Sunday, April 29, 2012

I'm literally dying...

I just spent an hour Googling “Welts from Humira.” That’s the shot I have to take, now that I’ve been diagnosed with my weirdo auto-immune disorder. I’m not quite sure what the fuck is happening around here but I’m having a hard time keeping up. All of a sudden I was in the hospital, then I was receiving a slew of gifts and flowers, then everyone I ever met was calling me, then my dad flew to L.A., then I was diagnosed, then I was released, then I was on disability, then my mom flew to L.A., then everyone was gone and I was left with some semblance of a life I had created pre-hospital and it is this life I’ve been floundering in ever since.

I like to drink Budweiser in the back of pick-up trucks, yet I haven’t had a drink in several years. I grew up in the gritty Midwest yet I seem to reside in sunny California. I work at a law firm while facing the hopeless plight of an actress. All this while jamming a needle into my abdomen every two weeks. I’m gonna be honest, it’s a little overwhelming and it’s forcing me to ask myself the big questions like, “Hey, why not drink alcohol? It’s delicious.” or “Who gives a shit about the law? Aren’t you supposed to be a waiter or something?” To be honest, I think I may be having a midlife crisis. I wish I had a family to leave. I’m not sure how a single woman in Los Angeles burns the house down in a way that conveys crisis mode but I’ve got a few ideas.

Option 1: I move to Kentucky and work at a bourbon distillery. This strikes me as very dramatic. For starters it would include drinking alcohol again and there’s nothing more dramatic than that. It would also have me living in some rural country town which would be shocking in itself as I’ve never lived farther than 30 miles away from a metropolitan area. The downside is I would probably get pregnant cause last I checked, all anyone in the bible belt does is drink whiskey and get knocked up. Oh and they go to church and judge gays…and single white women trying to make it big in Los Angeles…which I guess would make me a hypocrite…although technically I would have left that life for beautiful Paducah, KY. Ugh…fuck it. I hate Kentucky. Get me outta here.

Option 2: I become vegan. This goes against everything I stand for and would likely shock all my friends and family. The key here is that I wouldn’t just become vegan, I would be real high and mighty about it. Like I would even stop smoking and then tell people how bad it is for you and I’d cough if I came in contact with smoke. Wait…can vegans not smoke? This is bullshit.

Option 3: I move in with someone on Craigslist. There is nothing creepier than this prospect although I’m not sure it screams “midlife crisis.” It more so screams “barista” or “struggling artist.” And I’m a struggling artist and everything but not the kind that owns purple, skinny jeans and smokes cloves. I’m struggling in the way that my body is breaking down and my Burberry bag is starting to fray. OMG, I hate this. Poor people are terrible.

Option 4: I could meet someone, trick him into marrying me, get pregnant, wait for the child to be at an age where I can emotionally scar it, and then run away with a yoga instructor. This seems to be the most common midlife crisis, however, it seems slightly harder than veganism and while being vegan doesn’t strike me as all that fun at least I won’t have to carry a fetus.

The problem here is that I’ve absolutely lost my grip on normalcy and I may be in the middle of a breakdown. I carried a needle in my purse to work today and that’s not exactly where I expected to be by the age of 31. I have a whole new host of problems like, “Why is there a huge welt on my stomach after injecting myself with a needle?” and “When’s the next time I have to get my blood drawn?” I’m dying to go back to, “How come I can’t fit into pants?” and “Why is my agent ignoring me?” It’s all completely intolerable. The point here is don’t ever get sick. And certainly don’t ever stay in the hospital for an extended period of time. And whatever you do, don’t get to a point in your life where you’re forced to inject yourself with a needle. And for God’s sake don’t be a vegan. From what I understand, they’re not allowed to smoke cigarettes.


  1. Dear Allison.

    I am a life coach. Nevermind the fact that my own life is in shambles, or that I'm posting this comment on my iPhone from a hole in the wall bar, or that I just blew a guy in the bathroom, or that my crystal meth cooking ex boyfriend is probably waiting for me in my single room filthy apartment that sits a top a pawn shop. I know what I'm doing with your life. I think you have all the pieces of the puzzle, but you just haven't put them together yet. So here is my "suggestion." Become vegan, move to KY (begin judging gays on the way with a bible in your lap) get the job at the brewery, get knocked up, find a yoga instructor pronto, then leave your family. After the emotional scarring of course. Enyhew....that's what I would do. That'll be $150.

  2. Hey, I've been vegan before, a vegetarian most of my life and I am an avid smoker, and I mean avid! And I have a taste for hypodermics like you wouldn't believe-so stop with the excuses! I will gladly shoot you up in the stomach if you can't stomach it, lemme know.
    Based on the clues I have given you, do you know who this is? Hint: south side!