Meet Angie, the rambly gimp:

This is my first post in my brand new blog.

I warn you now: I'm not actually funny. I mean, I find me funny, and some of my friends have somehow been caught in the same mental disease that makes me seem funny, but I'm not one of those amazing humor bloggers who can turn the tales of their everyday crap into entertainment.

But, maybe I could be?

It also just really depends on your sense of humor. We'll see.

Today, I found myself sitting here, wanting to talk to someone but not wanting to bug anyone. You see, I'm disabled. I have a rare, genetic condition that is degenerative and primarily affects my joints and connective tissue. So, compared to the average woman my age, I have a lot more time on my hands (which are displeased with this new "typing shit" plan and hurting like a bitch at present), but my physical therapist says to set a timer and stick to it.  I’m not allowed to do more than 10-15 minutes of writing at a time.  In theory, this will build up strength and endurance in my hands, arms, and back (bet you didn’t realize how much of your body you used to type). 

So, I'll write, stop writing, come back, and hope I have some idea what the fuck I was talking about. (I guess I should also warn you: I curse like a sailor, but I actually have a fucking meritorious vocabulary, so that makes it okay. You see what I did there? I used a big, slightly uncommon word to prove my point. Man, I am just so fucking funny.) 

So, yeah, I'm gimpy as hell, and I have extra time and my therapist says I should journal. If I ever make money doing this, I could justify getting a fancy dictation program. That seems like a bit of a pipe dream. And now—DING!—I have to take a break.

Back.  But, the problem with writing like this while living an insanely unstable life is that rather than taking a 30 minute break, it has now been like 3 hours and I've done many things, and I’m basically a new person, really. Or at least a more broken person. A broken person waiting for her meds to kick in.

The idea that sparked wanting to write this blog is that not only am I supposed to journal, but I’m a talkative mofo with lots of free time, and so I think I may I tend to overwhelm my friends with communication. Or, I worry that I do. Maybe they like it. Most of them say they like it. This is really just becoming stream of consciousness. Hmmm. Structure... right.

Anyhoodle, in addition to those reasons, my life is in flux in a way that it has never been before, certainly not since graduating high school and going to college. But at that age, I was supposed to be in flux. It also helped that I already had a plan—a plan that I ended up changing, drastically—but a plan, dammit. However, that is another story for another post.  Look, there’s a plan. Yay!

Right now? Sorta just going moment to moment. I'm going through a separation, and I'm basically being kicked out of the house that I rent from my parents. (To be fair, they have a very different view of what they are doing—they think they are ceasing to enable me and, thus, helping me.  I think they are kicking me while I’m down.) My only income comes from disability, and I refuse to lose my pets in addition to every other thing in my life (which makes moving even harder). My entire world has shifted in less than 2 months and is only going to continue to get even more crazy before it gets better. Hence, the chronicling.

Adding to that some additional crazy, but in a good way, one of my best friends, for basically half my life at this point, is moving in with me temporarily. With her two kids! See? Crazy. But! I get to have my best friend here. And I already have one of my other best friends living in my basement, keeping me from losing my mind. So, I will be well loved at the very least.

Ok, I think that is good as an intro post. I can't really tell anymore when I'm just rambling. Part of that is being a talkative mofo (*see above), but another part is that for the past 2 years, I have been "managing" my pain with narcotics. The prescription started out at a low dose, taken infrequently, but it ended up becoming something I was taking a lot of just to get through the pain each day. On doctor’s orders, of course. And, it being a short-acting narcotic, it didn't really help much. Basically, it gave me a little window of less pain and extra energy, during which I would try to get as much done around my house as possible. However, at the same time, it seems to have had deeper and farther-reaching effects on my personality and the way that I interact with the world than I ever imagined it could. It also killed my damn memory, which wasn't super keen to start.

So, yeah, that's me. I should also warn you that, like many of the bloggers out there, I battle depression and anxiety issues—I just doubt that I have the ability to be as funny as some of my personal heroes—Allie Brosh of hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com or Jenny Lawson of thebloggess.com for instance—who manage to turn the traumas in their lives into relatable, hilarious, lovable stories. I think my crazy may just sound crazy. But maybe that's your thing? 

I suppose, just like everything else in my life at present, we’ll have to wait and see.