I am still alive. Scarred -- literally -- for life and still supposed to be keeping my pelvic area as still as possible, but alive. This world and me, it seems, were simply not made for each other; there is a lot of hurt, hate, and shitty people in it. But...still I live. So that's nice.
I have been watching a lot of Columbo.
Some day, when I feel like putting any thought on it, I am going to have to figure out why some people get weird when they do. Like how they act normal to lure one in and then release the batshit crazy when they think it is safe.
I am also, in-between crying jags, medicating myself to stop having crying jags jags, sleeping jags, sleeplessness jags, and wondering if those pharmacy labels that say things like "may cause drowsiness" are just a lot of wishful thinking on the part of the pharmacist jags, applying for jobs.
Maybe I will apply to be a pharmacy label printer. I would make them like fortune cookie fortunes: Do not operate heavy machinery over the happy bird-song still carried on the wind. 56, 18, 03, 28, 11, 30.
I think my labels would be more popular.
- Posted using Speak-n-Blog from my Fisher-Price Chatter Pull Telephone
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