You’re so dumb. You are so dumb.

Two Fridays ago…well, not yesterday, but the Friday before Friday before yesterday…I was an in accident. Some dipshit wasn’t paying attention, cut over to my lane and plowed me right into the guardrail. There is so many fucked up things about this whole situation:

  1. When I saw the driver about to hit me, I started cutting into the breakdown lane, but he was having none of that, he just kept coming anyway, into the damn breakdown lane with me.
  2. Dude didn’t even slow down or apply his breaks as he was pushing me into the rail. I know this because I could see his taillights seeing how they were like 3 feet away from me.
  3. The guy was clearly fucking lost, and clearly fucking distracted with something (more on that in a moment).
  4. Dicksuck admitted to the police on the scene that he was in fact at fault. Until he changed his story.
  5. My Escape, my beautiful, innocent, always-good-to-me Escape, is totaled.

You can figure out what happened by 1. and 2. But if you didn’t, long story short, I was taking an exit ramp that has two lanes. I was in the left, he was in the right. He got over to the left to (what I figured) enter the highway. I got over to the right. No big deal. Until he decided to get back in the right lane WHEN I WAS ALMOST PARALLEL WITH HIM. Me moving to the breakdown lane did nothing, because the stupid fuck kept on coming over. So in addition to the driver’s side quarter panel being fucked (pictures below), there is a lovely scrape on the passenger side from the guardrail. (Irrelevant of course because of 5.)

When the cop arrived, he asked me first what happened. I told him pretty much what I just wrote up there, but a little longer. He walked about 100 – 150 yards to where the idiot cause of this whole thing was and asked him what happened. The cop then went back to his car, filled out the report, and came back to me with my driver’s license and registration.

“Here you go, sir,” he said, handing it back to me.

“Did he corroborate my story?” I asked the officer, immediately regretting using ‘corroborate’ because that just seems like I was making something up.

“Yes sir. He will be listed at fault for the accident.”

Good, I thought. At least I didn’t have to worry about fighting that. Until Monday when my insurance company called and informed me that the douche changed his tune and was now saying I rear-ended him. The fuck?

Rather than go into every detail, both my insurance rep and his insurance rep thought that his claim was ridiculous. While his insurance rep didn’t out and out say it — he’s in a position after all — I could here the smile in his voice as I openly mocked the dick who hit me.

But, it gets better. My insurance agent told me that not only did it go down as not my fault because of all the evidence I had, they are also going to get my deductible back when it’s determined it’s his fault and I’m probably going to get my lost work wages too.

Also, as a bonus, today I went and picked up the police report. Not only was the shitstain charged at fault for the accident; not only was dickface issued a ticket for the accident; but it’s also noted in the report that the asshole was distracted by the GPS when the accident happened.

Yeah, you piece of fucking shit. Good luck on not being found at fault here. Cunt.

On the bright side, I got double what I expected the value to be for my Escape, and I got a brand new one with better (and more) options than my baby, and the payments are slightly less than what I was paying. Yes, I absolutely would prefer not to have payments, and I was SO looking forward to being payment free, but I’m in a fortunate position where this won’t hurt me financially. It just really sucks.

“Don’t worry, no one will ever hurt you again,” was what I whispered to my truck after I cleaned it out for the last time. I’m going to fucking miss that SUV.

It’s about control.

As mentioned in my prior post, I legit have OCD (and ADD too, which kind of helps offset the OCD at times, but that’s a story for another time). I can make an educated guess and say OCD affects different people in different ways (like some may be big in keeping a house immaculate — I wish I had that problem — where others might have the counting issue. That’s one of my “things”. I’m a counter on some things. For example, when leaving the house, I count the stove knobs in sets. The knobs on my stove go as follows:

KNOB | KNOB | KNOB | CLOCK | KNOB | KNOB | KNOB

Whenever I leave the house, I do two sets of three and one set of one. So, that first set of knobs to the left of the clock get verified three times (from left to right) that they are off, then the knobs to the right of the clock get verified three times (from left to right) that they are off, then the entire row gets verified once that they are off. If you were in my head, you would hear:Off, off, off. Off, off, off. Off, off, off. Pause, to the next grouping. Off, off, off. Off, off, off. Off, off, off. Pause, back to the beginning. Off, off, off, off, off, off.

If I’m stressed out, I go through that process more than once. And that’s just the stove. Verifying the door is locked is something else entirely. And the lights are off. This is just leaving to go to work. Don’t get me started on going somewhere on vacation.

Anyway, that’s an example of how OCD affects me. But not what I wanted to write about. I can deal with that counting horseshit (which, by the way, I do so the house doesn’t burn down or getting broken into while I’m away…I know, I know), it’s control I must have at all times is what gets to me.

For example, my neighborhood literally only has two streets. The street you drive in and out of, and a side street. Well the dipshit that designed the neighborhood named them the same, except calling one DRIVE and one COURT. Oh, AND KEPT THE SAME FUCKING NUMBERS. Meaning, in my small ass neighborhood, there is a 123 Sandlewood Drive and 123 Sandlewood Court.  What makes it much, much worse, is we have a mail carrier that is retarded. And to add to that, the fuckers that live on Court are lazy pieces of shit. When I get their mail (which is often), I tend to run it down to them because, you know, it’s the right thing to do. The lazy cunt that lives at Court? When she gets my mail, she just puts on the envelope, “Not at this address” and puts it back in the box. I cannot express my rage on both my shit carrier and the cunt at Court. (You may ask why I still run it down to her house, it’s because her son gets boxes from Amazon to me too, and I do it for him because I know he runs stuff up to me; I’ve seen him do it. It’s his mom that’s lazy garbage.)

Anyway, this is the type of thing that kills me because I tend to get a lot of anxiety anyway when I don’t have control over something that I want control over, but this is even worse because I can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Let’s face it, we all know if I complain, I can just kiss my mail goodbye. If this shit that delivers my mail doesn’t give one shit enough TO LOOK AT THE FUCKING ADDRESS SHE’S DELIVERING TOO, there is no doubt in my mind that she will just toss my mail all together if I make a complaint. It doesn’t help that I don’t believe for one second any complaint I make to the Post Office will be anonymous. If her boss likes her, they will immediately tell her who complained. Fuck that.

It’s the same at work. Right now there is an issue going on that is getting dumped on our group to fix as it arises, but nobody is taking ownership of the overall issue, and I just feel like screaming at everyone until something is fixed. And instead of lighting fires under people, we’re getting a runaround on what we should be doing to document this bullshit. I just feel like screaming. Right now the fucking house is on fire, and people are asking our team why we haven’t decided on the brand of batteries to put in the new smoke detectors. THE FUCKING HOUSE IS ON FIRE RIGHT NOW, HOW ABOUT WE PUT THIS FUCKING THING OUT AND THEN WORRY ABOUT THE BATTERIES FOR FUCK’S SAKE. (To be fair, though, I finally forced the issue, a meeting was held, and my manager is now effectively pissed off enough to go crack some skulls. I don’t think he realized the scope of the problem, but once he did, he’s getting everyone involved. But fuck, this is why I can never handle management. The politics of it all is fucking retarded.)

If anyone has any ideas on what to do with my shit carrier while remaining truly anonymous, throw them at me. Apparently, getting the name of the streets changed or renumbered is out of the question. Fucking politics, man.

Ugh. So that happened.

So I lost a few months of posts (which probably totals to TWO OR THREE) because my site was hacked. Literally hacked. Not hacked like some dipshit calls their Facebook or Twitter account hacked because they didn’t log out and their friends or kids came in behind them and posted as them, but hacked as in some fucking cunts put a redirect on my page to a casino site. (Side note, I’m so please my other site doesn’t support these shit casino sites, although we could make plenty of money doing so.)

Anyway, I’m hopefully all set up. I have to hunt for a new theme now because I’m thinking that was part of the way they got in. The theme I was using was so damn old it hadn’t been updated in forever. Lucky for me, I only lost a few posts because I have autobackup setup.

Thank god for backups.

This is how my day went.

I love a lot of things about my job, but one of the things that stands out is the ability to work from home on occasion. I don’t do it a lot, but when there are times I have an appointment that can’t be made over the weekend, I have the ability to do it during the week without using any of my personal time. Like yesterday.

Yesterday was supposed to be a good day. I was originally working from home for two reasons. The first is my HOA meeting was that night and I’m on the board (if I’m going to hate something tremendously, I might as well be part of it). The second was I planned on taking my truck in to get the AC fixed. The AC has not worked since it was about 200 miles out of warranty (Fuck me, right?), and they’ve “fixed” it a few times, but the problem has been it’s been so cool as of late, it did feel like the AC was working…until a hot day came. So, finally, the guy at Ford did a solid and said, “Look, wait until a week when it’s hot, bring it in, and I’ll give you a loaner car for the day.” This was that week.

I called him on Wednesday, told him I’d be bringing it in on Thursday and he said fine, ask for Bob. Things were in place.

Oh, and side note, Tuesday night my AC in my house went out. So I added a third appointment to Thursday. I bet you can see where this is going.

So, I get up early on Thursday, head to the dealership and talk to Bob. I explain the problem and I tell him I was getting a loaner. Bob goes off somewhere, comes back, fiddles on the computer, moves some papers around; I’m getting a bad feeling. “Sir, we don’t have a rental car for you.”

“What do you mean? I called yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, no one set it up.”

I’m pissed. But I don’t erupt on Bob, I just say fuck it, I’ll come back next week. This should have been handled. Now I have yet another week without AC in my car.

Since it was still early, I decided to get my hair cut but driving by, the place didn’t open for another hour. Fuck. Then I figured I’d go grab a cup of coffee from my favorite coffee store. The line was literally from the counter to the door. FUCK.

At least the beginning of this shit day (somewhat) prepared me for the worst news of all. Yeah, the home AC is toast as well. I kinda expected that anyway, the unit is about 20 years old, but it was the shit icing on a shit cake. The shit cherry on top was the fact that the guy told me it would be a couple weeks before they could get it replaced because they are booked up. (It only turns out to be a week and a half, so I’ll live).

Fuck that Thursday.

It’s not insomnia if you aren’t hallucinating.

I’ve always had trouble getting a good night’s sleep because of my snoring. But for the past month, it’s gotten far, far worse, where I’ve been waking up about every hour for no reason. I mean, if I had to pee each time I woke up, I’d be worried (that would be fat boy diabetes), but I’m just waking up. As if my body is saying, “HI! Just waking you up for no fucking reason!”

I dick around for 5 or 10 minutes, then go back to sleep, only to wake up again in an hour. So, after all has said and done, I may have gotten three hours a night of sleep a night since this started. Mind you, these aren’t consecutive hours; they’re just three house. Do you know what this does to a person? Let me fucking tell you (in no particular order).

Any reflexes you might have thought you had, well kiss them goodbye. I normally keep a reasonable distance between myself and the vehicle in front of me when driving. I’ve doubled that in the past month. My reflexes have been sloooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww.

You know the true meaning of insomnia. Late at night on Facebook, without fail, you’ll see at least one post from your friend’s saying they have insomnia. They don’t. They just can’t sleep that night. When you can’t sleep 30 days in a row, you are on an entirely different level. I’m not even judging those folks who are complaining about their “insomnia” because I used to do the same. God, those were the days.

You fall asleep randomly and without realizing it. You know how when you are super tired and you are driving and you say to yourself, “I can shut my eyes for five seconds; I’ll be fine”. And you KNOW that’s crazy. It’s stupid and dangerous and insane, and you know that while you are thinking it. However, when you haven’t had any sort of “night’s sleep” in a month, you don’t get the luxury of thinking you can close your eyes safely for X amount of time. It just happens on its own, and its fucking terrifying. Fortunately, that has only happened twice, and only for a matter of seconds, but it’s no less scary. I now have caffeine pills in my car.

Caffeine pills aren’t all that. But they help somewhat.

Talking becomes a chore. You are so exhausted, forming simple sentences requires a lot of thought. And when that thought is finally ready to become words, those words can be so slurred, people ask if you are drunk. (Yes, this happened to me. A co-worker jokingly said it, but I sounded like I was.)

Your eyes droop. I had no idea this was going on until a co-worker pointed it out.

You lightly hallucinate. That was the moment I knew shit was going bad, when I started seeing things that weren’t there. I’m not talking about shadow people or anything like that. Mostly it’s weird things, like seeing a cup when it’s not really there. This has happened more than once; I’ll reach down for a cup to get a drink that I know is there because I see it out of the corner of my eye (we’ll just ignore that I never got a drink in the first place). It’s only when my fingers grasp at nothing do I realize that that mind was being a dick and was never really there.

My co-workers notice how fucked up I’ve been lately, and demanded I get a sleep study. Keila, my BBFF acted like I was causing a risk to her while she was on the road at the same time as me, but we all know it’s because she cares.

I got my sleep study consultation last week, now I’m just waiting for the insurance company to approve the actual study. I really don’t want for this to be a battle, but I’m prepared for a fight if need be. All I want at this point is 8 hours of blissful sleep, but I’ll settle for 6.