Chase Bales is Dead.

I was a horrible stripper. That's what I told my childhood friend after twenty five years or so. And every word was true.

I wanted to be good at it. I wanted to be super sexy, super appealing, super seductive. Really the only thing of notice was my piercings and my big ass...they made me some money, filled somebody's fantasy. But, true be told, even if I took the normal stripper drugs, picked my favorite song, drank some...I was still a horrible stripper. I'm just way to goofy to be. But, I did make rent a couple of times. I made more money when I sold drugs and waitressed.

This morning I was thinking about that, and all the things that I've done. There's not enough blog space to cover it all. And in the grand scheme of things, I'm just a drop really. I try not to carry much of it around...it's just stories.

My childhood friend total me that a bully had died. He died? Yes, he was involved in shooting his girlfriend's parents than he and his girlfriend shot them selves in some hotel. Just a normal story for where we grew up. It hit me. I needed to confirm the story. I talked to another childhood friend. Yes, he was dead, he put his hand through a plate glass window and hit an artery - then bled out before the paramedics go there. Another friend, yes, he's dead, and it's a shame, don't you think.

All the stories, and the it's a shames. This guy who butchered me on a constant basis. He had a doctor for a father. He won the science far with the project his father did for him. I didn't even place because I couldn't be that smart - someone had to have done my work for me. I worked so hard on the project, only to loose to a bully faker. And the day when he stood up in class when the teacher was gone and made an announcement that made the whole class laugh at me and hate me. The days when he beat people up with fists and words - scared and us running. I didn't know that I could step up to anyone then.

I secretly meant to go back and check him out. I secretly meant to go back and tell him Fuck You. Fuck You and You didn't break me - My Life Rocked. And I do know how childish that is. I do know how stupid I sound. I do know that I shouldn't have cared. I didn't keep it close or anything, it was just there, sometimes.

And now he's dead. And his legend is still growing with all the people who can't get it straight how he offed himself. And I'm writing it down, too. Jesus, he won't just die already.

People said that I could go and piss on his grave. What?!? That's not the same and telling him Fuck You. I don't need to desecrate a grave or anything. I needed him alive.

People said, you didn't know what went on in his house that could have made him do those things. Yeah?!? Well, he didn't know what went on in my house either - so, that's a lame excuse.

I'm just pissed off that even in death, he still beat me. His death stories seem to rock. He went down in flames and a legend. Shit!!! Fuck!!! Shit!!!

We all paint our histories differently. Maybe it's accurate maybe it's completely inaccurate. In my mind we never actually grew up. That picture of him, taller than me, richer than me, more popular than me, more in control than me...winning the science fair by cheating. Yeah that's when my picture of him stopped.

I'm sure some people loved him. There were the "It's still a shames. Is it? What did I think about that? I thought if I were a good person, I would probably be mourning him, and saying some prayer. I just get zapped for not telling the truth. But, all I kept thinking wasn't it a shame that I didn't tell him Fuck You when I had the chance. Death doesn't mean you get a pass....who made up that rule? They were a douchebag, then, for making up that rule.

Would people tsk-tsk me or hate me for not being the bigger person here. For not have the mental capacity to just let things go. I resided to the fact that I will go to my grave with this piece of unfinished business, and the longing for the afterlife where I might run into him, and then getting to say Fuck You.

Shame. Hate. Embarrassment. Longing. Mourning Myself. All the turning in my head.

Then -My childhood friend fessed up and has a secret Fuck You list, too.

The Stinkhole

I've been sitting in the same pj bottoms off and on for the last month straight. They finally stink too much for me to bare. And well all know the rule that your own armpits, farts, puss, dick, and poop (whatever), don't bother yourself. So, if the pj's are at the level that's botherin' me, well, it probably is that stinky. I suppose some people would call it depression. I think I am calling it freedom.

I've always been the fat stinky girl. I was teased about it in school. Murphy and Scott, the "it" boys would never kiss a girl like me. They would never help a girl like me. They would never love a girl like me. Yet, years later, Scott and I would make out in the back of someones pick-up truck from a party. We were fucked up. I don't think we actually fucked, but I was really drunk - hard to recall. I do recall that he wasn't that great, and I was learned that valuable lesson about crushes not equaling in real life to what to had in you imagination. Not at all. He was drunk, and he made out with the fat stinky chick. I'm laughing right now. You, Scott, did probably hit that, and you will have to live with that secret shame, unless someone saw us, then it's the public shame you will have to live with.

My stepmother was very conservative. Weirdly conservative. She wouldn't let me shave, or have deodorant or tampons like the other girls my age. As I developed, that only added to the problem of being teased. The day I started my period, I was in gym class. I thought that I had the stomach flu, or something was wrong with my appendix. It was painful, confusing and awkward.

It would turn out that I was just having cramps.

As I sat in the cold, concrete and plywood bathroom stall in that darkened fake light of the gym bathroom, with my light blue polyester gym pants and plain cotton underwear around my ankles....I saw the blood smears. I yelled to my friend to go get the coach. Why? Just go get the fuckin coach!!!!!!!!

The coach leaned over the stall door, and I pointed. She was tall and super tan with a super blond Dorothy cut and probably a lesbian. We didn't know that word yet. And if I had, I probably wouldn't have cared, even despite my small town upbringing. She said it, like it was so simple, that it was my period. Jesus, are you kidding me?!?!!!

I responded that I knew that, what the fuck was I supposed to do with it? She didn't even flinch at the f work, and asked, didn't I have anything with me, like pads or tampons. No, why would I? Ohhhhhh, it's your first time, she responded with a sweet smile. I hated that sweet smile, of knowing that I was now in some club, I was growing up. All I was feeling was the shame of not being prepared. The shame of not having a mother who would have helped me. The secret club that I didn't know the rules of. The shame. Damn, everyone's going to know that I'm not normal, yet again. Nice.

Coach brought me a pad. I took the crinkly paper of the sticky part of the pad. It sounded so loud, everyone would know what I was doing. The crinkly sound was unmistakable. Hey!!! Someone's putting a pad on!!!! Someone is bleeding!!!!! Someone is not cool enough to have big girl tampons!!!!!! Someone is a fat bleeding stinky dork with giant pads!!!! Look!!! Look!!!!

I put it on, the big bulky old school diaper thing. It was going to show. God, I hope I put it on right and I don't bleed through my pants. Please god not that. I got dressed and was going to lunch. As I walked down the hall the coach walked with me, trying to give me the "speech", some speech. I just wanted to take my diaper wearing self to lunch. As she talked she was completely unaware that my boyfriend was only walking a few steps ahead of us. I couldn't shut her up. In all fairness, it probably was a chance for her to connect, to be important to someone for something, but I couldn't be concerned with that. Other people in the hall where listening, too. Just another thing to add to the reasons to tease me. I was now a breeder and bleeder.

My stepmother and father didn't know what to do with it either. They both gave me some talk, that I tuned out. They were both so uncomfortable talking to me, and in my mind, it was my fault, my body's fault. I still didn't get deodorant, razors, and tampons. I began to steal them from the Albertson's and the Piggly Wiggly. Luckily, I never got caught. I can't even imagine trying to explain that. Or, maybe someone saw me, and took pity on the fat, stinky girl stealing sanitary items.

I already had a theft problem due to some other stuff, which I will not include in this story, so what was stealing necessities? I wouldn't get rid of the stealing habit till years later. And it took me forever to get the courage and comfort to buy those items without turning red in the face...no matter how many other items went across the conveyor belt of the check out line. I would choke up and get red in the face.

Try working and using a tampon from the instructions that are included in the box with their lovely pink ink and badly drawn renditions of the female body in complete isolation. I was smart, but it was painful. No,it's not that hard of a contraption to work, but sitting on the toilet seat, hoping no one will walk in you're while balancing the instructions on your legs and working the said stolen contraption....well, it's hard the first couple of times. You are putting something that is cottony but looks huge into an orphus of your body, where stuff didn't go before. And thus began my no pain no gain beauty tactics/regimen. I'm sure there is some girl out there who stuck the damn thing up her ass, I wasn't one of those, but it still wasn't pleasant.

I prayed for boobs and smooth legs and even my period. I read "Oh God, It's Me Margaret." I wanted to be a woman. As, a woman I could do anything I wanted. What a joke that can be. That's what we do...we pray and hope, then we get them, and realize that it sucks. All three things suck. That begins the eternal confused mind of being a woman. We learn from that moment how to be completely indecisive. So, you want to know where it comes from, it's that fucking bleeding moment. We learned to always second guess ourselves right from that one moment, because we totally got screwed on our wishes then.

I've been skinny and smelly goody. It's just not me. It got me a lot of attention that I didn't want from stuff that wasn't important to me. I guess both sides of the coin have their drawbacks. It wasn't until I grew up, really grew up, that I was comfortable in my own skin - even when it stinks. I put importants on other matters. Don't get me wrong there are times I smell good, I'm cool with it, I'm just not uncomfortable when I stink - and I'm not a total stinkhole....just sometimes.

Freedom smells just like me.

Nothing can bring you back from the edge like a good tawny port.

Today a little boy almost made cross country on a silver balloon. That would have been the coolest day ever!!!! I'm not going to go out into my yard a copycat it, but it is really fucking tempting. Instead he was hiding in the attic, with helicopters buzzing around just trying to get a glimpse of the boy who flew.

Tonight I am self medicating with a 10 year tawny port. Not to worry,I'm not going to over do it. I don't want to waste the delicious tawny port on such a sour mood. I love this port...how it hugs the side of the glass when I swirl it around. It makes these inviting rolling layered streaks. The smell like candied, homeade baked goods, alcohol. It tells you that everything will be so much better once ingested. And it's right.

You might have to use your extra good Indian tracking skills to read this and absorb knowledge through the context clues. It will be the MS and the port talking at the same time. I'm not going to be in any state to apologize for it either.

I supposed it would hit me, that I really am disabled and I really will not be working anymore. And this disease is real, and costly. Most people are so excited for me about not working, I can work on my painting and my writing, and bettering my health. I wasn't worried or scared ----until today.

I'm not sure what it is that makes people freak out. I had so many people tell me their horror stories about Social Security, being disabled, being broke. All the what are you going to do's? and How are you going to make it's? Well, I don't truly have an answer for that. I suppose I'm going to make it the same way I've made if for all of my life. I suppose I'm just going to have to do that. Or, maybe it will all go away, my average life that I work so hard to get, and I die, dirty and homeless in pee stained clothes on some concrete somewhere. I sometimes think about saying it. But, the comments from the peanut gallery. Jesus.

And my mother who's mentally ill has been completely out of control since I told her that my life would be changing. The calls with her delusions...they are constant. I get it, she's afraid that I won't be there, and who would listen and what would happen. My father decided to send an email, that was about him, and grandma and how bad it is for them, together. And they'll never get that they both behave the same way, and how I hoped that I won't be like them. I can't help them right now. Truth be told, you're not who I want to help right now. It's been years, and I just need a break. I'll come back later, I promise, but now, I need a break.

The morning didn't start off too bad. The day was so nice. I wanted to be outside. To watch outside.

I met with the producer for my show. Did I say that I was planning a show? Yes, yes I am. He had to check me out. To make sure that I was serious. I had to check him out, to make sure that he was serious.

We talked about the level of commitment and work that this would take. And how I would have to be pushed and reach. I know.

This is something that I want. This is something that I think I could commit to. This is something that I could do. I want to do it.

Do I think that I have that much to say that would be of any merit to someone else. Well, that is a scary point isn't it. I kinda' figure that as much as I've seen and continue to see, I think I've got a thing or to that might be interesting. Other than that, I suppose it's completely selfish. I want to be talking to people and saying a few things before it's too late for me to say them. We spend so much of our life not saying anything, not even telling each other the truth. I've done that a lot.

Recalling conversations that I've had over the years- working, there are so many things I wanted to say differently, but couldn't because of constraints. That idea of being free, my mind free, my words free, even for just an hour or two. Can you imagine the release of that? That is what I want to accomplish.

There was a old man, he was woken up from his coma, just to watch a football game. His team won, he saw it, then he died three days later.

I'm not saying that I'm dying. I'm just closer than some people. And probably not as close as others. But, what I do need is a break from the crap that's bringing me down, man.

Thank you Tawny Port. You are my saviour.

I'll try to write something not so bumbed out tomorrow. But, true to my other blog entries, you should see all of me. That good, the bad, and the self medicated winer....would you expect anything less?

The Color of Children

I'm still stuck at home reeling from my current flair up. I did go to an open mic last night and read. It was fun. There were lots of other fantastic, prophetic artists there. If I return, I will have to bring my A game. It might have been a bit much for me, the going out, but shit, this sitting at home is soooooo boring. Today, I did not make it to work. And my one big thing for the day?.... I finally filled that prescription for Valium. I took just one pill and in about twenty minutes the dizziness did seem to subside. I was quite amazed. My Doctor does really know what's she's talking out. I should have never doubted her. But, then I did go to sleep. And then woke up to an unusual hour again. Perhaps normal sleep will come later, but for now it escapes me.

I've been watching TruTV some, and the news. It seems to me that all of the kidnapped or brutally murdered children are mostly white girls. Well, save that horribly beat boy up North. Great parenting. You don't get to hold the Olympics in a town where children get beaten to death by other children. However, given the statistics on children, surely they can't all be white. What is it that captures our American hearts so much about white girls over all of the other victims? This is a rhetorical question, I don't want to know the answer. In my current state, I could not take the answer to that question. But, we should take pause and ponder our responses.

I suppose I should be thankful that any child crime gets any recognition from the media.

My thought today was my hope, maybe my prayer, that at some point we understand the precious spirits of our most important investments, and see them not with color blind eyes, but as equals in every vast molecule of their lives. Even though I did read Lord of the Flies, I have my secret wishes, my dreams, my rose color glasses that we can be better.

The melancholy of what could be.

Scrombie

It is about one in the morning, as I write this. I wouldn't normally be up at this time; however, sense I am currently experiencing difficulty with my MS, and just finished a round of steroids, my sleep schedule is a bit out of whack. Just as it goes with a probably terminal at some point disease. What are you going to do? What is some people's horror, is my normal.

It's so quiet. The rain has finally come, and when I let the dogs out to pee, I could smell the new wet grass. It's been sleeping all summer during the drought, and now, here, at one in the morning, I could imagine that this new grass is very busy during the middle of the night...all that stretching.

I heard sirens earlier. They lasted a while. Reminding me that it is Saturday night for some people, that it's not quiet somewhere. There's probably a party I missing, with loud people and music, lipstick and maybe punch drunk love. But, since I'm not really up to attending a party, I suppose I'm not really missing anything.

I've been stuck in my house for about a month now. MS is famous for making one completely fatigued and foggy headed. A few people have called and feel sorry for me, but again, if I'm not missing the days and time, can I really be felt sorry for? I know that it's temporary so, I wait.

I went to the doctor on Friday. We'll be filling out the long term disability paperwork now. It's time. This particular doctor is really good at what she does. I trust her and her nurse completely. Yes, there are a few of the good ones left. One of the things that I enjoy most about our visits together, is she doesn't try to over-medicate me. I know that I'm going down hill, but the idea of so many pills, one reacting with another in my system...it's really not necessary. Not when I can practice yoga and drink veggie juice, etc.

However, this episode with my MS, I am experiencing a great deal of dizziness...that I do not enjoy. Doctor prescribed me a low dose of Valium. She also made note that since it was highly addictive, she would only be prescribing this for the short term, but it should help. I honestly didn't know that it would help with the dizziness, and frankly when she handed me the prescription, all I could think about was cracking the joke about slipping on my highheels, popping a couple of Valium and having a cocktail or two with my gay friends. Yes, I refrained from asking if that would also help my dizziness. As though she could read my mind, she smiled that sheepish kind of smile at me, and put her hand on my back and patted it, actually patting me, telling me not to drive on the pills. Damn, ok. So much for tripping the light fantastic. I don't think I could face her if I acted irresponsibly. I was too tired after my appointment to fill the prescription. Maybe today, later, I'll take care of it. I don't really want to take more medication, but the dizziness really is a pain in the ass.

With the steroids, there's a period of being high...but, due to Newton's Law of Gravity, what goes up, must come down. That Newton, sitting under a tree, discovering stuff...for his time, that was quite a discovery. He would totally shit his little pleated knickers now, don't you think?!? I mean really shit his pants. Or maybe not, maybe he would be super cool. Since I didn't know him personally, I suppose I cannot truly make that call. But, I've spent the greater part of this week coming down and still being high, and being a bit agro. The steroids really do make you aggressive and quite full of yourself. I've been keeping it under wraps for the most part.

While at the doctor's office, I had to sit in the waiting room, and watched several, and I mean more that four, well dressed drug reps coming in to visit the doctors with snacks and lattes and such. Yes, I refrained from getting up from my chair and just taking one of the Starbuck's coffees right out of the four pack cardboard container this particular drug rep was holding. I really did want one, and I'm fixing to be on disability, so I won't be having the luxury of Starbucks. And besides, since I would be one of the people asking for whatever she was selling, why do I just have to be subjected to the horrible feelgood commercials, why am I not entitled to one of the delicious, frothy, caffeined, free, Starbucks lattes? I almost did it, but I was dizzy, so, I let everyone down, I let myself down. I didn't take one. But, it would have been funny. If I had hurried and put my mouth on it, there would have been no take backizzes.

My second aggressive action came at the movie theater. I saved all of my energy to go to the movies with my son. We were going to see Zombieland. I will say that it is one of the best Zombie movies of all time. It's funny, violent, has great one liners and zombie make-up and music. I must simply buy this movie to watch over and over again. It was nice to see other parents there with their children. I wouldn't have to put up with the looks about taking my young son to such an R-rated movie. Yes, I do not have a problem with him seeing zombies. Some people let their kid drink around their house, some men take their sons to whorehouses, or let them shoot guns at such a early age. As parents we all have our vices with our kids. I don't do any of that other stuff, but I will take him to an R-rated Zombie movie, and probably not feel that bad about it.

It was exciting, just the two of us at the movies together. Since I hadn't been out of the house in such a long time, we went for broke on the snacks. We had popcorn with extra butter, nachos, an extra large Dr. Pepper and three candies. What the hell, right? Zombies and awesome snacks. This day was going to totally rock!

We walked with our hands overflowing with goodness, maybe a slight popcorn trail to our seats. Not too close, but not to far, almost right in the middle, for full violent zombie smashing. We arranged all of our snacks for maximum vantage and stretched our legs to rest our feet on the seats in front of us. My son reminded me to turn of the cell phone. Then we both sighed and waited. We watched the commercials and soon the previews. We love the previews, those mini movies before the movie...holding all the promises of future entertainment days, just like today. It was almost perfect.

It would have been perfect. But, then came the noise. The noise came from our right. I turned my head to look. It was three nerds...three very loud nerds. I call them nerds, because this is exactly what they were. I'm not saying that I'm this great fucking person, maybe I'm a nerd, but I don't actually like to live up to the stereotype. What do you say about people who actually live up to their stereotype. What would anyone actually do that? But, there they were in all of their stereotypical gloryholiness.

There was the fat nerd, with his I just went to the sci-fi festival t-shirt, and his I'm smarter than you because I know every detail from the entire series I bought/collected to jack up the price and sell to other nerds on Ebay tone, then the Jewish nerd with his glasses and his jeans belted high and his clumsy I know I'm not cool but I'm really going to have a good life I promise because I did well in school movements, and the girl nerd, who snuck in her own drink in some Tupperware drinking contraption and excited because she had two boys, be they total geeks, still two boy, vying for her attention so she can totally boss them around for no reason voice booming. Oh they were loud, and they just kept talking, I don't even know about what, but it was that loud, we're safe because were in numbers voices. And right after the commercial about not talking in theaters. You know the one with the dancing cats, dumbed down so even the stupid people could get the lesson....Jesus Christ Almighty they were fucking loud.

The white conservative couple turned around and gave the nerds the look. I was hoping Conservative Man would step up the the plate, but there were just too many nerds for him to handle. The gangsters beside us gave them the look and made some whispered comment, but again to much nerdiness, even for them. The snorkels and nerd talk was gaining steam. It was almost unbearable to the regular human ear. My son looked at me and frowned. I told him that I was going to say something. I asked his if he would mind. He's almost a tween, so I didn't want him to be embarrassed by his own mother. He shrugged his tiny shoulders said fine.

I said loudly, excuse me. No response. I said it again, ExCUSE ME. All three nerds stopped and looked at me. I wanted to be nicer and not make a big scene, but I am on steroids. I didn't want to have to call my man and tell him that my steroids got us in trouble and I wasn't feeling well, and please come get us, etc. I really didn't want to do that.

I said, Are you going to talk this much during the whole movie? They looked at me, and then got mad. And girl nerd got defensive, and told me that I didn't have to be so rude about it. I didn't think that I was being THAT rude about it, but now, I started to get a little steroid mad. Me rude? How about you rude? You're the one being fucking rude....R-U-D-E, RUDE.

I just said that my son and I paid our money too, and I liked to watch the whole thing, so could you please be quiet? Then fat nerd said, Even the commercials? AHHHH, This was a trick question, of course, because if I said that yes, even the commercials, I looked like a complete douche bag, and if I said no, then that would give them license to keep talking about whatever Dungeons and Dragons crap they were talking about, and my son was watching, so I had that pressure. And girl nerd kept saying that I didn't have to be so rude. So, I compromised. With all eyes on me, I compromised.

I said that yes, I would even like to watch the commercials, and I'm sorry, I could have been nicer when asking them to be quiet, so,

Would you Please Shut the Fuck UP?

The entire rest of the theater got deadly quiet, then the gangsters started to snicker, and the conservative couple even with their dislike for my language gave a satisfied, that's right nod. The three nerds looked shocked. I didn't want to have to destroy their safety in numbers racket. I didn't want to show them up for being the wimps and nerds that they were. I really didn't. I'm not that mean. But, come on, you have to hold some responsibility to people to live in their stereotype. I didn't make them be nerds, and I didn't make them be nerds with shitty manners. I just wanted to have a nice day at the movies with my son. They didn't say anything...which is typical of the nerds. Once attacked about anything, they don't really have the guts to stand up for themselves. I'm don't know what I would have done if they had continued. I'm frankly to sick to fight with anyone about anything. But, they're too nerdy to recognize that they could have won if they hadn't been too nerdy to back down. Lucky for me. They were quiet after that. I asked my son if he was ok with what I did. Yeah, mom, they were being rude. He squeezed my hand and gave me a couple of M&M's. Nothing beats the love and acceptance of your own child. Nothing beats that.

We went to the store after the movie. We just needed a few things and even though I knew that I was pushing it, I had to try. I wanted just for a couple of hours to be normal and get things done. It was the first pang of longing I had experienced during this whole month. Worst case, I would over do it and have to call in my man. I decided to go for it.

It was raining and the store was packed. There were only two carts left and they were the ones that no one else wanted. Filled with trash and wet with those one broken wheels. This kind of fat old guy pushed around us to hurry and grab one of their awesome specimens of carts. I didn't really want to battle over the carts, just didn't really seem worth it, so I let him go ahead a choose, since it was so important to him. I took the second selection cart and started to remove the trashed and move towards the trashcan to dispose of the leftover samples/snacks and soaked store circulars. Fat man grabbed at his trash, and looked at the trashcan, then looked right at me and my son, and then threw his basket trash right on the wet ground. Fat man wasn't the least embarrassed about being a litterbug. He felt totally comfortable making the statement that he was an angry, fat, mean, slob. And I found myself wondering if there had ever been a time, maybe before now, like maybe in the 1950's, where people had to actually hide that behavior or risk being pointed out publicly. If there was a time like that maybe I would want it back? I was honestly shocked that someone would be such a jackass. Especially when it was something so small. Why be a jackass about that one small thing? Wouldn't you want to save your jackessness for something worthy of being a jackass about? He wasn't crazy or mentally challenged, that I could see. He was just a jackass. A real life, in the flesh, living and breathing, jackass. Amazing. One really gets to see one in the wild that close up without getting bit.

Has our society come to this? We're all just a bunch of spoiled rotten, no manner having, overweight, undereducated morons? No wonder our world is in the state that it's in. Bunch of lazy fucks. My son and I picked up his trash, too, and put it in the trashcan. But, I didn't want to. I didn't want to be sick and take care of jackass. Mother fucker. I hope that when the bombs go off, you're not one of the people who lives to repopulate the planet. OR, if you are, then I'm actually under the bomb, so I don't have to come back and deal with you. Oy vey. Jackass.

I don't enjoy this part of the steroids. The agro part. Come Monday, I'll be going to work to clean out my desk and saying goodbye to work for a bit, maybe forever. I liked work fine enough. It's going to be costly and weird to stay home now. It's been a long time in coming though. The Doctor and I have talked about this before. I hope we make it. I'm having some nervous thoughts on that, but I have to trust that we can do it, so, I'm not completely scared about this decision.

However, since I am feeling agro, and more apt to reveal my secret inside thoughts in a very loud way, I'm hoping that I can just get in and right back out at work. There are quite a few people that I really liked working with, who I actually see value in as humans. Then there's the other side of the coin, there are a few people that if they disappeared, or if something happened to them, I wouldn't really have a thought about it. I'm hoping that I can keep that professional, oh yes, I'm fine, oh, yes, I'm going to miss you all terribly tone through out the whole process. Otherwise, I suspect that I will be writing about it all come Tuesday morning around one. I've tried practicing in my head, but that brings anxiety and planned sentences of doom. I forget what the Doctor calls it, pseudo something or other....it's part of my MS. It's where I have trouble controlling my feelings. And given that I was always dramatic before the MS, I'm sure this only intensifies my winning personality. I could take another drug to control it, but I'm not going to. The people who love and know me, will put up with it, and I'm pretty ok with this going on. There is a part of me that thinks honesty, true honesty is an ok thing, despite what we've all been taught. How we've all been taught to behave. Would it really hurt anyone to know that I did like them that much and will miss them. Will it really hurt those other anyones to know that I didn't like them and am super awesomely glad that I don't ever, EVER, have to see them again? I am smiling right now just thinking about it all. We'll see, I guess.

I've been writing for over an hour now. I'm finally tired again. I'm going to go and grab one of the Stouffer's microwave meals that I bought at the store, eat and go back to bed. I don't really like to cook, but I do like to eat. As far as microwave meals go Stouffer's really is the best. I've also been eating Bertolli skillet meals in a bag from the frozen food section. They're not too bad either. Plus, my man bought me a juicer...which has been fantastic. The colors and flavors are cool, even if you're not on drugs. I haven't looked up recipes yet, I'm too lazy, I've been winging it. I will say broccoli juice is not that good. And when I say not that good, I mean it's that kind of I dare you to drink it and you can't pinch your nose shut because that's cheating, not that good. If you haven't ever bought a juicer, it's a lazy person's dream. I'm sure that the frozen meals aren't the best nutritionally, but Stouffer's mac and cheese is pretty hard to resist. I wonder if they would give me some money for promoting their food like this. Gimps around the country would probably buy their stuff just based on the convenience alone. Maybe I'll send a letter....later.