Whaddaya MEAN You've Never Heard of Me?!?

I live in a country with Nazis in it.
They helped elect the POTUS, who does not denounce white supremacy.
Coincidentally, he does not know even the most basic aspects of world (or even US) history. Which I guess means we're all condemned to repeat it.

Or we would, if climate change wasn't going to kill us all first.

One thing's for certain...I'm going to continue to smoke as much pot as I fucking want to, because I am sad and hopeless and unlikely to live to see 60.

For whatever reason, it seemed important to tell everyone about it.

In other news, the last grisly murder in Hellish Calling turned into a gay sex scene. I hate writing sex scenes, because the words we use to talk about sex all seem clinical or absurd. But this totally happened.

Last week, I had a doc appt on Wednesday. I hate going to the doc. Actually, I hate going anywhere. I don't like being around people or in environments I don't have any control over. The older I become, the worse this is. But I needed med refills and an A1C, so I arranged my whole week so I'd be sure to make it to this appointment.

The doc was sick and canceled on me. That sucked. It was almost shopping day, so I needed my refills called in. I made another appt for Friday--the last possible day to get them called in so we could pick them up on grocery day.
The doc was still sick and canceled again. At this point, I was annoyed for myself and kinda worried for my doc. Also, I asked the nurse to call in all my scrips.

Long story short, nothing worked. I still don't have my meds and it's Wednesday afternoon. Right now, my left foot has been tapping for about 2 1/2 days. I'm supposed to be working, but my attention span is shorter than JoJo's. It took me three hours to figure out what to have for dinner because even thinking about it seemed so overwhelming that I almost just went back to bed. My anxiety is through the roof. Then I made the foolish mistake of reading the news--the kind of news that really makes me wish we owned a car. I hate for H to be out and about so late at night. He doesn't even tell me now when cops hassle him and ask his business. I worry so much that he doesn't want to worry me further--which in turn makes me feel like a basket case a'la Myra in Deathtrap.

I've also been doing this new thing, where I train my brain to stop thinking about something awful and start thinking about...absolutely anything else. So when I remember that Nightmare Client thinks he totally got one over on us, I can make my brain think about something else (like say, Doctor Who) instead of getting angrier and angrier until I'm punching pillows. It's been going well. I'm getting pretty good about this--even knowing that many people developed this skill as children. I'm a crazy-pants, and I'm just getting around to it now.
It's a whole lot more difficult without my psyche meds. I even caught myself wondering if my doc wasn't messing with me on purpose because I'm so shitty about attending appointments. But that would be insane, right? That's the rambling of a paranoid mind, right? RIGHT?!?

Watching The Daily Show though, always helps me feel better. No matter how crazy I get, I still have a complete understanding of why Barack Obama wasn't at work in the Oval Office during 9/11. Because seriously, WHAT?!?

So yeah, my mind is going both fast and slow. It's laser focused on stuff that doesn't matter while being completely unable to focus on the stuff I need to do. Should be awesome to see how this all impacts my review of American Horror Story tonight.

September 6th is my mom's birthday.

It occurred to be recently that I tend to refer to mater in the past tense, even though she's not dead. I wouldn't even say she's "dead to me," because I don't pretend she's dead. I just talk to her slightly less often than I talk to (or toward, more like) people who actually are dead. There are plenty of dead people I think of as better, smarter, cooler, kinder, and less violent and psychotic as mater. For the record, I last spoke with mater in September of 1995. So I guess that's a sort of anniversary as well.

Funnily, I've also been thinking about gaslighting lately (Even saw the film from which we get the term. Jessica Lansbury is 19 years old in it!!). More than the violence, constant emotional and mental abuse, being ordered around like a servant, rarely being allowed out, the gaslighting did a shitload of damage to me. It's another one of those things I didn't realize was SO pervasive until much later. It's also another one of those things that I reacted hugely and horribly to when it happened (often to a very small degree) with other people later on.
If someone tells a story wrong, I'd be outraged even if it was a stupid thing that didn't matter. "His shirt was BLUE, not green! Tell it RIGHT!" Because I grew up knowing that when someone didn't tell the truth about something, they were doing it to make me look bad. That's not actually paranoia when you grow up with one of those "You see what I've got to put up with!" parents always harping on how tough they have it while they're using their kid as a punching bag.

Everything my mom ever said about me was exaggerated to make me look bad, stupid, selfish, greedy, vain, or otherwise terrible. Didn't matter if she was talking to a teacher, a neighbor, her husband, or our extended family. If they were impressed with a drawing, she'd tell them I traced it. If someone praised my good grades, she'd lie and say she called the school and "made" them change my grades. If I lost something, she said I sold it or gave it away, or "let" someone take it. Always. Constantly. And the bitch of it is, there are still people in my family who believe that shit. I'm told my mom's husband actually thinks I invited a band of drug fiends into their house to steal sports memorabilia. Nevermind that I don't think I have a single friend who would knowingly walk into a house with a basement full of swastikkas. But I digress.

It was my mom's birthday. I didn't sit around crying, drinking, watching movies we watched together when I was a kid. I wasn't angry or short with H, or walking around finishing arguments from 30 years ago while the cats just stared at me, confounded. I had a regular day, doing all the stuff I normally do.

So I feel pretty good about that.
Guess we'll see how I do next Mother's Day.

We haven't heard anything else from Nightmare Client since we got that ridiculous letter from his rented legal firm. While that may seem like good news, it worries me.

Some facts:

--Nightmare Client is sure I'm responsible for all of his bad Amazon reviews, and therefore his lack of sales.

--I am not responsible for any, and Amazon can verify this if they so choose.

--As of the 13th of this month, the 21-day deadline sent by the lawyers will be up. As such, Nightmare Client will realize he's powerless in this situation.

I worry that once he realizes this, he will be driven even more insane. While he hasn't made direct threats of violence, it's obvious that he's fuckin' nuts. The stuff we've been sent via Email is delusional to the point of actual psychosis.

NC also knows things about us, like H's work schedule and how often I'm here alone.

We don't have room for a dog (I've been wanting one for a while now) and H won't even discuss having a gun in the house. I very much see his point, and am mostly in agreement. I have a taser, which is meant to discourage people from bothering me. I imagine it would be useless against someone who broke in here with the express purpose of doing me physical harm. And I'm telling you all--I wouldn't put that past this guy for a second. As I keep saying, he sounds deluded to me.

So the question is: How do I keep myself safe from this deranged maniac?
I seriously need ideas.

I had Indian food for the first time last night.

Paneer with spinach and a seafood dish in a spicy sauce with yogurt and nuts. Also, garlic paneer. H had paneer as well and a citrusy tomato sauce. It was really spicy. Mine was supposed to be "medium" but I also found it intensely spicy.

Here's the thing.
I need to learn to make--at the very least, paneer and that sauce, which is called "korma" sauce. I'm guessing that this will require a bunch of specialized shopping, since I doubt I have any of the spices I need onhand. Well, garlic. Always garlic.

How did a whole nationality of cuisine this awesome escape me for my whole life up to this point?


In other news, I went to the doc yesterday after not going for almost a year. The new doc is actually pretty awesome. My numbers were slightly worse than last year, which stands to reason since I was out of a few meds and have been taking abysmal care of myself since falling into a crazy depression. I got a referral for a therapist, and they also want me to have an EKG stress test thingy. I don't know why provoking my heart is a good idea, but I'm not a doctor. I'm also behind for a mammogram, so I probably should call back and get a referral for that too.

I need to get one of those lights for seasonal affective disorder. I was hoping my insurance would cover it, but no such luck. They're surprisingly costly. Fie!

I live a life rich in anxiety, which is not a surprise to anyone who knows me. My main way of dealing with anxiety is to stay the hell at home and not go out into the big, scary world unless I have to. So if you've seen me socially outside my home--that means that I probably love the hell out of you. It also means that if I've inexplicably dashed away from a planned gathering, that it has nothing to do with you.

Anxiety. One of the things I'm most anxious about is that something bad will happen to H. He walks a long way to take the bus to work, and has been hassled by cops as to why he is out at night, where he's going, etc. I used to stand outside the video store where I worked waiting for cabs for upwards of an hour without incident--but when H was waiting with me we'd be questioned regularly. We were even pulled over in a cab once.

So, I occasionally call H at work, just to say Hey and to quell my anxiety. I'm aware that this is lame, and could be perceived as needy and controlling. H is cool with it.

Last week, I called H after waking up from a dream that he was shot in a robbery at his work. Not out of the question--especially since he's there alone during the overnight shift. So yeah, I called just to make myself feel better. The phone rang and rang, but he didn't answer. Doing my best to stay calm, I waited three minutes and then called back. Again, no answer.

I wanted to call the cops, explain the situation (leaving out the dream and some of my own ridiculousness) and just ask them to check in and make sure everything was okay. But I didn't.
See, H is a black guy who stands over 6 feet tall. Statistically, this is the scariest type of person in America. I then envisioned multiple circumstances by which H could be "accidentally" shot by "helpful" cops who thought he was robbing the place. This week, we learned that some cops think it's okay to beat the shit out of people for being "arrogant," or not properly kissing the asses of cops as they hassle us. If anything bad happened to H because I asked the cops for help, I couldn't live with myself. Seriously. I'd have to be hospitalized to prevent my own suicide after something like that. No lie.

It occurs to me how incredibly fucked up it is that I should be afraid to call the cops, because it seems that being helped and being killed or beaten are roughly equally likely in some circumstances. People like to pretend that the cops only kill people who are criminals, or who are threatening their lives. But we know better now. The proliferation of cameras on phones, on dashes, or in businesses have clearly proven that you can be standing around near a slice of pizza, making a minor traffic error, or just walking down the street and be murdered for the crime of looking scary, making someone uncomfortable, or standing up for your own dignity.

Nutzo police are not the norm in Ann Arbor. But they did murder a mentally ill woman last summer when a relative called the cops to help calm her down. Apparently 2 (or 3, I forget now) grown men couldn't take down a mentally ill woman with a kitchen knife in any other way except shooting her in the head. So yeah, why take chances?

No point to this story, I guess.
H was actually vacuuming the floor and didn't hear the phone ring.
He was fine...probably because I didn't call the cops for help after all.

For anyone keeping track on whether or not I'll be taking Latuda--the new med my doc prescribed for me--I'm not. I was a little nervous about the side-effects, like causing crazy mania. H thought I should take it, because the doctor said so. I explained that psyche meds don't really work like that. It's not like a blood pressure med--where you can die if you don't take it. Anyway, I eventually agreed to give it a try.

Then I found out that it's $90 a month.
So I'm not gonna take it after all.
Funny thing is, $90 a month is actually very cheap for a non-generic psyche med. Personally, I know very few people who live with bi-polar disorder, clinical depression, or schizophrenia (all ailments Latuda is supposed to help with) who are financially solvent enough that a sudden $90 a month expense wouldn't cripple them. Of course, if I didn't have insurance it would be over $300 a month. Are there really people, even sane people, who can afford a sudden expense like that? That's almost half our rent.

In other news, I'm watching the crap out of House of Cards on Netflix. When we got the free Apple TV, I decided it would be neat to treat us to Netflix, since it's only $8 a month. It's already paid for itself over On Demand rentals. Plus I saw "It's Such a Beautiful Day" which is a cartoon that will totally make you cry.
House of Cards is insane, and much more murderous than I was expecting.

Still looking for a new gig. If you know anyone who needs a content creator, editor, English or writing tutor, or childcare giver for a kid older than 7--do let me know.

You know how sometimes things start going so well that you become utterly assured that your entire world is about to go up in flames? Things have been going pretty well lately. Nothing major, but enough has been going right that I feel like I've actually got a handle on this writing-for-a-living business. Translating that, it means that taking a chance on myself and the idea that I might actually have some talent and marketable skill at this basically goes against everything I was raised to believe.

Even more recently, things have been going so well in one particular area that I'm wondering if I'm not falling into some kind of John Grisham situation. I feel valued, appreciated, and fairly (if not overly) compensated for what I'm doing. So naturally, I feel like Gene Hackman is going to suddenly show up to let me know that they're all onto me, the jig is up, and that I'm not fooling anyone.

Hopefully everything will be ready for the Kickstarter to go live on Saturday. I'm still waiting to get bio stuff from our artist.

So...how's your week going?

In case you're interested, here are some articles of mine that are doing well. Weirdly, the share counts appear much lower than they are.

60 Modern Reads You Should Get to Before Age 30. Um, because the target audience is millenials.

Tom Mison of FOX's Sleepy Hollow: The TV hero we never saw coming.

A Friend Request from My High School Bully? WTF Do I do Now?

Why Gotham's Penguin is our fave new TV villain

10 Reasons Porn is Good for You.

How Society Benefits from Access to Pornography.

Feeling pretty awesome right now.
Not so much because I'm doing great things, but because I'm trying my very best to do great things.

I feel better physically when I exercise. Instead of just knowing that and making excuses for why I'm not doing it--I'm doing it and feeling it and it's all good.

Ditto money making, being awake when the sun is out, cooking proper food daily, and a few other things that are making me feel utterly amazing.

Also spending much less time on the internet, stopped with the click-bait and "news" articles meant mainly to enrage rather than inform.

In the back of my mind, I'm wondering what emotional tragedy or anxiety ridden thing will happen to throw a spanner in the works.
For now though, it's all pretty good.

Most of you who know me are aware that my initial reaction to sad things is to feel angry. Much more familiar and comfortable. So when I found out that an old ex-boyfriend of mine killed himself, I was pretty pissed. First of all, he had kids who needed him and an ex who, as far as I could tell, was allergic to managing her own life. Secondly, he wasn't dying or in constant pain--which makes killing yourself a cowardly move. Third, he had plenty of judgemental and shitty things to say about me when we were together and I was horribly depressed and suicidal.

One might think I should have more compassion for him, especially given my own suicide attempts. But I don't. I can't. All I can think is Fuck you, you were surrounded by people who wanted to help you and you didn't even try.

I was living with this dude when I began the draft for what eventually became The Finster Effect. He's actually the character Blue LeRoy in that book, as well as Count Drunkula in A Stabbing for Sadie. He never knew it though, that's actually what I was trying to catch up with him to tell him. Procrastination never pays, kids!

Maybe I'm still angry because this guy was drunk, mean, and afraid to leave the apartment without a gun. He carried a .357 in his lunch pail. Seriously. Once, he hit me in the face because I told him if he offered his 10-year-old son drugs again that I was calling the cops. I went inpatient psyche when I lived with him--because I'm not exactly the picture of mental health myself. After we broke up, I had another fucked up relationship that ended pretty badly. Three years after that, I met H and it all came together.

I'm not surprised that he is dead--though I did think it would be from drinking or drunken shenanigans than anything pro-active. His son gave me the news, so I didn't want to ask for details. I'd be surprised to learn that it wasn't a gun-death. His son has depression as well, and I really, really hope he's able to find his way through it. That's the kind of history that should never repeat itself.

I don't even want to consider what it says about me that my overriding emotion here is that I'm glad I got the hell away. How gross is it that outliving someone should be seen as some sort of triumph? My life is far from perfect, and my choices far from flawless--but I am grateful to have a nice life that's full of love. I need to remember that more when I'm having bitchy little fits over shit that doesn't fucking matter.

Like many cats, JoJo hates closed doors. Doesn't matter what's behind said door--he wants in. He's especially fond of running into the bedroom when we open the door. He flings himself on the bed and rolls around like he owns the place. It's pretty cute.
JoJo (whose full name is Joey JoJo Junior Shabadoo) also does a thing where he climbs up on my lap, and flops over so I have to hold him like he's a baby. Because I'm a childless woman in my 40's, I joke with him (and any humans in the room) that he shouldn't do that--because it makes me look crazy. I might as well be wearing a wedding dress and rocking my cat-baby to sleep, right?

The more I think about it though, it's not that crazy.
In fact, of all the people I know who post excessively about their cats at least 2/3 of them are men. Men who complain about not being in relationships--posting pics of their cats, funny stories about their cats, boringly ordinary stories about their cats, LOLcat-style memes, and lengthy descriptions of how they choose their cat food and select cat toys. I can't tell if it's boring or hilarious. I suppose it can be two things.

People whine about how technology keeps us from truly interacting with each other. It doesn't. It's probably cats. And it's not out of necessity. It's because humans tend to suck, and cats tend toward awesomeness.

I am feeling better.

Had a work meeting with my boss (at my own behest). It was open, honest, and I left feeling much better than I did when I went in.

Meds seem to be evening out.

Got a nibble on a gig making those silly lists that people pass around on Facebook. The site looks like it's more pictures than words--and I frankly find those to be a pain in the ass. Still I'm gonna look it over and see if it's something I'll want to do. If the pay is okay, I could certainly create some funny lists. I'm the Egg McMuffin of pop culture and tend to be witty as fuck.
And I've always wanted to be professionally opinionated.

The sushi delivery place will be the end of me. If I had it, I could spend hundreds of dollars a week there. So much eel...

Mark was here for lunch today. Hamburger Pie.
Mmmmmm...

Well into the Matt Smith Doctor Whos (Ha! I almost wrote "Doctor Whose" which would be laughably ungrammatical.) They're pretty good. I asked H if the next two-parter was going to be emotionally draining--you know how they can kick your ass sometimes? He said I don't think so, no. Right. Because at the end of the two-parter ( Spoiler here, obiviously )

And lastly, I got a haircut. I had all the bleached hair cut off. My hair was normal brown for about 4 days. Now, not so much.

The blue is a lot of fun. And with just the one color, it's not really that weird. Besides, as a writer, I get to be eccentric even though I'm not rich. With that in mind:

There's a wee bit of pink as well.

Picked up an extra shift at the day-job this week to cover for someone attending a funeral. What am I gonna say? No, I don't feel like it even though my plan was to stay home, relax and dick around on the computer? Possibly, but I didn't. I could use the scratch. I need to order new magnet bracelets since my good one broke (after over a decade) and my pretty ones aren't really strong enough. I got another pretty one that is stronger, and a super-dooper-uber-strong one that will top out at around 4000 gauss. Mmmmm...gauss. I realize that I am a great believer in a few medical things, like magnets and EMDR, that a lot of people assume are bunk.
Magnets, for example, are sold as being miracle cures. They aren't. They don't lower your blood pressure, stress level, or give you an enhanced state of being. But they have helped me through some awful pains. I first used them to take down the swelling in an abcessed molar. If you've never had the displeasure, it's like a throbbing kidney stone in your mouth. Magnets did the trick--I didn't even care how absurd they looked taped to my face. These days, they curb the carpal/cubital tunnel pain.

The "ENTER" key on my keyboard at work sticks terribly.
I find it irksome.

This weekend I'm hanging out with my new buddy, a little kid I'll refer to as G-man. G-man is the child of a chick I went to college with. His family is Mormon. He is a certified genius and a huge fan of all things horror. He came out to Ann Arbor a while back to record a short story for me--and was great. I think he's 9, though he might be 10. Anyway, he's coming over on Saturday and sleeping over in H's office. We're gonna talk horror, maybe record some more fiction, and watch whatever horror I have that is swear-free and hopefully won't scar the kid for life. I'm thinking of showing him Night of the Living Bread, maybe a few original Twilight Zone eps, and either the original Dracula or Frankenstein.

I'm also taking suggestions on stuff that is quality horror but can still be shown to a kid with religious parents. The original JAWS should be fine if he hasn't already seen it. Apparently, he loves megalodons.

Still chipping away at this med situation. Doubling my dosage tonight of the Celexa. Here's hoping it won't make me more tired than I already am. My appointment with my regular doc and psyche doc together is supposed to be next Thursday, but I just found out I have to work. I'm hoping I can get that figured out, since I can't get another refill until I see both docs together. I do feel a lot less tense, angry, and worried about stuff. But I'm tired and not getting very much work done. It's so hard finding a balance...

And finally, this Friday the 13th is the giant, enormo, FREE Kindle giveaway for A Stabbing for Sadie. ONE DAY ONLY, BITCHES! I don't have H's fly graphic with me at work, but please do tell everyone you've ever known. Graphic will be up by tomorrow. Honest.

I'm going to try a low dose of a mild anti-depressant.

I feel a bunch of different ways about it.
Ugh.

There were no cartoons last Sunday night, and we don't give a rat's ass about football. There have been a lot of ads On Demand for Lenny, starring the great Dustin Hoffman, and the chick who played Miss Tessmacher. I had never seen it, and I know very little about Lenny, except that he was a vulgar comedian who got arrested a lot. I presumed it was due to anti-establishment talk--the sort of thing that might get you pepper-sprayed today if you said it outside. There was some of that. But it's embarrassing to remember that there was a time in America when you could be arrested simply for saying a word. He was arrested a bunch of times, just for dirty talking in adult establishments. His opening act was a hooker for chrissake! It's not as if there were children there. Plus, he was kind of angry and nuts. So I relate.

The movie paints Bruce as troubled but desperately trying to do right. Hoffman plays him as kinda nuts, at least bi-polar if not schizophrenic. I am of the opinion that Dustin Hoffman is fucking amazing and one of the greatest actors of our time. As a kid, Little Big Man was deeply moving. Marathon Man is a horror/thriller classic. Kramer versus Kramer made me cry and cry. This movie is another masterpiece. An incredibly engrossing watch, and I'm still thinking about it days later.

Near the end, Bruce is trying to appeal to the judge in his anti-obscenity case. He could have literally gone to prison for telling dirty jokes. Lenny doesn't believe the judge is a bad guy. He also believes in his work, that is has value, that it isn't just profanity for the sake of it. He's right, for the most part. When he's yelling Can't we just talk about it--like people?!? and Please, don't take my words! it kind of fucked me up. I'm super emotional and precarious about the new book right now, so it was well-timed for that sort of thing. Drug deaths are always frustratingly sad, and his seemed totally avoidable. In the movie at least, Lenny Bruce is portrayed as just the type of guy who could be helped with mental health intervention. He just wouldn't have known or believed that in his time. Being an outsider meant not trusting anybody, and given how he was treated just for breaking a few social mores, I can't say that I blame him. Being that angry all the time really takes it out of you. I've been feeling it lately, so again, well-timed.

So yeah, I'm downloading some of his stuff to check out. And some Carlin too while I'm at it.

I'm planning to get a bunch more writing and marketing stuff today. Then I'll look for some new jobs to apply for when I get home. I have to haul my CPAP machine over to the supply place so they can read the SD Card to prove I'm using it. I don't know why I can't just bring the card, but they are lame about it. Plus I'll find out what, if anything, my new insurance will cover on the CPAP since it's nowhere near paid for. That should be fun. I'm also gonna check out a movie called Deliver Us From Evil, which I'm going in to basically cold.

I've talked about this a few times in passing, but decided recently that it's an important enough concept that it deserves a post of its own. I'm framing it in terms of women. But if you're a dude and the advice makes sense to you, by all mean avail yourself of it.

I know plenty of women who struggle with interpersonal relationship issues whether at home, with extended families, at work, the neighborhood--whatever. Often times, we struggle with whether or not it's "worth it to say something" or more specifically--we worry about what will happen and/or what people will say about us if we do or say something in our own defense. I know women who remain in inappropriate relationships because "Who am I to say I deserve better?" I have friends who have accepted various types of harassment with quiet grace, not considering that their silence leaves other people vulnerable to abusers and harassers of all kinds because "It's not that big a deal; I can handle it." We all have lots of excuses why it's not a good idea to stand up for ourselves. So we hope that he'll stop drinking less and realize what a good thing they have in us. We tolerate an unacceptable work situation and halfheartedly scroll through job listings when we are especially angry. We roll our eyes and wish things could be different. We tolerate. We accept.

In a general sense, tolerance and acceptance are wonderful things. But when we're being treated in ways that harm us, we need to stand up. That's the advice I'd give my best friend.

*lightbulb appears over head*

I propose that instead of letting all those excuses (okay, and reasons) keep us from working toward the life and relationships we want--that We follow the advice we would give to our own best friends. Or at the very least, that we apply that advice to ourselves, even if we ultimately make another choice.

Do we tell our best friends to tolerate abuse and/or stay with an abuser?
Do we suggest that maybe if they act nicer, their mean boss will stop making personal insults?
Have we ever told a friend that maybe the reason their mother is so critical is that they haven't really done much with their life?
Have we told a friend that maybe once they lose weight they'll be able to find someone who isn't always looking at other women--but for now we should just stay put?
Or that maybe they should act less *insert thing here* so people won't pick on us.

No, we don't.

Most of us would stay up all night talking down a friend in trouble. We'd do our very best to help them see how wonderful and valuable they are--that they deserve good things, and that there's nothing wrong with asking for them--even demanding them in some cases. We tell our friends that they deserve to be treated in a respectful and dignified manner--and if they aren't getting that treatment, to surround themselves by people who aren't mean spirited asshats.

So again, I propose that we all try to treat ourselves as well as we treat our best friend.
If it's good advice for them, it's almost certainly good advice for us.

The only thing worse than being treated horribly by other people, is thinking they're treating you that way because you deserve it.

Love this concept? Do share it with your BFFs!

Did not to a goddamn thing yesterday.
Really...not a single productive or lucrative thing.

Got up, had lunch because it was 2pm.
Watched Bette Davis in The Nanny. I love Bette, and I love that movie. Somehow though, I forgot that there was a back alley abortion in it. How could I possibly have forgotten THAT?

Mostly listened to tunes and dicked around on the internets.
Feel very sad about work stuff, and being trapped in a thing I don't like.
I really thought I'd be over that by this point in my life.
Not having kids is supposed to free up a lot of time and money.
Ah well...

True Blood premiere was okay, nothing special. They basically spent the whole first episode clearing up cliffhangers and letting us know where everyone is. I daresay Maxine Fortenberry has rocketed to the front of the list as being the most dysfunctional person in Bon Temps. Really, Maxine? Really?
The second ep was much better, even though it took 40 freaking minutes for the stupid thing to start--not counting the 10 minutes I spent proving to a website that I actually have HBO.

Forgot to DVR that alien show we were trying out. I bet it's On Demand though.
Decided recently that I'm not going to be recording cartoons onto discs anymore. I've been recording Simpsons every week for almost 20 years. I just don't care anymore. I don't have time to record them, let alone watch and rewatch them like I used to. Maybe I'll make a disc or two a season covering everything, that would make more sense.
Besides, Simpsons fans can be so irritating. Some 22 year old kid was talking about how the show "just isn't funny like it was in the beginning." Right. Because we all respond to things the same way at 22 as we did in the fucking womb. Idiots.

Depression is still kicking my ass. I really wish I knew how to stop feeling so overwhelmed by everything. Everything just sucks so bad though...

I have this thing now where within an hour of waking up, I'm pissed about a dozen different things. That's mainly how I know it's teh crazy and not just the world sucking ass. I swear if I didn't have insurance, I'd just go back in the hospital. But since I have a job, insurance expects me to spend thrice my monthly take-home pay for less than 3 days inpatient.

Within say, an hour of this weekend's shooting, the Internet discourse devolved into a hateful screaming match about who is more responsible. I'm here to tell you that there is plenty of blame to go around.

Sure, there's plenty of violent rhetoric coming from the right. To rile up their angry, frightened, gun-and-scapegoat-loving base, conservatives do tend to employ a lot of aggressive language that many are citing as the impetus for this shooting. Now let me ask you this, how many of you have ever murdered someone because someone on TV told you to? Nobody? Okay, good. Now, how many of you have ever murdered someone because a couple people on TV, the internet, and politics suggested that you do so? Again, nobody? Awesome. Have you ever murdered someone (or even tried) because of a book, a song, a movie, a little devil on your shoulder, or a map with a bunch of cross-hairs on it? I thought not. That's because this is something disturbed people do. People who are not well acquainted with reality can sometimes take things more literally than intended, with ugly, horrible consequences. And of course, the Bible has been cited as the cause for many, man murders. So has Catcher in the Rye. But we don't dig up the corpses of Salinger or Jesus so we can hold them accountable, do we?

That said, I honestly do not think that Glenn Beck, Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh, or Bill O'Reilly are actually glad that someone opened fire on a crowd. In fact, I bet they are horrified because they know full well that a lot of people will blame them for the actions of a lone loon. Yes, teabaggers are often also gun nuts. Yes, many are racists, homophobes, misogynists, etc. They are ignorant, misinformed, carry nonsensical misspelled signs, and are terrified of anything they don't understand. I think they are ludicrous, and need to shut up. I do NOT, however, think they are all okay with murdering people they don't agree with. In my opinion, gun nuts come in two basic stripes: Those who are nutty for guns the way that I am nutty for movies: enthusiastic, knowledgeable, passionate, are careful not to leave naughty things in reach of children. Then, there are the frightened, hateful types who keep tons of guns around because they are terrified that the gov't, the ter'rsts, the atheists, or whoever they're hating at the mo' are gonna come take their guns and kill their grandmothers or whatever. They cram the 2nd amendment down our collective throats and swear that they are nothing more than patriots who love their country...which must be the reason Sig Sauer puts out crap like this.

IMHO, the reason shit like this happens is largely due to the stigma surrounding mental illness. When we pretend that the ONLY diagnoses are "crazy" or "sane" and that telling someone they need mental help is a huge insult--we open the door for nuttiness to be confused with reality. This is exacerbated by denying poor people access to doctors and a general tenor in society that people who get help for mental issues are inherently less valuable, trustworthy, truthful, or reasonable than people who fervently pretend that they are fine. If you think spraying a peaceful crowd with automatic gunfire is a good way to get your point across, you're a loon. And you'd be a loon even if no one had ever heard of Sarah Palin or her endless chanting of "don't retreat, reload!"

Myself, I write exactly the sort of books that some loon might read the wrong way and think I'm telling him/her to murder someone or that "evil" is okay. They are crazy books, but like Michael Douglass in "Falling Down," they make an odd kind of sense. I do not advocate murder, nor do I believe in evil. Evil is a cop-out, just like Bill O'Reilly's version of god. I don't know what causes this, so it must be god/the devil/bob/evil/FSM. Like zero-tolerance policies, it is a short cut to thinking or having to decide things.

With all of that in mind, Fred Phleps and his ilk can fuck right off for their plans to picket the funerals of these people. I know I just said I don't advocate violence, but if I was a Christian and this guy kept telling people he was on the same side as me--I might well want to introduce his face to a jumbo roll of duct tape.

Since LOST ended, I've been wondering how it would impact TV on the whole. Would every network try a similarly budgeted and convoluted show that requires intense study and nerdy devotion to fully process? The Event premiered on Monday, and we got our definitive answer: Kinda. It introduced lots of characters, jumped around between "now" and 11-months ago, three weeks ago, yesterday, all over the place. Basically, some chick went missing, leading a guy to crash a plane into a black president. How avant garde. Not. H liked it, and it's on Mondays--which means we can watch it together. So we're gonna give it a whirl. But NOT in a rabid fangirl way. I'm not ready to do that again.
I'd also like to mention the rumor that Terry "The Stepfather" O'Quinn and Michael "The Delightfully Psychotic" Emerson are in talks to do some kind of dramatic buddy comedy series together. Gimme Gimme Gimme it!!! I can only watch those William Hinks episodes of The Practice on my iPod so many times. ;-] That's not true, I could watch them to infinity.

Criminal Minds comes back tonight. This is the first new season since my obsession with this program began. I'm stoked. ( Blah blah my marriage blah... ) To illustrate this point, H got me my cable back. We even have Showtime (which I have never had before) so I can watch Dexter. The HD/DVR box isn't here yet, but they zapped our box with the new channels and the On Demand. I watched the first two eps of Season Three of Tru Blood last night. Awesome!!! There's also a whole new season of Hung I didn't know about. Right now Showtime is showing a movie starring Judd Nelson and Dale Midkiff, followed by a one-star Jaws ripoff starring Antonio Sabato Jr. Ahh...cable. That's the stuff...

We went to see Devil last night. I thought going in that it was directed by M Night Shymalan. It was not. But the guy who did direct was clearly his minion. It was a not-quite-as-thoughtful portrayal of something M Night would have done. I found it suspenseful, though I gotta admit that keeping information from the audience by making it go dark is totally overdone. And these dark scenes were far too long. I did enjoy the way information was parceled out, but the revelations were forced and again, tired. It had some great moments and good performances, but I found it to be routine and underwhelming. That bumms me out, as I was poised to enjoy it.

Still working on some short stories, one in particular. I don't think I've ever written a ghost story. I find them to be typically boring and trite. Someone died badly, they haunt a person or a place. *Yawn* But I have a cool idea and was asked to contribute to another anthology. Plus, the guy who asked is pretty good and I'm pleased to be involved. Thinking about doing the ol' NaNoWriMo Zokutuo clause thingy this year, if only to get my ass in gear on the new book. It's gonna be so good, it saddens me that it isn't further along. In case you missed it, it's a zombie novel called The Finster Effect after my dear friend Finster who shared a cool idea with me. Plus, I less-than-three zombies.

Speaking of crazy, this recent xkcd sums up one of the most perpetually plaguing aspects of my inner monologue.



Due to this mindset, I have actually convinced myself that when I kiss H before he or I goes to work, that the act of us kissing is magical and will keep us safe. I shudder to think what a competent psychiatrist would make of that--it fails on so many levels. Psyche docs call that "reframing." I call it batshit. But if it lets me sleep at night, fuck it, I don't care.

One of the finest films ever made, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was on TV yesterday. Apparently, it's the anniversary. ( I'm gonna discuss it at length, with mild spoilers, and within the context of my having mental illness myself. )

Back to work tomorrow, having accomplished everything I needed to this weekend. Need to spend more time with the zombie manuscript of course, but my new short story is pretty solid right now. (It's up for members of wednes_writes if anyone wants to check it out.) Next podcast is ready to go and new Ladies of Villainy post went up yesterday. So that's all good. The busy season at my day-job basically starts tomorrow. We have a bunch of new people coming in, and call volume is about to explode. Sucky thing is, this summer was terrible and stressful, and I've been really busy so I feel like I didn't get much down time. We had a horrible sale and they released a badly handled coupon that didn't work on the website. Then we got the horrible new system that, in addition to being VERY slow and unintuitive, was rolled out terribly and is still buggy as hell. Couple that with nobody getting raises and bonuses being laughably small, I'm not really feeling the day-job these days.

In case I haven't mentioned, Inception was incredible. Not quite my fave Christopher Nolan film, but damn close. (I freakin' LOVE Following). I'm not going to discuss it at length, just go see it. I got a copy of The Prestige on DVD this week because I haven't been able to find my burned copy in months. It's well worth paying for anyway. Also picked up the remake of 'Salem's Lot for cheap (both movies delivered for $15) *Happy Dance*

And finally, my iPod wiped itself clean last week. It was horrible. No reason at all. It was plugged in and I restarted my computer. All gone. Called support--no help. I lost a zillion movies, audiobooks, LOST and other TV eps, and a bunch of stuff from iTunes that I actually paid for. They don't let you re download stuff for free anymore. Never been angry at Apple before, don't like how that feels.

When I was in elementary school, and again in college, they told us basically the following:

If all the time of the earth from it's inception until today,
was 24-hours,
man would have shown up at 1 minute to midnight.
That is to say, we showed up at the very, very end.

It seems like perhaps the universe puts "intelligent" (in quotes to imply whatever the hell THAT means) life on a planet for a specific reason. I might even suggest that it's for the express purpose of running that planet into the ground. Or blowing it to smithereens--both of which we have already done or are perfectly capable of doing thanks to technology we developed wholly on purpose. Our sole purpose here may be to bring about the planet's demise. In which case--we're doing a bang-up job!

In the premiere episode of The Sopranos, Tony has this great monologue. It's about how it's good to be at the beginning of something. And that these days he felt as if he was coming in at the end. Prophetic, seeing as how he ( *spoiler alert* ) Ya know? I kinda feel like that may be the case with humanity. Or maybe it's just me. I hope not, yikes!

Here on Earth, there is much ado about how we define that which we do not know. Why are we here? What happens when we die? Who made the planet--and us? How long ago? What else is out there? Humans go to war over that, countless people dying needlessly. But what if whatever it is is larger than the United States, the planet Earth, our Solar System, the milky way even...and beyond? What then? Are we all going to some intergalactic plane of torment because we didn't know we should revere a super space God? Probably not, but who the hell knows?

It certainly stands to reason that if there is a single higher power, that it controls more than this one planet. So if you want to be One with The Universe you might want to set about the task of finding out who that it, and how we may appease them.


In other news, my head has been hurting me and giving me weird kinds of throbbing and tingling, and feeling heavy. Wednes no like. Decided to start cutting those new pills I've been taking in half. They seem to be taking a lot out of me. Think it might also be time to get my hearing checked and maybe get a new head X-ray. It's been a while for me.

My brother, Mark came over for dinner today. I made a big stir-fry that turned out really delicious. The cheesecake brownies were delicious too and I sent him home with a couple of sizable ones. I'm starting to sound like one of those grandmotherly-types that keeps telling people to eat, and wants to send them home with big Tupperwares full of food. Not that I have any actual Tupperware. Anyway, there was food, (Bro-ham called my cooking "gourmet") trivia, great conversation. He's such a good guy. H took this awesome picture of us:

I like it very much, although I'm pretty sure having a shine on your face is one of those things chicks are supposed to feel mortified about. And just for fun, here's one of JoJo. He's once again making sure that he's the center of attention.

Not pictured: Pentelope, H.

I've been debating making a conscious choice to stop saying "Mentally ill." I don't care for the phrase, connotatively. More importantly though, I don't think it's accurate. There is no cure for a mental health diagnosis. Even a supposed cure-all like ECT (I've never had ECT, but it's one of my greatest fears in re: The Crazy) doesn't actually make you not mentally ill. Like the common cold, treatments are designed to relieve symptoms so the patient is able to function out in the world. Saying a person is "ill" all the time...forever is goddamn depressing. If I take my meds and do what I'm supposed to, I feel reasonably well most of the time. So calling me "ill" is not accurate. It's not like I'm contagious.
But what to say instead? I'm okay with the word Mental even though the connotation of that is not great in many circles. After trying and rejecting several options I'm almost ready to settle on Mentally Odd. That sounds closest to the truth to me.

My brain chemistry works differently than a lot of other people's. If I want to have a job and maintain relationships the way other people expect and deserve, I have to take pills to alter my brain chemistry. That sounds pretty simple, but socially/politcally/emotionally it opens up a whole can of worms. I know people who literally flinch at hearing the word "crazy." They view it as accusatory and derogatory. They take great offense. It *is* kind of a low-brow way to refer to someone, and when people use it seriously or "half-jokingly"--you can bet it's coming from a combination of ignorance and judgement. The word "crazy" calls to mind images of ranting lunatics in straight jackets, being led away by men in white coats. We now know that not everybody with a mental health diagnosis (verbose phrase, isn't it?) reaches anything close to that point. But some of us do, and we're not entirely comfortable with people not taking it seriously. At the same time, it *can* be pretty fucking funny.

The word "insanity," like "crazy" gets tossed around all too often. Insipid people describe themselves as crazy if they lose their car keys or space out in traffic. That is a far cry from what actual mentally-odd people go through. (Okay, I tried it out there. How'd it sound?) I almost resent people using it casually and untruthfully. I do accept that it's in the vernacular now. More importantly, when people say it, I grok that they are talking about themselves and not me. Still, it's not accurate, just hyperbole. I don't want to be one of those douches who can't take a little hyperbole without getting all Gloria Allred on everyone. ;-]

My final point on insanity today is this: Having a brain chemistry that is different from the average person is a good thing, IMO. Not that I have a choice, but now that I understand what the hell's going on with me I am able to manage it in a way that still allows for feeling the highs and lows of life. I can get to my crazy for writing, and deal with my crazy for say, going to work. And my books really are getting better and better. Like regular people, sometimes it gets to be too much. But I can deal with it, sometimes with a bit of help. I'm not ashamed to ask for help if I need it. In fact, I'm proud that I can now recognize that I need it BEFORE I've done something horrible to fuck up my life. That thing recently was a pretty close call though, I admit. Anyway--I'm not trying to jump on a "we crazy people are sooooo much deeper than you" high horse. Just saying that there are benefits to having a brain that doesn't want you to do the things you think you want to do.
Mentally odd (!) people see the world differently that so-called sane people. We often do feel things with greater intensity than the average person (I almost want to use the word severely. We feel things severely.) and with my diagnosis, dizzying highs and crippling lows. Of course, there are also crippling highs and dizzying lows--which are not as good. The ability to see things in a different way from many is why so many of us become artists of one kind of another. Once we recognize that we have this ability (people usually have to tell us, because we don't tend to realize how different we are on our own) we typically aspire to hone it. People wonder why so many great musicians, actors, etc turn to drugs, or die young, or can't make a marriage last. It's because we're fucking crazy. ;-] Mentally odd people crave the outlet, the expression, the approval--even the applause when all those noisy people aren't scaring the shit out of us. But we also have issues. Scary, scary issues. Seeing things "differently" is natural for us. It's only different when compared to the "sane." But even a differently-mentally-odd partner (damn, it's getting verbose in here again) needs someone with some level of predictability. If we want to live and be around other people, we're better off etching our message of benevolent oddness into the glorious wall of human creativity--shut up, it's a metaphor--than we are etching it into our own collective forearms.

Plus, sometimes, writing a book about murdering people reminds us how wrong it is to actually murder people.

I've never really been a fan of summer. When I was a kid, school was awesome because even though there were bullies and gym class and plenty of apathetic teachers (and some good ones, but the bad ones can ruin your whole day), nobody treated me like I was treated at home. Summer is hot. I don't like being hot. I don't wear skimpy clothes, I don't go to the beach, or amusement parks, or community pools. So--summer doesn't really do much for me.

But now...I only work 3 days a week in the summer. It's our slow season. I have time to blog at work. I get free air conditioning all day, free filtered water, and I enjoy my co-workers. So that's all good. As it happens, this summer has been okay thusfar. The kids are gone, so it's easy to get a cab. And some things are coming together fairly well.

My doc appointment has led to the addition of 1mg of Risperdal to my daily pill intake. I don't care for the term anti-psychotic, as you might imagine. I don't fancy thinking of myself as someone who needs a pill to not be a psycho. But that's mainly connotative. In truth, it's supposed to even out my mania. And at this low dose, it kind of reminds me of Zyprexa. It makes me kind of sleepy and makes everything feel soft and nice--sort of like being stoned. It's also giving me the munchies. Seriously.
Happily, this pill comes into my life the same week as the badass recliner I just scored for my living room. It's a Lay-z-boy and is pretty damn comfy. I'm gonna write a short story about as soon as I figure out what horrible thing is hiding inside it. ;-]

My most difficult podcast casting dilemma worked out for me as of yesterday. I found someone who is able and willing to read both Dami and Chandra for the low, low price of $10 an hour. So that is sweet. My new biggest dilemma is that my Mikey is short on free time and is having a tough time getting the chapters to me. I'm okay with waiting a bit, because he's really, REALLY good. But I'm also antsy and nervous because I'm like that.

I've been feeling overwhelmed and unwell to the point of actually contemplating a short hospitalization. Of course, I have a job and therefore can't afford that, because I'd actually be expected to pay for it. Also can't afford the med I've been prescribed, so I'm going to see if I can get a ($50) appointment with the mental health doc they now have at my local community clinic. I want to discuss some med options and see if there's anything that might help me without making it so I can't get to my Crazy--which I need for writing.

My boss is giving me most of next week off, per my request. Aside from my own personal Crazy, my day-job has been kicking my ass. The last two weeks have been fucking unbearable, they really hung us out to dry. Like Christmas times a million, plus web support we are in no way trained to provide. I'm working tomorrow and Friday, then not again until the following Saturday. In that time I will sleep, edit and mix audio for podcasts, and outline the new book. Then I will sleep a bit more, play some Xbox and watch a few movies I've been meaning to watch. It will be glorious. I am getting pretty damn excited for the new book to start coming together. Zombies, you know.

Have you guys read Under the Dome yet? I got it for my birthday, but the I started reading Jack Ketchum and haven't stopped yet. But I'm thinking about picking it up during my week off, since it isn't really a good book to carry around in your purse. Will the ending make me mad? (You know how some Stephen King novels end like he couldn't think of anything so he just stopped writing or flipped a coin or something? wednes
no like.) With that in mind, should I read it?

Speaking of Jack Ketchum, I think I got banned from posting at his Facebook fan comm. I posted something about how the movie version of The Girl Next Door sucked, and how whoever made it didn't seem to understand why the book is so goddamn good. Then, I couldn't post over there anymore. That's a drag, but I was being absolutely sincere. I adore Ketchum's work, and it infuriates me that someone would (or could, I suppose) make such a sub-par movie out of such an impressive book.

H and I watching a silly little zombie movie called Insanitarium. I expected that it would be laughably bad. It was almost good. Had some very cool elements, even if they weren't well fleshed out *snerk--zombies? fleshed out? Hahahahahaaa!* or well-acted. Supposedly, nanotechnology made the zombies, but aside from telling us that verbally, there's nothing else on nanotechnology in the whole movie.

And finally, if you're like me, you've been waiting for Google Chrome for mac to finally allow you to organize your bookmarks. It's still in Beta, but they have fixed that and I am now using it to great affect. Yay!

Note: this turned out longer than I expected. But I'm not cutting it, because it also turned out more fascinating than I expected.



I am an incredibly self-absorbed person. There's no denying it. The advancement of all things Wednes is my number one priority in life. My writing. My well-being. My happiness. There are plenty of people I love and enjoy sharing my life with, and sharing in theirs. But me first. I'm number one. I do not consider this a bad thing, even though the term self-absorbed has a negative connotation. I consider it a healthy, proactive stance on things. Still, it is not without it's down side.

Like my dear friend Sadie, *snerk* everything in my life is processed in relation to me. For all my talk of people being the sum total of their life experience, limited or advanced by their physicality, I can be woefully forgetful of the fact that not everyone knows what I know, or has done what I've done. This leads to scenarios where someone thinks I'm dis'ing them because they don't know something--when actually I'm trying NOT to insult them by implying they didn't know it. Eg:

Me: JD Salinger died. I can't believe some of the stuff people are saying about him online.

They: Who's JD Salinger?

Me: Really? 0^o

They: YES, really! I'm sorry I don't know every actor in the world.

Me: Actually, he's--you know what? Nevermind.

And then I look like a tool. But yeah, if I know something, I tend to assume that everyone knows it, or should know it. I remind myself that my 15-years-younger-than-me-co-workers aren't going to get my reference to "The Ropers" spin-off show. Hell, I had to explain "Jump the Shark" to one of the 3 hippest chicks in my department. (Sasha, if you are still internet stalking me, the other two and Renee and Ariana) The only exceptions would be things I have formally studied, or things that I am rabidly fanatical about. But even then, if you tell me you're a Simpsons fan, I will fully expect you to be able to spell Apu's last name. If you "love" Harry Potter but don't know Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore's brother's name, I will think you lame. Sorry.

But this philosophy of mine often extends to the world at large. I forget that there are people who still watch Smallville because I stopped watching it years ago. When Stephen King stopped focusing on horror, I figured horror novels were over and stopped reading them. I read a few horror classics I'd been meaning to get to, then I moved on to other genres. A lot of true crime, psychology, comparative religions, and Christopher Moore (who really is a genre unto himself). I'm only just now getting back to horror. The fact that I'm just now discovering Jack Ketchum is as absurd as me not discovering Voltaire until 2009. Then again, I'm having a great time reading Ketchum in that way you can enjoy something the very first time. *cue juvenile virginity joke* I mean, think about the first time you read a book that made you look differently at the most important things that you do in life. Ketchum inspires me to be a better writer. In fact, it's kind of fucking with me how much I adore him. This stuff is fucking terrifying. I can't even tell you how much I want to do what he does (and the fact that I can't tell you is indicative of what I'm saying here). I feel like in some ways, Kiss Me Like You Love Me is derivative of him--even though I hadn't read him at all yet when I wrote it. And the fear of being a derivative crapshack of a writer totally keeps me up at night. Really.
Ketchum was always on my long-term list of stuff to read. After Sadie came out people started asking me if I had read him, or if I was "inspired" by him. After Kiss Me got released, people started asking me again. Honest people, I had never read him before. And damn, is he good.

Looking back, I forgot that I even wanted to be a writer just because people stopped assigning me things to write. That's how much focus I lacked. Between mental illness and an *ahem* colorful upbringing, I stayed good and crazy for some time. Can you even imagine what would have happened if this new book came out in 1995 instead of now? Truth is, I don't think I could have written A Stabbing for Sadie at any other time then when I wrote it. My best rough writing is a blitz attack. I used to think being a published writer was a ridiculously unattainable goal. Now I tell everyone who asks that it's easier than ever to get published these days. I base that on no other fact than that I am published; and that there are a lot of shitty-looking books being hyped on FB. Is this viewpoint a low-self-esteem thing? Maybe? I don't know. I'm over analyzing now.

All of this stands to reason, so far as logic goes. But frankly, I worry that my own life experience is blinding me from seeing other people fully. Sometimes I feel remarkably blind to things that are right in front of me, that I feel like I should have noticed if I'd paid any attention at all. When I advertised The Cat's Apprentice, I didn't actually tell advertise that it was about chicks who turn into cats. I forgot that's what it was about, because to me, it was about a bunch of other stuff. Revenge and empowerment and relationships and stuff. But that all makes me feel pretentious and elitists. But that may just be the Oh, so you think you're too good for us now rhetoric I used to deal with. Maybe my expectations for what I should know are just too high.

Conversely, I might just feel this way because if I meet anyone interesting, I want to know how they tick. I want to explore why they like what they like, how they've arrived at their conclusions about the world--especially if those conclusions are radically different than mine. I want to know their parents, their siblings, I want to see where they spend their free time and what there favorite fast food is. I just want to know. Maybe it's intrusive for me to want to know all that stuff. It makes me want to half-assed amateur shrink everyone I know--especially the dysfunctional ones. And deep down, we're all dysfunctional in one way or another. It's just a matter of degree, and specific manifestation.

Or...maybe I'm overanalyzing my thought processes as part of an elaborate self-delusion to escape the knowledge that I'm actually a sociopath. Or...maybe I should watch less Criminal Minds (NEVER!!!!!).


O/T I realized today that I've been giving FOX my Sunday nights for over 20 years. It sounds impressive or a sign of loyalty, but it might just be sad. I haven't decided.