Somewhere between Bell's Palsy and death
Friday, December 03, 2004
I didn’t eat anything before bed. Why do you ask?
This morning, I dreamt that BFKAS and I were taking classes at my elementary school that was really my high school (!?), and that she and I were arguing about my confronting her about her giving me up. So then the next day, Crazy Aunt (BFKAS's sister) calls me and tells me that BFKAS called Quickly, a section in the Post that allows readers to call in and sound off about their bullshit, and left a comment clearly directed at me -- you know, because it's all about me, especially in my dreams -- that went like this: "Your mother told you the man who raised you wasn't your father, and now you're bothering me about it? How dare you!"

I'm guessing that while the meds have put my anxiety back in check, not so much on the unresolved anger -- which, of course, they're not supposed to do anyway, but I can pretend, right?

Meanwhile, I'm having a somewhat of a dilemna before there's even reason to have one. Remember when I crashed over at Jill's and her fiance's a few weeks ago? And I talked about how Jill's been trying to convince me to buy the house when they move? Ok, so there's no way that even if I did get a mortgage, I'd be able to afford it, so I jokingly asked last week if they'd consider a "rent to own" deal, and Jill was like, "Yeah, I think that could be arranged."

Now, we haven't talked figures yet, so I don't know if I could even afford to do it. My problem, though? I love my crib.

Yeah, I know that everyone says you're supposed to own property and that why would you pay someone's mortgage for them when you could pay your own. But this the first place I ever lived outside my folks', and as far as they come, it's an awesome place: Quiet neighborhood mostly, right near major arteries so I can get to where I'm going easily (provided there's no rotten construction, of course) and near tons of fast food. The house, on the other hand, is a great house (three bedroom, two deck, giant yard and a fireplace) in a neighborhood I've always aspired to live in, but the neighborhood is also off the beaten path, about 20 minutes from where I am now.

Again, none of this is going to happen for at least another eight months to a year, and it may not happen at all if I can't afford it. But what if I can?
It is the job of a good person to be honest. To be self-aware. To deliberately explore the fault lines of your character and try desperately to not inflict suffering in this strange, ghost-ridden world of worked and fabricated objects. Sometimes the jobs of writer and good person coincide. But more often they don’t. There are way more writers in the world than there are good people.

100 things
Info meme #1
Typelogic says I'm an INFP.
Check my weekly astrological groove here.

Give it to me, baby.

Pssst ... My birthday's Feb. 3, and I want this, and this, and this ...

The Make-Believe Oral Cancer Foundation (M-BOCF) is now accepting donations on my behalf. Won't you please help those of us who jump to hideous conclusions regarding our oral health and help me get a root canal or two!??:

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Broad said: Like I said, my feelings are complicated on the matter, so ... I’m interested, however, in Her Highness’ thoughts on… ...[go].

Caterina said: ARGH!!! Not to deny you your goddess-given right of reflections and wishing what might-have-beens, but this guy was straight up… ...[go].

Wholovesya? said: By the by, guess who was most nasty about the charitable giving?  The frigging church.  My church and my mom’s… ...[go].

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This explains that large bit of type at the top.

Tagline by Ben F'in Mollin, talking about those times you wake up still drunk from the night before.


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