He Went Thataway

[crosses his arms in front of his chest, fingers pointed in opposite directions]

I desperately want to comb through all of our MotoGP pictures and give everybody the updates on our totally awesome weekend at Indianapolis…but I am also still reeling from the deaths of Peter and now Shoya and I sort of cringe at the thought of delving back into all of that, too.

Having had physical symptoms due to stress for the first time in I don’t know how long (well, other than weight gain!), I kinda want to blab about it.  But I also want to brood in silence, and simultaneously I want to shift into chuckle-overdrive to laugh and forget all about the shit that’s getting me down.

I’m carving out a little bit of mindspace and doing a little private writing and also watching stupid TV shows and listening to lots of different music – hopefully soon I’ll also pick up my guitar – and all of this is helping me work through what’s bothering me.  More tiny steps through the mire toward the better me, right?

Sometimes this “living” shit irks the fuck out of me.  It’s a pain in the ass.   Still beats the alternative.

Thhbbbppptttt.  That is all.


4 Responses

  1. Well, from one twisted fuck to another, any time you need a hug or a cockpunch or just someone to help you bury the body, you know where to find me.

    Aw, Marie, your words make me reflexively cross my legs.

    Luckily for me, you’re near enough to help bury a body without leaving a plane ticket paper trail!

  2. Hugz ‘n’ love. Don’t forget how much fun it is to, for instance, make faces at a baby. Or your coworkers.

    Our new neighbors have a baby, it brought out some big grins this weekend that I didn’t even know I had. Something about a giggly baby in a bouncy seat…

  3. Don’t make me come down there and beat you outta that mood!

    I’ll do it, yanno?

    Then I’d take you out for a drink or something equally awesome like that.

    Gettin’ better all the time, but the offer is still appreciated.

    Should we sing a chorus of “I Love It Loud” and shake on it?

  4. Stupid TV shows are a great form of therapy.

    Try “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” it is wonderful therapy….trust me. But make sure the boy is nowhere nearby.

    You know, I’ve heard how great that show is but never watched it? I’m trying to cut back on my TV a little bit…mostly unsuccessfully. (And I already have so damn many shows that I enjoy that Boy can’t or at least shouldn’t be around while we watch…)

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