something for so long without learning how to do it better or worse. As it tends to be an exhausting journey to start, here I shall write some tips and things that I've learned, in the hopes of making it easier for someone else.

The best piece of advice I was ever given is this: don't settle. You're talking about your brain and your feelings and things. There are people in this world who will understand what you say and what you mean, and people who won't, and a whole spectrum in between.

For my first counselor, I wanted someone who was Christian, so they would understand that priority set and values. We went to a place with whom my parents had insurance coverage. I got someone who used to be Christian. I went in because I was feeling like I should break up with my boyfriend but didn't know why. She said go for it; you're starting college soon and breakups usually go hand-in-hand with such major changes. She also said there's a divine light in all of us, the phrasing of which made my sheltered Christian brain deeply uncomfortable.

My second counselor worked in my doctor's office and was also free to me. This is the one my doctor recommended when I was married but couldn't have sex. We worked on body positivity, which was good. I'd needed that for a long time. Unfortunately, it wasn't the underlying issue. Also, any exercises that she suggested were turned down by my now-ex.

My third was less official. My physiotherapist and I would talk about all sorts of things. She was Christian, so understood that perspective, and she saw a lot of women who had trouble with sex (she also saw people for other things in similar areas). She had a lot of expertise in this area, and was able to reassure me and comfort me in a way the others hadn't. It got to the point that my physio appointments, lying half naked on a hospital bed, were a highlight of my week. She's the one who passed along this piece of advice: If you're shopping for shoes, do you take a pair off the shelf, make sure they fit, and leave? Or, do you try a bunch of pairs and then make a decision based on comparison and best fit? Why, then, would you do any differently with a healthcare professional? Find someone who can relate to you and who you can relate to. Someone with whom communication is neither a barrier nor a burden, but natural.

Now, I look forward to every counselling appointment. Because I found someone who understands me and doesn't try to shove me into a box. After all, as my parents' old coworkers said, my sister thinks outside the box, but I've never seen the box.

The Bitch is Back

Hello, dear reader(s)!

Part of me feels compelled to apologize for my prolonged absence. The other, healthy part of me says "Why? Nobody's paying you. In fact, we aren't even entirely sure anyone has noticed. You are writing this blog for yourself. Do what you want with it."

But I have anxiety.

So, sorry for taking such a long break. It feels like it's been a year since I wrote. Technically, my last post was last year, but that's not what I mean and we all know it.

I will try to get back into the rhythm of writing every day. Fitting that in with my oh-so-demanding job of managing my mother's website (read: less than an hour of work on any given day) should be manageable, but it's the rest of life that has a tendency to go crazy.

Working for family is something I swore never to do again after working for my ex's uncle for a summer. Not that it was bad, but it made things awkward. See, I hadn't really found anything in common with this uncle beforehand, so all that we had in common as far as I ever knew was work. So, on one hand, I finally had something in common with him. On the other, it's not the best sort of casual conversation for family gatherings.

Working for my mother,

Pros:

• Booking time off is super easy, especially for family vacations and things.
• She knows how to tell me whether or not I'm doing a good job, and, if not, knows how to correct me (she's had 20-some years of practise)

Cons: (she might be reading this, but that's perfectly fine. Nothing to see here!)

• I mean, I can't really vent about work to my family, but it's the lowest-stress job I've ever had (see again, less than an hour of work per day).
• Not really part of a team environment (working from home on my computer), but it leaves me more available for family time.

It works out in my favour.

As for the rest of life, it's January. I try to enjoy January. I love winter, snow, coldness, and really everything about it except that everyone's holiday-ed out and not wanting to do anything and so life in general just feels blah. I mean, after Christmas (or whichever end-of-year holiday(s) you may celebrate) most people do need time to recover. I won't disagree to that. However, if we went less crazy in December and saved some energy for January, maybe January wouldn't be so terrible?

I crashed pretty hard this past weekend. I was supposed to be sociable Friday night and was exhausted, so we postponed until Saturday. I then failed to get any reasonable amount of sleep that night, but somehow felt better prepared for Saturday. Some of you may see what's coming.

My adrenaline ran out when we went out. I crashed hard. People could ask me a question and would get a blank stare in response. My choices were stare blankly or cry, so really, I was trying my best. Fortunately, the people I was being sociable with were my parents and my partner, all of whom are very understanding. This doesn't fix the problem, but it does help it to not get exponentially worse.

Sidetrack: One night I was exhausted on a bus going home from work, when a bunch (like twenty or more) drunk university students got on the bus. Being drunk, they were loud and rowdy and completely unaware of any of this. Being exhausted and having worked a seven hour shift supervising cashiers (read: dealing with problems constantly), my tolerance for such things had run out a while ago. I lasted maybe ten minutes before I started actually screaming hysterically at them to shut the fuck up. Of course, they were still drunk. I had just made a spectacle of myself, had not accomplished anything, and now half of the people on the bus were either loudly complaining about me or trying to help me without being able to comprehend that they were, in fact, part of the problem. By some miracle, in the seat in front of me was someone who knew someone with anxiety. They offered me some water and told the drunk people she'd take care of me so they backed off. We ended up coincidentally getting off the bus at the same stop, but I don't think I've seen her since.

Back on track: basically, things could be worse but I had people who understood me so it was only bad.

Went home. Honestly don't remember most of the weekend after that. There was a fair bit of sleeping. I woke up Sunday around 9pm (not "woke up" but stopped feeling completely numb and empty) and I've been feeling more like myself since. So, yesterday I catalogued every book and movie that I could find in my apartment (727 items altogether) and today I'm back to blogging.

Who knows, maybe one of these days I'll actually figure out what collection of elder signs will stop my music collection from losing all of the work I put into it every few months.

On that note (pun intended!), I leave you with one of my favourite pick-me-up songs: The Champion by Carrie Underwood & Ludacris!