CRAMPZ, people. Mother Trucking** crampz.
My mantra at work last week: whatever asshole, who fucking cares? It was given to me by The Devil. I'm not gonna use that one this week. Unless I'm already a slave to it. Pray that I'm not. Because it saturated my heart with such sorrow that pools of tears flooded into your foot prints.
That's the thing, you see. If a negative thought knocks on your door of your mind, for God's sake don't answer it. No matter how loud the knocking, just ignore it. It will go away. But if you answer the door, it barges right in, starts going through your medicine cabinet, pops the last couple of Vicodin you've been saving for a rainy day, criticizes the books on your shelves and mocks your responses. Then it plops right down on your couch, takes over the remote and will not leave for the life of you. I'm telling you, don't answer the door!
Countless times, YES has knocked on my door and I've peeked nervously out from behind the curtains. She says, "Come on, God, you can do this!" One of these days I'm going to barge right out there, slow dance the length of the porch with her and we'll run away to San Francisco. I'm keeping a suitcase by the door. I have no idea how we'll pay the rent.
Conversation With Best Gay Friend Last Friday:
ME: Today is a poor man’s mocha*** kind of day……..
HIM: By “poor man” you're not referring to me, are you?
ME: If I was referring to you I’d say it was a 'mud on my turtle mocha' kind of day.
HIM: So you like your coffee the way you like your men?
ME: Yes: selflessly devoted to my tech-support needs and lots of washy the dishies. I believe it’s called a Sunshine Jesus latté. Has a hint of lemon joy, very subtle. They have it at Peet’s, but it’s not on the menu.
**I'm trying to cut back on the F-word. Times being rough and all.
***packet of hot chocolate mixed with crappy Folger's office-brewed coffee