I Got Pee on My Stress. (Yup. That about sums it up.)

I am so tired I could quite happily sit on this sofa and wee myself.

Such is the effort I feel it would take to actually stand up and plod my aching hoofs with their mangled toenails, that once used to be described as ‘pretty,’ to the bathroom.

I feel like a giant yellowing elastic band stretched out tight between two points, tense, firm and poised to ping at any moment.

Except there will be no pinging or poinging here today, as I am too drained, too weary and I am not sure what a poing would actually look, feel, smell or taste like.

And also if I poinged, there is always that added worry of where I would end up.

Knowing my luck I would be poinged in to a giant steaming pile of eye eating bacteria, and I would end up blind and walking in to walls, and then my guide dog would eat Doodle and a catastrophic chain of events would follow culminating in me ending up unloved, lonely and housing 28 cats.

Perhaps I could fit a little breakdown in at some point today instead?

Yes a breakdown, that is what I feel I may need in the absence of any steam valve being fitted in to my brain.

I would actually very much enjoy a breakdown round about now.

That is, if a breakdown means I can turn off my phone, get in to bed, not play Thomas the tank engine, ignore the dog who is pleading to go out, throw the bills falling with a heavy thud on the mat every morning back in to the postman’s bag while telling him to get stuffed, strangle the Irish one for waking me up with a penis shaped prod in my back every morning and happily ignore the washing up pile for so long it starts to resemble the leaning tower of … GET THE HELL OFF ME, IT IS 6AM NO I DON’T WANT SEX!!!!! ARE YOU ON GLUE?

But again I am actually pretty sure I am unable to have a breakdown at this point due to the fact that whether I seem to like it or not stuff keeps happening and life whether you like it or not, goes on.

Mum is on the cobbled path to recovery now and is out of hospital.

This thrills me of course, but unfortunately I am now unable to shake intrusive thoughts of what could have happened had she not gotten there soon enough. They are keeping me awake at night.

Well, the thoughts and the fact Addison now believes and with utmost conviction is trying to convince me and the entire neighborhood that 3am is actually the time to put a Thomas Dvd on and munch on a banana while singing the wheels on the bus at top volume!

Damn the big boy bed and it’s unnecessary lack of restraint.

I need a big boy bed that comes with a cage.

A friendly child type cage that would not get me in trouble with the NSPCC or the RSPCA (because yes Doodle would be in there with him for company.) A cage that he loves. A cage that isn’t necessarily a cage, per se, but that also totally is.

Also, while I am fighting to get the devil child to stay in bed, trying to ignore thoughts of my parents dying, swatting away the Irish one and his insatiable libido (Once a month is plenty!!!) I am also being tortured by memory’s from the past week which I had overlooked at the time, as too much was going on.

At some point last week while visiting Momma bear, all stressed out and sweating, I rushed through a very busy A&E department and nearly fell over a very drunken and very proud Mancunian man.

Yes.

You would expect to see a drunk in A&E.

Nothing new there.

Except.

This drunk and very proud Mancunian man had his trousers around his ankles and was brandishing his willy like a weapon (don’t they all?) while swaying to his own beat, singing an Ian brown song at the top of his lungs and failing miserably to pee in to a bottle.

The fact he winked at me as I accidentally barged past him (I GOT PEE ON ME!!) has had me shuddering for days and has basically just ensured my therapist will be paid for at least another five sessions.

Also our next-door neighbors just moved to China.

Yeah.

China.

I blame the Irish one. (Because, why not?)

And Doodle. (Who would regularly amble in through their back door, wag his bum a bit as a greeting and then proceed to shit on their carpet. Something I am sure the Estate agent will fail to mention to the next potential tenants.)

But still, China?

That’s a little extreme.

Are we really that bad?

Also, thank you for leaving us with your fish.

There are now 9 of us living in this two bedroom flat.

And I have no idea what fish need. (I know what they probably don’t need though! Addison launching all and sundry in to the tank at random times of the day! So far I have found – a bottle of deodorant, 2 dummies, a lolly stick, half a banana and a handful of Thomas memorabilia in the tank with them. Doodle has gone in to hiding lest he find himself being unceremoniously dumped in there with them! I may call the RSPCA myself.)

Stress of life. Lack of sleep. Guilt over lack of sex drive, GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME! Paranoia everyone hates me. Stress I am putting on weight. Lack of sleep, GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME! Hunger, but I am too fat too eat. Feeling down on myself. Look at my manky toes. I need a wee. Stress. Lack of sleep, no Addy you cannot have an ice cream it is 3am! Paranoia I am crap at everything I do. Stress over bank balance. Lack of sleep cos I am sure my dad is dead when actually he is just in the bath. Stress we now have fish, and they may die. Paranoia I didn’t look after mum well enough. Stress I have missed work and now will have to catch up. So tired, GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!! Hunger for some peace. Feeling down on myself. Stress. Lack of sleep, panic attacks coming back. Paranoia, racing thoughts. Stress, car needs taxing. Lack of sleep, drunk man winking at me. Stress, bad girlfriend. Paranoia, he will leave me. Stress. Lack of sleep, GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!! Hunger. Feeling down on myself. Stress. Lack of sleep. Paranoia. Stress. Lack of sleep. Stress. Paranoia. Stress. Lack of sleep. Hunger. Feeling down on myself. Stress. Lack of sleep…. AND ON AND ON AND ON.

I want a breakdown. (Or just a break from my brain would be good too.)

‘I swear to the holy Lazarus Irish one, if that Dong comes near me one more time I will lob it off Elaina Bobbit Style!’

Oh shit. I need to feed the fish.

And I still need a wee.

And we need to do a shop…

And on and on and on and on and on…

I am so tried I could happily just wee myself. Right here.

Right now.

5 responses to “I Got Pee on My Stress. (Yup. That about sums it up.)

  1. This is my life constantly. I’d say at the moment but it seems to have been like this since June 2009.

  2. I have often told my Gran that I envy her pee-pads she has to wear. I mean, to just say “Fxxx it! I am going right here!” Or on long car drives….I mean, men can go in a bottle, right?!

    I could use a good healthy Vesuvius size meltdown right about now, myself. Between my Irish/Welsh One and teenagers, not to mention just good old fashioned guilt…I need a really nice breakdown.

  3. Brilliant. I know ALL those feelings. Especially re the penis. I shouted at my husband one Saturday morning that EVERY morning while he was thinking about what to do with his erection I was thinking about how I had to get up and wash urine stained sheets and pyjamas. Ugh.

  4. I feel sane when read your blog, if not sane at least I know I am not the only one who has such an “active” mind :)
    I too think a little break down would be such a great mini vacation

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