I've been suffering a lot lately. And a lot of it has to do with how I am navigating the new world order with GoodBuddy. My friends tell me that he treats me bad. That he's cruel. That he's no good for me. And I can see how they see that.
I also know all of the reasons that he is dear to my heart are pretty powerful and making it hard to say goodbye.
My father informed me tonight that he called my therapist and informed her - and consequently me - that me continuing this relationship was like an abused woman returning to the scene of the crime.
GoodBuddy has given me the option of how I want to progress - if at all - with our relationship. And, yes, there are lots of things that anger me and lead me to believe I should tell him to lose my number. He demeaned our relationship. He passively agressively posted things to Facebook instead of dealing with them up front and to my face. But he's also been there for me when things have been really bleak. He's been a rock of support (granted not last week) when I needed him. We've shared laughter and love and intensity and insecurity. It hasn't always been perfect. But it's been real.
He told me the next move was mine to make. And I don't know what I want. I need to think and meditate and consider. What I don't need is for my family - who has never truly understood who or what I am - to tell me what to do.
Life is complicated. It's messy. Sometimes the rational decision isn't the right decision. Sometimes the decision you make with your heart is the worst thing you can do for your soul.
I honestly don't know what's going to happen from here. I want to post nasty things to his FaceBook page. I want to send mile long emails to him outlining everything I'm going through. But I also want it to just go back to being easy, being comfortable. To him making jokes and me getting them. To knowing what each other is thinking, holding each other and letting it all ride out. I don't know if that is possible and, even if it is, I don't know that it's for the best.
Like I said, life is messy. But I need to figure this one out on my own.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
It's Not About the Bike
There are some things you can't argue with. Like if you stick your hand on a hot stove, you're going to get burned. There's other things you can argue with. Like whether the toilet paper should roll over or under. (Over, btw) And there are other things that part of your mind WANTS to argue with but another part - your mental big bully - won't let you argue with. It just slams any rationality or common sense up against the school locker and lets everyone know that these are HIS hallways.
That's kinda like what a manic episode is like. Except you only realize it after the fact. Usually after the Ativan kicks in.
Here's another thing you can't argue with. When you're averaging three hours of sleep a night, stressed out to the hilt, being barraged by a 48 year-0ld infant who can't survive without you, and dealing with the loss of a friend, your body will shut down. Somehow, someway, it's gonna find a way to crash and burn.
And that's all I'm gonna say about March 23.
Somewhere around 9:30 pm (I'd been asleep since about 6), I woke up and realized I was hungry. For a moment I thought abuout just rolling back over, closing my eyes, and falling back into the wonderful, sweet world of dreams. But I didn't. I padded down the hallway to the kitchenette and made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I sat on a hard plastic chair and ate the world's most delicious sandwich ever.
When I read Lance Armstong's "It's Not About the Bike," one comment stuck with me. Everyday, during his entire cancer ordeal, he would get up and get on his bike. Sometimes he coould go ten miles, sometimes only one. But he said to himself each day, "As long as I can still get on this bike, I'm going to live."
A peanut butter sandwich is probably not as impressive as riding a bike ten miles while suffering through testicular cancer. But sometimes you gotta grasp whatever straw is in front of you.
That's kinda like what a manic episode is like. Except you only realize it after the fact. Usually after the Ativan kicks in.
Here's another thing you can't argue with. When you're averaging three hours of sleep a night, stressed out to the hilt, being barraged by a 48 year-0ld infant who can't survive without you, and dealing with the loss of a friend, your body will shut down. Somehow, someway, it's gonna find a way to crash and burn.
And that's all I'm gonna say about March 23.
Somewhere around 9:30 pm (I'd been asleep since about 6), I woke up and realized I was hungry. For a moment I thought abuout just rolling back over, closing my eyes, and falling back into the wonderful, sweet world of dreams. But I didn't. I padded down the hallway to the kitchenette and made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I sat on a hard plastic chair and ate the world's most delicious sandwich ever.
When I read Lance Armstong's "It's Not About the Bike," one comment stuck with me. Everyday, during his entire cancer ordeal, he would get up and get on his bike. Sometimes he coould go ten miles, sometimes only one. But he said to himself each day, "As long as I can still get on this bike, I'm going to live."
A peanut butter sandwich is probably not as impressive as riding a bike ten miles while suffering through testicular cancer. But sometimes you gotta grasp whatever straw is in front of you.
Monday, March 22, 2010
What's to say?
I want to say something profound. Something meaningful. I want to say that I've finally stood up for myself, found my center, asserted my dignity.
But all I want is for him to call me.
And he won't.
I hate being a cliche.
But all I want is for him to call me.
And he won't.
I hate being a cliche.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Long Time Coming
I posted just the other day about being harsh with Yoga Girl and giving her cold, hard facts.
It's time I drank my own KoolAid.
For weeks - months? - GoodBuddy has been really, seriously, taking me for granted. I get phonecalls that consist of him ranting, raving and justifying for 20 minutes. And then hanging up. Without once asking me how I am or what's going on in my life.
And if I had nothing to report, that might not be so bad.
But I've got lots to report.
1) I'm on my way to happiness. And despite my hesitancy to rely on medication, and despite so many people insisting that depression and/or mental illness could be cured by willpower and determination, I am not going to argue with science, much less tangible success.(For more on this, download the BBC "World Have Your Say" or check out The Happiness Project.)
2) I've gotten a promotion, a raise, and a new hire who reports to me. This is daunting, scary, uplifting and challenging, all at once.
3) The biggest tradeshow of our year is next week
4) Various and sundry other life issues that someone who loves me should care about.
He's told me he realizes he's been neglecting me. He's apologized. He's told me he loves me. And he's done it all in that tone of voice that makes me melt. And, he's called me "baby" and "love" more times than I can count.
But that and $1.91 will get you a medium coffee.
When he does ask me what's going on, his comments are usually on the order of telling me what to do and how I should act. Me: "I gotta get moving. It's bed time." Him: "Yeah, you need your sleep. You need to be on your A Game. Be sharp. You've got a job to do." To which I think, "uh, yeah. Duh.." He acts like my own decisions and my good judgements haven't gotten me this far. I know what I'm doing and sometimes I make mistakes but, in general, I'm doing a damn good job. See point 2.
I need - no, deserve - to be with someone who truly cares about me. Who wants to know what's going on in my life. Who cares. Who wants to be something more to me than the person who judges my choices and dictates my actions. In short, someone who realizes that I'm valuable, intelligent, funny, caring and and a person who has a heart capable of a lot of love.
I used to know I could rely on GoodBuddy for that assurance. Just being with him made me feel whole, special, wanted, at peace. But lately I've felt like I was little more than a microphone. Here to absorb what he said and then be shut off.
I just can't live with that anymore.
so it breaks my heart, but I have to say goodbye. At least until things change. Until he stops taking me for granted. Until he starts caring about me as much as I care for him.
I deserve that much.
It's time I drank my own KoolAid.
For weeks - months? - GoodBuddy has been really, seriously, taking me for granted. I get phonecalls that consist of him ranting, raving and justifying for 20 minutes. And then hanging up. Without once asking me how I am or what's going on in my life.
And if I had nothing to report, that might not be so bad.
But I've got lots to report.
1) I'm on my way to happiness. And despite my hesitancy to rely on medication, and despite so many people insisting that depression and/or mental illness could be cured by willpower and determination, I am not going to argue with science, much less tangible success.(For more on this, download the BBC "World Have Your Say" or check out The Happiness Project.)
2) I've gotten a promotion, a raise, and a new hire who reports to me. This is daunting, scary, uplifting and challenging, all at once.
3) The biggest tradeshow of our year is next week
4) Various and sundry other life issues that someone who loves me should care about.
He's told me he realizes he's been neglecting me. He's apologized. He's told me he loves me. And he's done it all in that tone of voice that makes me melt. And, he's called me "baby" and "love" more times than I can count.
But that and $1.91 will get you a medium coffee.
When he does ask me what's going on, his comments are usually on the order of telling me what to do and how I should act. Me: "I gotta get moving. It's bed time." Him: "Yeah, you need your sleep. You need to be on your A Game. Be sharp. You've got a job to do." To which I think, "uh, yeah. Duh.." He acts like my own decisions and my good judgements haven't gotten me this far. I know what I'm doing and sometimes I make mistakes but, in general, I'm doing a damn good job. See point 2.
I need - no, deserve - to be with someone who truly cares about me. Who wants to know what's going on in my life. Who cares. Who wants to be something more to me than the person who judges my choices and dictates my actions. In short, someone who realizes that I'm valuable, intelligent, funny, caring and and a person who has a heart capable of a lot of love.
I used to know I could rely on GoodBuddy for that assurance. Just being with him made me feel whole, special, wanted, at peace. But lately I've felt like I was little more than a microphone. Here to absorb what he said and then be shut off.
I just can't live with that anymore.
so it breaks my heart, but I have to say goodbye. At least until things change. Until he stops taking me for granted. Until he starts caring about me as much as I care for him.
I deserve that much.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Back on the mat
You may have noticed that I haven't posted about yoga in awhile. That's because I haven't been on the mat in ages. I even stopped wearing my Om necklace because I felt hypocritical. How could I claim to be a yogini when I hadn't done a downward dog in months?
Tonight, I practiced. I've been using a million reasons to talk myself out of taking a class. Too tired, too cold, too much work to do. But the reality is, I couldn't fathom spending an hour and a half facing my true self. Cuz that's what yoga is really about. Yea, the postures make you strong and lean and improve your body through alignment, stretching and detoxification. But in the end it's all about finding the stillness amidst the activity, the mind race, the chatter. How could I endure that for an hour and a half?
Well, today, I did it. I didn't give myself the chance to second guess myself. At 5:30, I shut off the computer, packed up and walked down the street.
I'm going to be sore sore sore tomorrow. But it felt like coming home. My practice has declined a lot - poses that used to be a cake walk I struggled with. But they felt good and they felt right. And, during Sivasana, I found that brief, clear, moment of stillness. Namaste!
Tonight, I practiced. I've been using a million reasons to talk myself out of taking a class. Too tired, too cold, too much work to do. But the reality is, I couldn't fathom spending an hour and a half facing my true self. Cuz that's what yoga is really about. Yea, the postures make you strong and lean and improve your body through alignment, stretching and detoxification. But in the end it's all about finding the stillness amidst the activity, the mind race, the chatter. How could I endure that for an hour and a half?
Well, today, I did it. I didn't give myself the chance to second guess myself. At 5:30, I shut off the computer, packed up and walked down the street.
I'm going to be sore sore sore tomorrow. But it felt like coming home. My practice has declined a lot - poses that used to be a cake walk I struggled with. But they felt good and they felt right. And, during Sivasana, I found that brief, clear, moment of stillness. Namaste!
Monday, March 15, 2010
Lessons Learned and Learning Lessons
Last night, YogaGirl called. She was technically calling me back about my anxiety over my new hire starting Monday. I hadn't slept a wink and dream land wasn't looking too promising. Fuck, it was the first time I'd managed someone, I don't have my MBA and I've been fucked over enough to know that a bad manager can screw an impressionable mind for a good long time.
I wound up listening to about 45 minutes of YogaGirl going off about her partner. Usually, she's really balanced about this stuff: "I have stuff to share, but you need me to listen to you, so go...' But last night she clearly had a lot of stuff to get off her chest. And, as a friend, I listened to it, openly and honestly.
And then I told her the cold, hard truth. I'd been listening to this same complaint for three years. And if I had a tape recorder, she would not sound like a woman in love. She would sound like a bitter, jaded old married woman. Relationships are hard, but they shouldn't be this hard. After three months of the same old argument - damn! shit or get off the pot.
And then tonight, I called her about my stress with GoodBuddy. He's been in a rough place rfecently, and really needing my validation. But our conversations tend to go like this: "Him. Him. Him. Him. Gotta Go, Bye,"
In case you haven't noticed, I've had a lot going on myself. On the road to recovery from bi-polar disorder. Managing a person, which essentially mean forming a department. Learning how to deal healthfully with CBL. Navigating the possibility of moving to London, Not to mention the big one ---- Re-integrating with the world around me.
And through all of this, GoodBuddy was for all intents and purposed MIA. He did a fair bit of apologizing and making amends tonight when I finally got him on the phone.
But still I realized an important truth when YogaGirl said this, "I know you had the best intentions when you told me this, and so I trust you will understand it when I say: "I've been hearing the same complaint over and over. Girlfriend, shit or get off the pot."
I know she's right. I know I'm right. But there is a large gap between knowing and acting. And that gap is called fear of being alone.
I wound up listening to about 45 minutes of YogaGirl going off about her partner. Usually, she's really balanced about this stuff: "I have stuff to share, but you need me to listen to you, so go...' But last night she clearly had a lot of stuff to get off her chest. And, as a friend, I listened to it, openly and honestly.
And then I told her the cold, hard truth. I'd been listening to this same complaint for three years. And if I had a tape recorder, she would not sound like a woman in love. She would sound like a bitter, jaded old married woman. Relationships are hard, but they shouldn't be this hard. After three months of the same old argument - damn! shit or get off the pot.
And then tonight, I called her about my stress with GoodBuddy. He's been in a rough place rfecently, and really needing my validation. But our conversations tend to go like this: "Him. Him. Him. Him. Gotta Go, Bye,"
In case you haven't noticed, I've had a lot going on myself. On the road to recovery from bi-polar disorder. Managing a person, which essentially mean forming a department. Learning how to deal healthfully with CBL. Navigating the possibility of moving to London, Not to mention the big one ---- Re-integrating with the world around me.
And through all of this, GoodBuddy was for all intents and purposed MIA. He did a fair bit of apologizing and making amends tonight when I finally got him on the phone.
But still I realized an important truth when YogaGirl said this, "I know you had the best intentions when you told me this, and so I trust you will understand it when I say: "I've been hearing the same complaint over and over. Girlfriend, shit or get off the pot."
I know she's right. I know I'm right. But there is a large gap between knowing and acting. And that gap is called fear of being alone.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Spring is springing - or at least gusting
It's turn the clocks ahead one hour night. I usually hate this night. Because, while I love me some daylight, I also love me some sleep. When I was growing up as a kid, my dad and I had an inside joke. He would come to wake me up five minutes before I needed to get up. And when he did, I'd always beg for "magic minutes." Which was the low-tech version of the snooze alarm. But that's how much sleep meant to me - magic.
Now I'm older. But I still love sleep. And now that I've started having amazingly vivid dreams if and when I do sleep, I like it that much more.
But tonight, it seems that's not gonna happen. I've watched a movie, listened to old 80s tunes, cooked up some veggies that were about to spoil and even caught up on some overdue email. nd yet, here it is, almost 6 (but really five) and I'm wide awake wilson.
My new hire starts on Monday and I really must be on my A Game for that. Especially given all the specialness that has ensued and will likely continue to ensue over the coming weeks. So an all-nighter wasn't really in the cards. But, I guess you play the cards as the Universe deals them.
Did have a really solid interaction with the roommate though tonight. I think the problem is that 1) neither of us seems to be really good with confrontation and 2) we're both feeling a bit awkward about where we are in our lives. I'm in a period of recover after a massively long bout with all sorts of notwellness. Although I still have a long way to go - and not stopping at Kappys on the way home was a step in the right direction! - I see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I can't speak for him, having little to no knowledg of his life or habits, much less his inner turmoil. But I suspect he's also dealing with some stuff. So maybe - and now's probably not the time to reach a hard and fast conclusion - but maybe it's worth he and I sitting down and having an actual conversation. Otherwise, the awkwardness might fester. And that's never a good thing...
Anyway, I digress. The topic at hand was sleep - or the lack thereof. I really really want to get some quality R&R. But how do you turn off the brain when it's churning like this? It's not like I'm suffering under any delusion that getting work done at 6 am on a Sunday will be of a high calibre. So, perhaps, I take a few deep breaths. Break out my notepad and make a PLAN for the work I'm going to accomplish tomorrow.
Once the Ambien wears off. If it ever kicks in.
Sheesh - this stuff killed Heath Ledger and it doesn't even touch me. I've either got way too much Anna's Taqueria Super Grlled Veggie in my system or I'm Batman. What do you think?
Now I'm older. But I still love sleep. And now that I've started having amazingly vivid dreams if and when I do sleep, I like it that much more.
But tonight, it seems that's not gonna happen. I've watched a movie, listened to old 80s tunes, cooked up some veggies that were about to spoil and even caught up on some overdue email. nd yet, here it is, almost 6 (but really five) and I'm wide awake wilson.
My new hire starts on Monday and I really must be on my A Game for that. Especially given all the specialness that has ensued and will likely continue to ensue over the coming weeks. So an all-nighter wasn't really in the cards. But, I guess you play the cards as the Universe deals them.
Did have a really solid interaction with the roommate though tonight. I think the problem is that 1) neither of us seems to be really good with confrontation and 2) we're both feeling a bit awkward about where we are in our lives. I'm in a period of recover after a massively long bout with all sorts of notwellness. Although I still have a long way to go - and not stopping at Kappys on the way home was a step in the right direction! - I see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I can't speak for him, having little to no knowledg of his life or habits, much less his inner turmoil. But I suspect he's also dealing with some stuff. So maybe - and now's probably not the time to reach a hard and fast conclusion - but maybe it's worth he and I sitting down and having an actual conversation. Otherwise, the awkwardness might fester. And that's never a good thing...
Anyway, I digress. The topic at hand was sleep - or the lack thereof. I really really want to get some quality R&R. But how do you turn off the brain when it's churning like this? It's not like I'm suffering under any delusion that getting work done at 6 am on a Sunday will be of a high calibre. So, perhaps, I take a few deep breaths. Break out my notepad and make a PLAN for the work I'm going to accomplish tomorrow.
Once the Ambien wears off. If it ever kicks in.
Sheesh - this stuff killed Heath Ledger and it doesn't even touch me. I've either got way too much Anna's Taqueria Super Grlled Veggie in my system or I'm Batman. What do you think?
Saturday, March 13, 2010
I love good advertising
Went out for a pedicure with a lost and found friend. I am so glad she is back in my life. She's wonderful and bright but we also can just be silly and frivolous. What my mother calls "having a sense of whimsy."
We went and got pedicures. We'd tried to get them last week, but there was a mix up at the spa. So we got them this week - for free. Ain't nothing better than someone pampering your feet and knowing it's not costing you a thing. They don't even expect a back-rub in return.
After the "hard work" was over, we had the important task of sitting under the polish dryer machine and flipping through magazines. If you've ever spent any time in a spa or salon, you know that most of the reading is not hi-brow. You won't be finding Dostoevsky here. What you will find is plenty of Us, People, and Entertainment Weekly. We paged through picture after picture of celebs being beautiful, being horrifying, hooking up, breaking up, and entering rehab. Also, lots of great ads. Most of them for things that would make you more beautiful, more sexy, more appealing, or less fat. And then there was this ad.
First thought - funny as all get out. Second thought - who are the market researchers who decided to pay for placement in this magazine. Seems a little ... odd. But, then again, I didn't remember one single underwear, perfume or makeup ad. And I blogged about this one. So I guess they earned their paycheck on this one.
We went and got pedicures. We'd tried to get them last week, but there was a mix up at the spa. So we got them this week - for free. Ain't nothing better than someone pampering your feet and knowing it's not costing you a thing. They don't even expect a back-rub in return.
After the "hard work" was over, we had the important task of sitting under the polish dryer machine and flipping through magazines. If you've ever spent any time in a spa or salon, you know that most of the reading is not hi-brow. You won't be finding Dostoevsky here. What you will find is plenty of Us, People, and Entertainment Weekly. We paged through picture after picture of celebs being beautiful, being horrifying, hooking up, breaking up, and entering rehab. Also, lots of great ads. Most of them for things that would make you more beautiful, more sexy, more appealing, or less fat. And then there was this ad.
First thought - funny as all get out. Second thought - who are the market researchers who decided to pay for placement in this magazine. Seems a little ... odd. But, then again, I didn't remember one single underwear, perfume or makeup ad. And I blogged about this one. So I guess they earned their paycheck on this one.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Sir Anthony, WHY?
I can barely bring myself to watch the Academy Awards tonight after the looooongest 2 hours of my life tonight.
I'm a little late in alerting you to this, but in case you haven't subjected yourself to Wolfman yet, don't. The acting is overly dramatic, the scenery is dark and foggy and - seriously - you could cut three-quarters of the scenes of people walking, riding, limping, running through the woods and still have a mediocre movie.
But, I did get to spend an afternoon with a lovely friend. Although the theatre didn't serve pretzel nubs so that sucked a bit.
I heard a funny bit on Laugh Attack today. The comedian was talking about all these movies he hears about that cost X million dollars to make. And I quote: "Dude. You don't need to spend that money making a movie. I would pay $8 to go to a room to see $Xmillion in person. Fuck, I'd pay $10 if the extra $2 was added to the total!"
Says something about our priorities, huh?
How's that healthcare bill coming?
I'm a little late in alerting you to this, but in case you haven't subjected yourself to Wolfman yet, don't. The acting is overly dramatic, the scenery is dark and foggy and - seriously - you could cut three-quarters of the scenes of people walking, riding, limping, running through the woods and still have a mediocre movie.
But, I did get to spend an afternoon with a lovely friend. Although the theatre didn't serve pretzel nubs so that sucked a bit.
I heard a funny bit on Laugh Attack today. The comedian was talking about all these movies he hears about that cost X million dollars to make. And I quote: "Dude. You don't need to spend that money making a movie. I would pay $8 to go to a room to see $Xmillion in person. Fuck, I'd pay $10 if the extra $2 was added to the total!"
Says something about our priorities, huh?
How's that healthcare bill coming?
Let the Sun Shine In
Hello all,
Well, yes indeedy, it's been an awfully long time since I posted. And, I am VERY happy to say, it's because I've been very busy. Not, as you might expect, keeping up with work (although that has been keeping me on my toes), but also with a SOCIAL LIFE. Yes, folks, seriously.
Here's the deal. About a month ago, I found a prescribable person (a nurse pracittioner) who actually LISTENED to my story, examined my history and made a judicious and reasoned decision about the medicines I was/am on. You see, it seems that although the anti-depressants I first went on seemed to help, given my condition (and I am not ashamed to admit to the diagnosis of bi-polar, look it up, descartes, dickins, carrie fisher - great company all!), anti-depressants by themselves often tend to exacarbate the condition in the longtime. However, when combined with additional meds - voila! And I have to tell you - I feel great!
I've gone out to a Reiki workshop and met amazing people. I've been to the Cape Ann Farmers Market board meeting, I've met up with friends I haven't seen in years, I've taken day trips, I've eagerly enjoyed lunches out with the girls....
I realize that these things seem par for the daily course of normal human beings. But for someone who was lurking in her "cave" - my bedroom with blinds and dark curtains drawn - under her bedcovers as long as could reasonably be allowed and who avoided any and all contact with the unkown outside world, these steps are huge, affirming and, frankly, amazing.
And, if that is not enough, CBL isn't driving me crazy. Yes, she's still insane. Yes, she is still up to her antics. But whatevs. She is what she is and I yam what I yam and ... I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a VeggieBurger today.
So, yes, I still drink my herbal teas and eat my kale every morning. But there is indeed something to be said for reasonable, considered, and measured meds.
I pulled open the curtains today and saw the bright sunshine and let it shine on my face.
Well, yes indeedy, it's been an awfully long time since I posted. And, I am VERY happy to say, it's because I've been very busy. Not, as you might expect, keeping up with work (although that has been keeping me on my toes), but also with a SOCIAL LIFE. Yes, folks, seriously.
Here's the deal. About a month ago, I found a prescribable person (a nurse pracittioner) who actually LISTENED to my story, examined my history and made a judicious and reasoned decision about the medicines I was/am on. You see, it seems that although the anti-depressants I first went on seemed to help, given my condition (and I am not ashamed to admit to the diagnosis of bi-polar, look it up, descartes, dickins, carrie fisher - great company all!), anti-depressants by themselves often tend to exacarbate the condition in the longtime. However, when combined with additional meds - voila! And I have to tell you - I feel great!
I've gone out to a Reiki workshop and met amazing people. I've been to the Cape Ann Farmers Market board meeting, I've met up with friends I haven't seen in years, I've taken day trips, I've eagerly enjoyed lunches out with the girls....
I realize that these things seem par for the daily course of normal human beings. But for someone who was lurking in her "cave" - my bedroom with blinds and dark curtains drawn - under her bedcovers as long as could reasonably be allowed and who avoided any and all contact with the unkown outside world, these steps are huge, affirming and, frankly, amazing.
And, if that is not enough, CBL isn't driving me crazy. Yes, she's still insane. Yes, she is still up to her antics. But whatevs. She is what she is and I yam what I yam and ... I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a VeggieBurger today.
So, yes, I still drink my herbal teas and eat my kale every morning. But there is indeed something to be said for reasonable, considered, and measured meds.
I pulled open the curtains today and saw the bright sunshine and let it shine on my face.
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