the coldness that is my life/tea

Last night I had a strange dream (so what's new?). My name was Coleen and I was at a hospital getting all these tests done and I tried to joke, "It's not like I have cancer," and the nurse wouldn't say anything. And I kept saying "At least I don't have cancer!" but no one would respond. Somehow, I figured out they thought I might have blood cancer, but they didn't want to tell me.

The passage of time is a strange thing when you're dead. Sunday is only different because there is no mail and I can't make phone calls to business establishments. Some days, all I have to show for myself are three more punched out pills from my Effexor packs.

I shouldn't be such a fucking fatalist. Yesterday I was in a GREAT mood. I was on two Vicodin and my dad came out and took me to get my new double-dose of Topamax at Costco and we picked up his iPod car adapter thing I pre-purchased online from Best Buy and I gave him his back his now LibriVox-filled iPod (both Jewnukah presents) and we listened in the car on the way to and from truly fabulous Indian food at Tiffin. I'm in Daddy's Girl mode these days, and it helps that he seems to know how to handle me in Migraine Mode, so we had a lovely evening while my mom was off visiting my sister and grandmother and aunt and other such relatives in California. It was blizzarding and cold and lovely. But because at this particular moment I am not on Vicodin and I am cold and in pain and fussy, you get the Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow version of my life. Lucky you!

Also, I am PMSed. That helps. A lot. Nine times.

Oh, crap. I put Chai in the microwave and forgot about it. Now it may be strong and cold. My life is ruined. Living with constant pain is one thing, cold tea is quite another.

I like writing. It makes me happy. It is cathartic. Particularly writing about myself. Narcissism is cathartic, too. Me me me mine mine mine write write write.

And this is without the Vicodin.

Now where's that effing tea.