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A Cynics View of Life After a Nervous Breakdown

It's been almost a year since I even attempted to write one of these, so bear with me, I'm a little rusty. A lot has happened since we last left our heroine (or is that heroin?) back in May of '99 when she got her tongue pierced. Look at me talking in the third person, like I'm Elmo or something...first sign of insanity, eh? Well, you'd think that I would have noticed it before I actually went over the edge. California does that to you, I guess...makes you insane, that is. There are those who would insist that i was insane long before i even thought about moving out here. To them I say...well, you're probably right.

Perhaps John McGahern said it best. Who is he, you ask? I have no clue, I just collect quotes i like and use them. According to Bartlett's, he wrote The Leaveta King, or something like that, and that's where this quote is from.

"Anything that is given can be at once taken away. We have to learn never to expect anything, and when it comes it's no more than a gift or loan."

Ok, so it's depressing, but so am I. I've had a lot that's been both given and taken from me in the past year. Don't worry, I'll get over it, and this will be funny...or at least, I'll attempt to make it funny. Never quite sure if I succeed or not. Oh hell, I'm not gonna depress y'all, so I'll just give you the cliffs notes version...

Moved to California. Found a place to live. Lost all power to my apartment the day after I moved in. Didn't get it back for three days. Didn't have a refrigerator for about three months. Started culinary school. Realized that I'd become an alcoholic. Detoxed myself. Burned the ever lovin hell outta my arm. Was told by a former best friend that I declared myself an alcoholic for the attention, and burned myself on purpose. (yeah...if i'd injured myself intentionally, i would have sliced my arm open with my chef's knife, not given myself a third degree burn...i may be insane, but i'm not crazy) Met the man of my dreams. Realized that he was really the asshole of the century. Met another man. Nearly scared him off because of my wild mood swings. Speaking of wild mood swings (we're up to the beginning of this year now) started having even worse mood swings. Didn't leave my apartment for two weeks. Had a nervous breakdown where i sat in my chair for about three hours and babbled incoherently to myself while rocking back and forth. Dropped out of culinary school (ok, so i was withdrawn) Didn't leave my apartment for another two weeks. Found out that a good friend was definately coming to visit me. Didn't leave my apartment for another two weeks. Lost about 75% of my friends. Made some new friends to make up for the ones i'd lost (and these ones are better...they actually take my shit) Watched my cousin on international television, as he was Winona Ryder's date to the Oscars. Found out that my most favoritest person in the whole wide world is going to have major surgery....ok, so i'm leaving some stuff out, but that's stuff you really don't want to hear about, and i really don't want to tell. so =-P

****COMPLETE AND TOTAL CHANGE OF SUBJECT****

Have you ever noticed that every single time you get your heart ripped out, stomped upon, torn to shreds, eaten and regurgitated by someone (in my case, someone male), it seems like all you hear on the radio are the most depressing songs ever written. I mean, it's not the normal one or two, it's like the musc director of the station suddenly decided to have a morose marathon, beginning at the exact moment you decide to turn on the radio. And just when you think things couldn't possibly get any worse. At the precise second you think 'OK, enough is enough, I'm going to get over him/her,' they start playing all the happy-go-lucky, lovey dovey songs which, under normal circumstances, would have you running for the nearest toilet and/or waste recepticle so you can lose your lunch in a dignified manner, but in this instance, makes you relive every single gut-wrenching moment of happiness you experiened with whoever it may be (realizing of course, that years down the road, you're barely going to remember their face let alone their name) and propelling you to near-suicidal depths.

I've noticed this. Hell, I'm experincing this as I write. The scary thing is, I really don't give a shit. I've had so much crap happen over the past few months, that no matter how much I loved this asshole (and that's exactly what he is for the time being, in my humble opinion), I'm dead to the pain that I know I would normally be feeling. I'm pissed. Oh lord am I pissed. We don't even want to get in to how pissed off i am...but I guess I feel a lot like Willy Loman's wife, Linda (you know, from 'Death of a Salesman'). I hate that play with a passion, but I'd sit thru the whole performance to hear the very last monologue, the last words of the play, which are spoken by Willy's now-widow at his gravesite on the day of his funeral:

"Forgive me, dear. I can't cry. I don't know what it is, but I can't cry. I don't understand it. Why did you ever do that? Help me, Willy, I can't cry. It seems to me that you're just on another trip. I keep expecting you. Willy, dear, I can't cry. Why did you do it? I search and search and i search, and I can't understand it, Willy. I made the last payment on the house today. Today, dear. And there'll be nobody home...We're free and clear. We're free. We're free...We're free..."

Damn, I'm being maudlin, aren't I? And here I promised humour. Well, I hope you got at least a chuckle outta all of this. If not...c'est la vie, I promise I'll be writing more (and FUNNY) real soon ;-)