Why am I anxious? Have to do something tomorrow that I, as most people, hate. to do. What is it? None of your business. It’s not killing a God fearing Republican or anything at all like that so don’t get yourselves all worked up.
It’s almost prosaic. But it’s enough to make the calmest person pace for sixty four straight hours. I’m not the calmest person so obviously that’s a hypothetical. But I’m not the most anxious person. Many people upon first meeting me think that I’m the picture of calm. Sometimes when the meds are properly working I am.
Often lately when I write in this blog, I feel that some people are reading it, just so they could have ammunition to diss me.
I would say that it inhibits me, but I like writing about sneakers, and manicures, and mundane stuff. It usually calms me down.
Not tonight. Tonight I had to cancel dinner plans with three of my closest friends because the thought of food was enough to make me want to vomit. And it’s the last time I would have been be able to eat solid foods for almost a week. Oh a hint
It’s a big enough appointment that fave-sister asked where my will was three times. Usually she just asks when I’m flying soon after a plane crash, or I’m flying during a big terrorist alert. I have a knack for flying under those conditions so she should remember as it’s always in the same place, along with the health care proxy that says “no artificial hydration or nutrition.” She promised to honor my wishes just in case.
Told Lucia where the mega-million ticket is. If I win, and the worst happens, she’s too throw out the will that includes her, and keep the other one. I think that’s fair.
I don’t often play mega-millions or Lotto, but it’s up to 102 mil. I think after deductions etc., that will come to about 40 mil. I love the large sum fantasy; it’s worth the buck.
But tonight all I can think is that I’m really going to win, and I’ll be brain dead, and Lucia will be really rich. Should make her share it with fave-sis, who I would always share it with anyway.
Lucia, Rafe, fave-sis, and me. A cool ten mil each. A girl can dream.
But anxiety keeps interrupting the fantasy. I keep on going to blogs, not because I want to but because I’ve become addicted to blogging. I would worry about this if I wasn’t going to be brain dead soon.
All the people who like me can joke about my sick fears. Those who love me can turn it into a routine. But the people who harp about me on their blogs and call me a sensitive twit (and that’s about the nicest thing) have to shut up, and aren’t allowed to talk about me. Think that’s fair also.
My attack squad will come after them. It includes the usual suspects and many people that they would be surprised to know like me. It also includes my real life friends who can cut down repressed twits without even trying.
Since this might be my last night on earth I should turn to cigarettes and illicit drugs. But I don’t have any, and am too lazy to go out.
Oh right this is Manhattan, and I can use the dialing finger. Oh, don’t have enough cash. Good drugs don’t come cheap, least not around here.
But all in all, I’d rather be blogging.
Self: if you survive this, get yourself some serious help. You really have a blogging fixation. Blogging over good drugs. What type of Kool New Yorker are you?
More important thought: get your counter fixed. The one on the outside shows over 3,000 less hits than the inside one. Now that’s a serious problem.