Bleh.

Carnations smell like death.

 Two years ago, tomorrow, my GG died.   Many years ago, on January 9, her husband, my dear GrandDad, one hell of a cool guy, died.  I was 14.  It was my very first experience with death.  Years later, 6 minutes after Christmas, my maternal grandma died.  My birthday is January 12.

Needless to say, after losing the last person in my life with a maternal gene in her soul, this time of the year is horrid for me.  My eyes.  Good lord.

Today, I have 2 appointments, one, to get my Wellbutrin refilled.  I’m in SUCH a funk right now that I think the only med that would really help me would have to be morphene.  Lots.  SO, I’ll refill the Wellbutrin and Klonopin, and grit my teeth, and try to get through this week somehow.

Historically on my birthday, I get flowers.  Flowers  are nifty.  Kind of…traditional.  And they remind me of funeral homes.  Carnations smell like death.  They remind me of the perfectly hideous and triangular arrangements that adorn each side of the casket.  casket. casket.

OH…then…at 5:30, I have an appointment with E.  She’s gonna just LOVE me today.  Holy fuck.   I hope I don’t waste the entire hour just sobbing.

Rock. On.