Don't talk to me, don't touch me, don't co-exist in my universe.
It's weird, because I can take three giant steps back from myself and watch the process impartially. I know I'm behaving irrationally, but I'm mostly powerless to do anything except keep myself from speaking. If I spoke, I'd say hurtful things that might not be capable of being unsaid later. I've kept that much of my wits about me anyhow. But "I can't go on living like this" ran through my head like a mantra for hours, as I contemplated my navel and let the universe shrink to the size of the sofa. Well, anyhow, I would have contemplated my navel if I could see it - the ascites is building up again and while I know there's a navel down there somewhere, it isn't in veiwing range anymore without a mirror. And I'm trying to avoid those.
Today I've been mildly nauseous since I got up, which was around 3:30 this morning when certain idiot cats decided they wanted an early breakfast. I've forced myself to eat some, because I'm beginning to look like a couple of marshmallows with toothpicks for arms. My legs are spared the toothpick treatment because they're stilll fairly swollen from the water rention. Marshmallow body, sausage legs, toothpick arms, hollow cheeks. If I lose my job, I'm considering joining the carnival as a side-show freak. Come One, Come All! See the amazing Bride of Frankenstein, created entirely out of mismatched parts! No one under twelve admitted; this show is too grotesque for the very young and the faint of stomach.
It was my pleasure to take a message from the Socialist's insurance company today. The ready-date for his beloved Matrix has been pushed off until next Thursday (the original date was tomorrow, but they keep bumping it). He threw another tantrum, kicking around some plastic storage tubs that I have recently emptied of books from the move. I didn't say a word, just went up and went to bed. The mantra keeps playing in my head.
Tomorrow will be better.