def def girls girls
GRANDE DOUBLE-SHOT PROMETHAZINE
Why doesn’t Starbucks sell Purple Drank? Sizzurp? Lean? They would probably want to rebrand it in some special Starbucks way, maybe turn the mermaid on her side and give her x’d out cartoon eyes and some Lil Wayne-style face tattoos, but if we could get a whole demographic wedge of yuppies hooked on a codeine/Sprite/Jolly Rancher combination the world might become a more interesting place.
SHHHHH
I do not have very much to say, which is why there is nothing new here. In the past, not having anything to say would not have stopped me from saying a whole damn lot. I don’t know, lately I have a sort of WHY BOTHER attitude toward communication. Which is not great for someone considering starting therapy. Or for someone who works in the publishing industry. Or for someone who would like to maintain her family relationships and important friendships so as not to die scared and alone. Or for any human being, actually.
Hey! That was depressing! Some bloggers apologize for not having updated by giving amusing little rundowns of their hectic and busy lives; I do so by making you contemplate the futility of human connection! I will stop now before I textually flounce off to my room like a teenager, turn Dead Kennedys’ “Forward to Death” up loud, and draw pictures of gut-shot bunnies in a Moleskine notebook.
WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM
I may as well “close the loop” on the very tedious story of my strange guts.
Wait, time out for some Gastrointestinal Depeche Mode!
Straaange guts
Strange ebbs and strange flows
Straaaange guts
That’s how the food flows
Strange guts
Please digest it for me
Anyway, the gastro guy called me with the equivocal results of my pill-camera test. Yes, there are more ulcers in the ileum than other diagnostic stuff showed. No, we don’t really know why. It’s Crohn’s-like, but he doesn’t think it’s really Crohn’s, because I should be a lot sicker and I’m too old and the presentation was too dramatic blah blah. He thinks it’s all very INTERESTING and something we should KEEP AN EYE ON and I’m over here going what do I dooooooo? What do I eat? What do I not eat? Maybe forget eating altogether to stay “safe,” how about that? (I’ve been doing that, uh, rather more often than is healthy.) How about interpreting every twinge or slightly unusual bathroom trip as holy fuck here we go again everybody keep your shoes on in case we need to drive to the hospital? How about taking so long to fall asleep each night that I start to think might as well stay up?
So you see why I finally (finally!) have started putting the HMO’s slowly grinding gears in motion toward getting an anxiety doc. It took a while, not only for me to decide to do it, but also for anyone to respond to me. After a week I considered using the doctor-messaging system to say thanks! Although I did not get a chance to talk it over with a mental-health professional I decided on my own to go ahead with that machete murder after all! But that probably would have been a bad idea.
Who knows, therapy could be a terrible experience. In which case I will just go full-on Lil Wayne with the sizzurp and the tattoos. Except for the seizures, he seems to be having fun.
This weekend I need to take Nora shopping for hockey helmets. Over the past few months she has slowly logic’d her way into contact lenses (better peripheral vision for sports), a used Chromebook (tons of her schoolwork is online and self-paced), and now some used hockey gear (the rink helmets don’t fit right). Many of these circumstances are true, she’s far from being spoiled, and these are things we can afford: but damn if ten-year-olds aren’t expensive in their wants. And damn them for offering reasonable, cogent arguments for the things they want! Toddler tantrums are so much easier to ignore.
—mimi smartypants is still the thug you love to hate.