so, as it turns out, laughing makes me feel good.

O___O

i think i should arrange it so that i laugh, often.  because feeling good beats the hell out of feeling bad.  go figure.

more reasons why my mom is cool:

meg:  "this guy came into the hospital and his balls were *this big*!"
me:  "ew."
meg:  "seriously!  they had to put them in a ball-sling and then prop them up on a pillow on his lap!"
(mom walks in the room)
me:  "we were just discussing medical stuff..."
mom:  (surreptitious grin) "all i heard was something about big balls."

my brother in law is awesome.  actually, my sister got kind of cool in her own way, though it took, uh, like twenty years.  but, damn, she married good.  my brother in law and i would disagree on about a trillion things, the largest being in the categories of religion and politics, (ho-hum, what else is new?) but, fuck, the man is FUNNY.  i mean, he makes me laugh my ass off.  it's not the most highbrow humor in the world...usually it's a combination of sarcasm and impersonations...but, you know, there's a place for that kind of funny. 

there is a chinese woman who works as a sort of waitress at this local chinese food joint.  she is about four hundred years old, round and fat like rice ball, and has a mole the size of new jersey on her chin.  that has a hair growing out of it.  and, by "hair", i mean, a medusan, proteinous thing about the length of her middle finger and the breadth of HORROR itsownself. 

anyway, he does this impression of her that is just a fucking riot, twirling this epic mole hair and mumbling incoherently in a high-pitched and disturbingly detached voice, occasionally throwing in the words "pepsi" and "noodle" just to keep your head from exploding.

my sister and i both have been known to LITERALLY piss ourselves laughing (we're very...exuberant laughers...it's okay, we can get away with it cuz we iz kyoot.)

i can only imagine how many times she must have to launder panties living with that man.

i am only able to stay distracted, (and not totally, at that,) for about an hour at a time.  then the anxiety hits again.  the nausea.  you have no idea how many times i've barfed in the last few days.  my throat is raw.  i don't even know what i'm anxious *about*.  i'm just kind of a mess.  i keep having this recurring urge to beat myself unconscious.  not to hurt myself, no interest in that, really, but just to BE unconscious.

(yeah, if you're as tired of reading about a fucked up girl as i am tired of being one, then feel free to read someone else's blog.)

our mommas raised us right.  that's what i like to say. 

your mom isn't where she used to be, as you and i remember.  it's hard to talk about things and people being "here" or "there" when you *believe* in quantum physics, but, for simplicity's sake, your mom isn't here anymore.

today i am celebrating Mother's Day.  i am thinking about both our moms.  i am remembering how you said, when you were a kid, your mom painted the front door one time to make it pretty.  i am remembering  a lot of things.

the  single greatest thing my mother has imparted to me is the capacity for forgiveness.  my mother has forgiven me every mistake i've made.  she has loved me through all my fuckups.  she has shown me that compassion and forgiveness are greater tools with which to lead than any other.  when i think of my mother, i think of the time she laid down on my bed, in one of my darkest hours, and put her arm around me and told me she loved me.  when i couldn't even love myself.  because of my mother, i am compelled to forgive.

in you i have a friend.  you have never wronged me.  you have never turned your back.  you have never betrayed me.

i think the word "friend" gets thrown around at least as much as the words "love" and "hate". 

you are my friend.  you would defend me against injustice and do it eloquently, to boot. 

you will untangle my fishing line from the weeds, restring it, rebait it, help me cast it out again.  you will sit with me in the sunshine with a bottle of beer, each, and know that we don't have to talk about anything at all. 

i have called people "friend" who were not deserving of the title.  you are.

you ever watch, on the discovery channel or animal planet or national geographic, how a group of, like, fire ants can skeletonize, like, some other much larger animal in, like, a matter of, i dunno, like, minutes?

okay. 

so, #1, Some Other Much Larger Animal = truth, ants = little, vicious yet highly organized lies

and, #2, ants are fucking creepy.  seriously.  they creep me the hell out. 

btw...i did NOT know this...

so, i am kind of thinking i want to get my lower lip pierced but i'm a little worried because i really enjoy giving head and i'm wondering if the piercings will, uh, interfere.

i also kind of want to do my septum.  i think it's hot as fuck.  if the lip thing doesn't work out, i may go for the labret. 

and, if all else fails, (or succeeds, actually, either way...) an industrial bar on both ears.  fuck yes.

THANK YOU TO PUT NEEDLES THROUGH MY FLESH!

"To be a skillful warrior, you must first make yourself invincible." 
~Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  it would seem i have my work cut out for me, then.

GOING DOWN
ani difranco

you can't get through it
you can't get over it
you can't get around

just like in a dream
you'll open your mouth to scream
and you won't make a sound

you can't believe your eyes
you can't believe your ears
you can't believe your friends
you can't believe you're here

and you're not gonna get through it
so you are going down
 

i should have packed more slowly.  now everything is done and there's nothing left but to wait.  and five days is going to feel like a month without anything to distract me from my own head.

i, personally, would love to bask in the eternal sunshine of a spotless mind.  i wish i had no memories save where i put my car keys and how to drive a car. 

these days i purposely exhaust myself and then pop benadryl tablets as insurance against insomnia.  i sleep just to escape.  and i wake up with tears in my eyes and a heart so heavy it anchors me to the mattress.  an hour, sometimes two, will pass before i finally find the strength to get up. 

i'm beginning to see alcohol as an acceptable plan for dealing with the pain.  depression is too clinical a word for it.  this is despair.  i don't even know what it feels like to be genuinely happy.  not just for a few hours, but for years.  months.  even days at a time would be novel. 

i need help.