It’s that time of year where the expectations shoot through the roof.
What do I mean – other than the usual …’buy me’, ‘try me’ thing?
Pts(d) has a few quirks to it. They aren’t excuses or slight difficulties; they are what make the diagnosis PTS fucking D.
Breaking it down for the simple-tons:
Theres the “P” for ‘Post’ … meaning: Past or after.
Theres the “T” for ‘Traumatic’ … meaning: so mind fucking, body bending, make and shake You fuckery that it completely fucks over your mind, body and soul.
Theres the “S” for ‘Stress’ … meaning: weight … big old weight on the body and mind that doesn’t go away with a little R&R. It stays; sets up camp and feeds on your soul.
Theres the “D” for ‘Disorder’ … and although I beg to argue this tag, it means: It’s a mental illness because it messes with yah feng shui.
Yes these are the typical “Me” translations, but you get my drift ay.
So what this bitch does to the body and mind and soul, are managed and battled on the, D for daily!
And then comes these glorious times of year, where yah breathing and trying stay calm and go with the flow that you’ve been practicing all year round …
And then some cunt rings and wants you to “come to a family outing” in like an hour. And as you respectfully ask for details and say you’ll have a little think on it but will probably decline the invitation … there is that Tone that happens.
That heave in the voice of the caller … that Tone that says without saying it:
“Oh for fucks sake, its christmas, can’t you just stop being a self fish dramatic bitch and suck it up for the afternoon???”
Well, actually …. No. I. Can’t.
And this is just one of the merry little reasons christmas makes Me want to curl up in a ball and roll the fuck away.