It's Just You

Me: "Is it hot in here?"

Other person looks around, as if the temperature is written in mid air in glowing golden letters. Or to see if Lucifer might have opened up a pawn shop in the corner of the room. Or something. I never can figure out what they're looking for.

"Nope. It's just you."

There's nothing quite designed like that phrase to make one feel just a tiny bit on the freakish, outcast side.

It's just you.

It's not really been a great couple of days for me, and my mood is bouncing all over the place like a flamingo with a yo-yo. (Is it just me, or do those guys remind you of the instant aliens, just add water from Bugs Bunny? I know! I know! It's just me.)

Thursday night, cat has a seizure. Friday night, cat has a seizure. Saturday day, air conditioner springs leak. Maintenance looks at it, says "We'll fix it on Monday. Empty out this closet." Saturday night, husband has screaming nightmare. Sunday day. Water still dripping. Clean out the closet. Now I have all my picnic supplies, cookbooks, extra bookshelf, folding chairs and table scattered hither and yon in every available smidge of space left in this apartment. (No, they haven't come over to fix it yet. No, I'm not shocked.) Sunday afternoon, husband finally admits problem with his hair.

Why do they never tell you these things? Thomas has lost 60+ pounds in the last eight months. He's also lost about 10% of his hair. He's not bald, yet, but is decidedly - noticeably, one might say - thinning. The lovely pony-tail he had in the back, which he used to wrap a band around three times, now needs five twists to keep it in place. His hairline is receding.

Him: "Is it just me, or is my hairline thinning."

Me: "No, it's not just you. It definitely is." Of course it's not just him. I haven't wanted to mention it, but I'd noticed it a while ago. Men can be very... weird about things like that and I figured it wasn't a safe conversation topic. Mine's thinning, too, but it's not quite so noticeable. Probably because I had overly thick hair to start with, and now I have "normal". His stylist recommended some product, which I don't know if I hope works or not. I mean, I don't want him to lose his hair, but sheeeeyit, this stuff is not cheap.

Also Sunday afternoon, we went through clothing again. Thomas is down to wearing size 34-32 pants. So, the 40-32s had to go. They just were not doing attractive things to his rear end. When we finished going through his business shirts and pants, he has... 6 shirts and 3 pairs of pants that fit. This is... not enough. Again. So we have to go out and buy some new pants and new shirts, and my god, why didn't anyone warn us that losing weight was going to be so expensive?

I have... two dresses left. One sweater. That's it. Even the medium broomstick skirt I had in college doesn't fit anymore. (Yes, before you ask, this would be the one that I had a Junebug fly up and scare the living hell out of me.) After listening to me bitch for a while about how much better Thomas looks than I do, he made me try on my wedding gown. It doesn't fit. And my god, is it heavy! Did I really walk around all day wearing that thing? There's at least 5 extra inches in the thing.

"Still think you look fat?"

"Yes."

"Well, you're the only one who does."

It's just you.

Several years ago, when I was going to a psychiatrist on a regular basis, I was diagnosed as mild manic-depressive with situational anxiety.

Situational anxiety always sounds incredibly lame to me. Yes, if there's a situation, I'll be anxious about it. Aren't most people?

No, it's just you.

Essentially what it means is that I overreact. A normal situation can get me into serious depression. What a normal person would consider stressful, I can go into non-functional behavior patterns. (Being deep in debt, for instance, has been known to drive me to hiding bills in the trunk of my car. Because, obviously, if I don't pay the bills, I'll have money. Don't ask me, I don't understand it myself, and I live with it.)

The straw that broke the camel's back.

Breaking strain.

It's just you.

Despite that, I'm fairly flexible. Which is how my mood can go from so happy to seriously scraping the barrel is such a short amount of time. I used to be on medication to regulate my mood swings, but I took myself off it. I'd rather feel bad than feel nothing at all. Taking medication was like... walking around with grey sunglasses on, wrapped in a layer of cotton. Nothing really mattered.

Today... I'm mostly okay. A bit tired. Truly batty from water dripping in my apartment. But okay.

So, the only question is; is it hot in here, or is it just me?

It's just you.