I've been feeling weird the past few days. Unable to put my finger on it. Sick, almost, but not quite. Last night we saw Kick-Ass. It definitely kicked ass. But just before that I got into a shouty, squinty eyed mood. Necessary, I say, for my brain to get back out and start writing again. I must get almost angry, start the fire, let the smoke rise, etc. I went to bed feeling weird, a weird feeling in my stomach, the feeling in my chest and my heartbeat in my ears--oh no, I thought. Not again. Not this again. My thoughts were running as they were about the night before. Anxiety. Things I have no control over. Things I want to control and can't. Things I want.. and probably won't have. The daydreams are strong these days, even at night.

I woke up angry today. Mad about everything. Everything set me off. Kevin doesn't want to go out to breakfast? Angry. Come downstairs to find John's cooking dishes all over the place covered in dry spaghetti sauce and the same all over the stove? ANGRY. Kevin ran away from me and went back upstairs because I wanted to clean up before we made eggs--just angry. I accidentally stabbed myself with a fork and cried while I scrubbed the glass baking dish. Cried while cooking eggs.

I calmed down and munched on toast. I found out we were out of toilet paper and lost my damn shit. Kevin left to go get some because he kind of doesn't really know what to do with me when I get like that. I haven't been like that. I've been fine. Everything has been fine. It happens. It will come in waves. I cannot forget that. It doesn't mean it's all over, it doesn't mean I'm falling apart again, it doesn't mean that this is the end of the day and beginning of another dark night--it just means that sometimes there is that feeling in my chest that causes me to snap at everyone about everything and rage about simple bullshit.

But that's still a lot for me to handle. Furrowing my brow for that long gives me a headache. I cried a lot this morning. Then I masturbated furiously. HAHAHA

no, not furiously, not like whatsherface in Mulholland Drive. That's what I think of when I think of furious masturbation.

But in the past two days I've had about five long, full, satisfying orgasms. And food. Oh lord. All I want to do is eat, sleep and fuck. I woke up from an afternoon nap longing for sweetmeats and chocolate. A ravenous hunger for chocolate and decadence. My headspace was decorated with Roman imagery and repeating Bacchus' name

Have I mentioned before my decision making coin? I don't remember how it came to me because it wasn't from either of my trips to New Orleans, but it is a large purple plastic coin from one of those celebrations, Bacchus on one side, Alan Thicke on the other. Who would win in a fight between Dionysus and Mr Seaver?

And isn't that the question I've been asking myself all these years

(as a side note I would like to point out that Alan Thicke is definitely the father of the supremely awesome Robin Thicke... now I might have to go listen to Robin Thicke and dance naked in the bathroom, singing to the girl in the mirror)