So I’m doing this thing again where I pull my hair out. My hair is actually in the best shape it’s been in close to 10 years so instead of just breaking off like it used to when I would pull and pull and pull OBSESSIVELY, now I’m getting it out by the root. I attribute all of this hair pulling to my increased stress level over the past few weeks. I thought I was doing good. I THOUGHT I was taking things in stride and dealing with the upcoming move like a level-headed adult-type person. The hair pulling tells me something different.
I remember when I first started pulling my hair out. Not so strangely it coincided with my first diagnosis of clinical depression, though I feel this act is more indicative of my anxiety issues but WHAT-EVER. I would sit in class and just pull and pull and PULL out my hair, usually from the front until the lecture was over and then I would walk out of the room with little broken pieces of blonde hairs covering the front of my shirt. Another effect of pulling your hair out? Your hair looks like shit. I had unintentional “bangs” for years bc I couldn’t stop my compulsion.
This move is considerably simpler than the last one. We only have to travel 20 minutes down the road as opposed to driving 8 hours up I-95 praying the TV doesn’t crack the window of my hatchback. This is giving me little comfort right now. I’m freaking out about everything. I am a raw exposed nerve and I WILL snap your fucking head off. Just ask The Bee. He’s still recovering from yesterday’s dose of insanity. In short: I suck. I’m also not feeling so hot. Maybe it’s those damn raw nerves causing my stomach to want to empty its contents repeatedly. TMI?
Because I am feeling all sorts of craze this week, I figured this vintage Pixies clip was an appropriate and literal interpretation of my current plight. So enjoy! It’s either that or I can further entertain you with my “Tales from the Toilet“.
Yeah, I thought so…