State of the Insomniac: DMV Edition

The DMV is a mini world boss with a lot of hit points and I don’t like authority figures.

*flop* Who has two thumbs, social anxiety, an annoying mistrust of authority figures, severely under-diagnosed neroatypicality, and a sudden need to go to the DMV because their driver’s license apparently expired last week?

*points thumbs at self* This guy.

It started on Friday when I tried to pull fifty bucks out of the joint savings account I share with my mother. It’s my money, from selling my old place, which is a stress inducing tale I’ll tell some day if you buy me some whiskey and have a couple of hours to burn. Anyway, I found some boots on a not entirely sketchy Facebook buy/sell group that could work for costuming. So I went to the bank I’d really rather never give my money to but is the most convenient to use (*sigh*), waited in line, handed over my license, filled out the paperwork to withdraw money, literally everything up to the ‘I’ve credited the account here is your money thanks for doing business with us’, and…

‘Do you have another form of ID? Your license expired two days ago.’

Anxiety level: 5

Oops. Turns out your license turns into a fucking rotted pumpkin at midnight after your birthday. Who knew? The lady behind the counter, apparently, only she waited until the end of the process before telling me about it. You couldn’t have led off with that? Come on.

So I left, went to the grocery store, bought some potato salad, got cash, drove to this lady’s house, bought a pair of brand new maybe not stolen boots but how would I know, and went about my weekend, with ambient anxiety level of 2 every time I got in the car.

Did I mention my mistrust of authority figures? Gosh, I just love getting pulled over! Thankfully, that never happened, but I got to drive around all weekend technically illegally because the state of Montana is a butt.

I’m a procrastinator. If anyone ever got around to making a club for procrastinators (see what I did there gosh I’m hilarious) I’d be voted in as a board member. I’ve been in Arizona about eleven months and still hadn’t updated anything. Well, good thing I was thinking about finally getting an updated license.

My mother, the eternal packrat of useful things, still has my original birth certificate. Like, the first one she ever got. She’s a sentimental old broad, it’s in with a bunch of other shit like my GED, certificates for various achievements, immunization records (vaccinate your effin kids, folks), and some goofy shit seven year old kids who are visiting their father mail to their mother.

What were we talking about? Oh, right. The DMV. Attention span of a fruit fly.

I went in this morning. I wanted to get a number, but I guess in Arizona you have to wait in line to do that. I don’t get it, but okay. I handed over the expired license, TOTALLY PRETENDING I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT IT, and the dude barely mentioned it. Ha ha oops wow that’s good I came by ha ha play it cool, idiot.

Anxiety level: 3

Got my mug shot taken, filled out some paperwork, waited. Sometimes it’s hard not to stim. I didn’t bring my fidget thingy and rocking or flapping my hands on a government office really doesn’t seem like a great thing to do, so I played The Good Neurotypical and sat still. Ugh.

Got my number called, sat down, handed over all my shit, the lady at the desk commented about the license expiration, my anxiety level creeped up, and I did some active grounding. Both feet on the floor, uncrossed, energy out through the right foot and energy in through the left. Out with the anxiety and let the earth absorb and transform it, draw in clean energy. Waiting sucks when they’re poking at computers and checking filed and paperwork and all you can do is just sit there and try not to snark.

Next thing I know, I’m down $25 (okay, more like $28 because Uncle Sam is a dick) and I have a crappy temp license until the real one shows up in a couple weeks. I got out before they changed their minds and drove straight to the quilt store because surviving an encounter with the DMV Miniboss deserves a reward and it’s too early for booze.

Bought me a neat pattern for a 2′ wall hanging type thing, accent and backing fabric. I already had 2.5″ mini charm packs for the pattern itself. Drove home, showed my mom the goods, fondled fabric squares, ate some pizza, and generally celebrated surviving going to the DMV without losing my marbles.

The weekly State of the Insomniac: Mother’s Day Edition

I’ve been having mild success with taking melatonin to help me sleep. I’m writing this post at 4am so you’d be correct in guessing I forgot to take it. I’m gonna talk about my pathetic attempts to show my mom how much I appreciate her.

I bought some melatonin capsules a while back and didn’t have much success with them because I just kept forgetting to take one at a reasonable time.  Thinking ‘Wow, I should take some melatonin’ doesn’t really help when you have to be awake in four hours.  Finally I got smart and set an alarm on my phone.  Every night, at midnight, take the damn melatonin and go back to whatever your stupid Sims 3 family has been doing (like ignoring the sink spraying water all over the kitchen to go play in a puddle outside).

And well, since I’m writing this post at four in the morning, you’d be correct in assuming that I forgot to take it tonight.  Yeah yeah, phone, lemme just snooze the alarm for a sec — oops, I hit dismiss instead, that’s fine, I’ll take it right after I…  Yeah, nope.  Good job, dumbass.

I live with my mother.  She’s got health fuckery that worries me and I’ve been living with her as a caregiver.  She lets me live in her house and take hot showers and complain about the oven-like atmosphere that comes with living in a desert, and in return I schlep her around (in her car, which she can no longer drive herself) to doctors appointments and quilt stores and the Free Wifi Place AKA Starbucks.  She does a lot for me and don’t think that I’m not incredibly grateful for that.  I’m uncomfortable when people tell me how ‘brave’ or ‘good’ I am for helping her out.  It’s something a decent human being should do, especially in my circumstance of having needed a place to live anyway.  I live in fear of the day I realize I can’t take care of her alone anymore and we have to hire someone to come in every day and help her, and the idea of her in a nursing home — even a good one — makes me sick.

Nobody’s been stupid enough to suggest that I put her in a home so I can go live my life.  The internet doesn’t count, I can laugh those idiots away.  I mean that nobody’s said it to my face.  If they’re strangers I can make a snappy comment about their family.  If they’re friends I’ll probably chuckle because they’re saying it as a form of mockery, and if they’re actually serious I’ll slap the shit out of them and lose their contact info faster than you thought a human could unlock a phone.  Point is, I’ve received nothing but support from my very sparse Venn diagram of social circles.  I’ve curated it pretty carefully, so I’m not surprised.  That doesn’t stop me from worrying about what people think of me, because that’s just how anxiety works.

My mom’s included in that worrying.  Every time she buys dinner, every cut of fabric I add of my own at the quilt store, every time I drive her car to the gaming store, I wonder Does she know that I can’t truly put into word or deed how grateful I am?

When my dad was still around, I woke up one Father’s Day morning (I lived with him) and announced to him that I was spending the whole day with him.  We did what he wanted, all day, no reasonable request denied.

Enter Mother’s Day this year.  I did much the same.  She said she wanted to get coffee and we went.  While sponging that sweet free wifi I hit up Google maps and found out the nearby quilt store was open on sunday.  ‘So, here’s the deal.  We can go to the thing right now, but it won’t be your favorite.  Or we can go to your favorite tomorrow or something, but then it won’t be Mother’s Day.’  She gave me a funny look because she didn’t quite understand.  I repeated it as we left the parking lot.  She suddenly snickered and mumbled something, catching on. She wanted to go today.

Well, it’s her day so all right.  To the quilt store, where I told her she could get whatever she wanted (uh, within reason — I don’t have the money for a serger or a medium arm, sorry mom) and she wasn’t allowed to fuss about the price.  She picked out some stuff, insisted on paying for a ruler I was fully prepared to buy myself because I wanted it too, and chatted with the employee that she knows.  I got some stuff for myself and off we went.  She wanted to go to Target.

I guess not every store has Pride merch.  I was disappointed.  I wanted those gender pronoun pins.  She wanted some color catcher sheets so she could wash some fabric, and a toy on a stick for the cats.  I put the day on pause because my uterus decided it wanted to murder me, and went home.  Mom could use the rest anyway.

After that, we wandered around Best Buy to rubberneck at a new laptop for her. Didn’t buy one, I want to make sure she gets something that’s mildly balanced and not a flashy piece of crap. She doesn’t need any touchscreen fuckery or a fancy case.  We went to the Applebees in the same parking lot and stuffed face with steak and cheeseburgers and went back home.  She fondled fabric and watched HGTV, I wasted time on Facebook and reddit.  The cats ignored the thing on a stick, because of course they don’t want to play with it right now.

This weekend has been pretty epic.  We didn’t fight, we went to the Music of John Williams concert and freaked out when Vader showed up, and today was a huge success.  I forgot to take her to see Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 again, but I can fix that soon enough.  We’ll go back to our usual routines later where our schedules don’t mesh quite right, get cranky with each other about stupid shit, watch Stephen Colbert and laugh hysterically, only get half the things done we meant to this week, and hopefully don’t set foot in a restaurant because we need to cook the food we already have here.  I’ve got a list of shit we (and I) need to do on my phone so we might even end the week ahead.

Not everybody has a great relationship with their mom.  And that’s completely understandable, I’ve met some people’s moms and a couple are pretty … yeah.  I tell people I won the Parent Lottery with mine because in my opinion, I wouldn’t trade them for anything less than total world domination with zero chance of ever being overthrown.  Hey, everyone’s got a price.

Now let’s see if I can get me some sleep.  The girls have a vet appointment this afternoon and won’t that be a fun ride in the car…