stuff and things.

You guys, I stressed myself out so bad earlier this week that I have been exhausted ever since.

OH POOR TIFFANY.

I know, I know.

Last week I spent my time OB. SESS. ING. over finding the perfect planner. Like, the perfect planner. With enough pages for my random notes and a folder to keep all of my miscellaneous wedding papers in order. Little did I know that there are 900 million options out there and not one of them worked for me so I took my ass to staples and built my own. A DIY planner, if you will. It's not pretty, so you don't get a picture. It is literally a binder to which I added dividers (with folders to shove all the miscellany in) and then printed my google calendar and a variety of organizing resources that I found online fo' free.

And then I haven't used it since. But I instantly felt better.

THE POINT? you ask. The point is that I am walking a very, very fine line right now between having my shit together and reverting to 2009 Tiffany that suffered from stress-related stomach pains convincing her that she had an ulcer and that she was going to die (not to be confused with 2010 Tiffany that had phantom loin pain and convinced herself that she had kidney cancer and that she was going to die). Obsessing over minor things like THE PERFECT PLANNER is totally a sign that I am nearly crossing that line between normal and insane Tiffany that needs to DO ALL THE THINGS even if it kills her and yes I need to look at the Cartwheel App RIGHT NOW because how else will I know if I can get a deal on cat litter at Target?

And then the crying into the Coors Light bottle on a Tuesday night signals to everyone that, WHOA. Tiffany needs a time out so please put your electronics down right now and don't even worry your tiny little head about anything other than wedding planning and The Walking Dead and whether or not Carl really is the psychopathic child delinquent that you are predicting he will become.

Basically, this is my excuse for being absent once again from this blog. And basically this is my announcement that I cannot be depended on for anything other than my great theories about The Walking Dead and also wedding planning. Even though I printed blog planning sheets for my perfect planner. Maybe once I relax and drink more Coors Light I will actually use them and plan some actual blog action.

But until then, stay classy and sane my friends.

(although, ps - we have a vet trip coming up next weekend so you know, blog content for years...)

coming out of the fort.

It is incredibly rare that I stumble across a pin on the pinterest that fills me with so much emotion. I think I clapped my hands together and nearly started crying. THE NEST.

Most of October, I lived in a nest. Except, I call it a blanket fort. My days were filled with anxiety, with reason and without, and the only thought that gave me comfort was knowing that I would soon be able to flee to my home, my comfy couch, and my blanket. And I knew that I could cover my entire body and free my mind of any burdening thoughts and just be in that blanket fort. Because I could not do much else without crying or finding a reason to yell about something or just completely shutting down.

And that Justin of mine? He let me be in that blanket fort. For a few weeks. And when I finally just became a complete ridiculous and unreasonable mess, he life-coached the shit out of me and gave me incredibly rousing come-to-jesus talks that left me without reason for needing my fort. And while I hated mostly every second of the life-coaching because, hello blanket fort is so much easier than facing any bit of reality, I loved every minute that he took to do so. Because he cared enough to pull me out of the fort and kick my ass into gear.

I don't think I would've made it out of there without him.

oops...I did it again.

You know how some people have THE WORST DAY EVER because their nail breaks and o em gee I spilled coffee and poor me I need a mental health day! LOL!

You've heard that before, right?

To that I say, fuck your mental health day.

Monday...Monday I needed a real mental health day. It took everything...every ounce of my being to stay seated in my office and not bolt out to my car and speed home and build a fort under the covers and remain there until Justin forced me to come out and eat dinner. And no, I am not being an overdramatic nail-breaking, coffee-spilling, fml type person.

It's just that. Well. I forgot to take my pills. Again.

I know. We've been here before. But <insert excuse related to drinking too much here> and <insert excuse about falling asleep on the couch here>. I fucked up, and I fucked myself up. My emotional reactions to normal life annoyances have been THROUGH THE ROOF. Meaning I cried my way out of a family party Saturday night because a girl that was missing a tooth cut in front of me at the bar and I was like she's not even cute because she doesn't have all her teeth and what is the point of those braces? And my family and friends were like, whoa. Nice about it. But like, whoa.

And you just can't. You can't even explain it because you are not yourself and you won't be for a few days. So when you return to work on Monday and shit is flying all over the place because of typical incompetencies? Holy sweet jesus, brace yourself and don't you dare make direct eye contact with me because I will cry all over you.

So I don't feel bad that you broke a nail. Or that you coughed. Or that your husband didn't get you the right type of soda or whatever the fuck is it that people complain about every five fucking minutes. I don't feel bad for you, because you can fix it and change it immediately. You can change your situation. 

I just have to sit and wait until the medication starts filling up the holes in my system again and I become stable. So until then, I will sit and look at pretty pictures and silly animal pictures (thanks, Shannon!) and remember that it will get better. Soon.

First 2013 Post.

I could sum up our NYE party, but I am ashamed at how many cookies I ate. And how Justin and I failed at our first NYE kiss because he went to sip his champagne before kissing me and I said you're doing it wrong! I could tell you about how I farted in front of Justin for the first time, or how a portion of our NYE party conversations revolved around to/not to fart in front of your significant other. And how we watched The Grey and it was really odd and also, Liam Neeson is rad and Dermot Mulroney looks good in hipster glasses.

But I don't feel like it.

It's not that I don't like 2013. It's that I don't feel like doing this thing right now. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week.

My irrational anxiety has been through the roof lately. Irrational meaning I sit at my desk and experience the WORST heart palpitations you can imagine for no significant reason at all. And then I get all bent out of shape because there is no reason for it and then I just spiral. And then I go home and lay on the couch and make Justin rub my head until it all passes.

So for now I would like to not force myself to write, and wait for it to come to me. I would like to get my anxiety under control. And I would like to never accidentally fart in front of Justin again. Key word: accidentally.