My bedside table is driving me crazy. It used to be nice and neat. Like the rest of my life. Then I got divorced and lost my mind.
My bedside table today…
I was looking at it earlier today, scratching my head, and trying to determine what I could put away. But the problem is that I can’t really put any of it away. I use all of that crap daily. That is the stuff that I didn’t seem to need at my fingertips all the time before I got divorced.
Or old. Or old and divorced….
cough drops because I have a cough.
remote because the remote is always on my side of the bed now
blue container containing my bite guard for TMJ ( thanks, divorce stress)
medicine bottle – Xanax. (enough said)
medicine bottle – Zoloft. (see above)
medicine bottle – Bactrim (antibiotics for occasional sexy times)
Tylenol PM – for mind fuckery at 2 a.m.
reading glasses because I’m old and like to read
generic Vaseline (for my poor, chapped, unkissed lips)
pot of slime (not mine. Merlot!! That actually can be moved)
piles of unpaid bills
Zyploc containing chocolate – for mind fuckery at 2 a.m.
jug of Ibuprofen, nearly empty
child made heart shaped frame with pic of said child
instructions for getting into school website to check grades (2 am. always)
calculator (for when I have the nerve to open the stack of bills)
Peace notepad (used for scribbling things I remember that I didn’t do at 2 a.m.)
nail polish (of basically the same shade, wtf?)
jug of pens
bottle of vitamins (determined I needed at 2 am. and never use but have good intentions)
Creamy Petroleum Jelly for my dry patchy skin
What has happened to me?
I am a neat person. I like things orderly. Not like that crap up there. I feel like the jumble in my brain since my divorce has tumbled out and fallen all over my bedside table.
Srsly there are 4 bottles up there to chill my ass out at night and one contraption I have to wear in my mouth because I’m so stressed out I grind my teeth.
Srsly. Tis fuckery for sure. I blame Stanley.
As a matter of fact, that looks like a mess Stanley would make, Sir Stanley Mess-A-Lot. Not me. Not I. Not Moi. He has even accused me of being OCD about cleanliness and God knows I was raised to believe cleanliness is next to Godliness. My mom told me stories this week of my Great Aunt Nina (they called her Niner, for real) and how my Great Aunts Gertie and Bertie (yes, really) made fun of Aunt Niner for being such a pig. Aunt Niner wasn’t a blood relation, see?
Bless her heart. Cleanliness is in my blood.
She said, “You could have eaten off of Gertie’s and Bertie’s floors.”
They would horrified if they could see my beside table.
I keep finding myself looking at interior design pics of neat bedrooms and bedside tables. I save them all to my computer. I am hoarding pics like this actually. Possibly I need help. (But I mean who doesn’t need a copy of Good Meat on their bedside table?)
also this… yes, no sign of head fuckery here.
I guess, at the end of the day, the only way to manage the jumble in my head is to let some of it out. I’m hoping that when the crap in my head isn’t ‘so loud’ that I can hold it all in there and take my bedside table out of the hell it is currently residing in.
Right now though, it is upstairs screaming for help.