Like Ozzy, I’m going through changes. Really interesting ones. You know how some assholes shit on you and then say, “The word for ‘crisis’ in Chinese is ‘opportunity,’ so really I’m doing you a favor!’“? Well, I just had a weird shake up in my life that’s actually having a really good impact on me. I could have gone into straight victimhood if I wanted to, and a year ago I would have crumpled in the corner like someone punched me in the nuts I don’t actually have. It mightn’t turn out for the best. It might all turn out terrible.
I can’t tell you what’s actually happening. I’m mysterious. It’s just not in my best interest right now. After it’s over maybe. I can tell you some things it’s not.
- No one yet has a restraining order against me. Yet. I can still see you, you know! The judge denied that shit, Sheila
- No one yet has a court case against me
- No one has cloned me–yet
- No one else has decided to stop speaking to me (that I know about. If you have and would like to inform me about it, please tell an intermediary, because I only know of the one person who has told me to “have a nice life,” which I am, thank you)
- I do not have another fatal, progressive, incurable disease. Just the two
- There is no fatwa on my head that I am aware of
- I do not have to see a “Twilight” movie
- I have not lost a limb
- I did not lose my heart in San Francisco
- When I cut off a lock of my hair I did not lose my power
- The ukulele is still silent next door, thank you Jesus
- I am not being stalked
- Candy has not lost its delectable flavor and life-sustaining properties
But for now, I’m doing really well. WARNING–GROSS REPORT: I mean, this morning, I turned down my street and saw a seagull eating a pile of vomit in the middle of the intersection. For his breakfast. That’s just all kinds of wrong. Then two blocks later I saw someone collecting tumbleweeds in the park. And I started laughing hysterically and called Quink to report. Quink gets all the dystopia. Yesterday, I did something stupid: I forgot I ate beets. I forgot they dye your pee pink and I thought I had bloody kidney disease for about seven minutes. Then I started to giggle and I texted Quink to report. Quink gets all the nasty. (I had magenta fairy poopoo today, too! Purdy.) I also let the stupid juice leak into the lining of my favorite purse so now it looks like it got its period. And I’m okay with that. Really. It’s about three years old so I’ve had it a long time and the inside is ripping and it’s done its time and it’s too heavy for me anyways. I’ll miss it when it does die, but it’s just a thing. It isn’t me.
I did have a temporary psychotic break today when a Google camera car cut me off. I flipped him off and honked and I followed the fucker. Didn’t give a fuck that he was taping me. He switched lanes quickly and I was on his ass like white on rice. I finally gave up fifteen minutes later when he pulled another asshole move that would put him in worse traffic. I sped around him, flipped him another bird, and was on my way. But that’s not the first time I’ve been near them when they’ve driven like fucking pricks. They drive with the entitlement of Priuses and the high and mighty attitude of the Google Borg.
What does all this mean for you, though? That’s what you want to know. Well, I’m going to post a lot less frequently for the next few months at least. I need to participate in my waking life a lot more. I’ll try to get some posts written ahead of time and schedule them out, but I don’t know that I can promise that. I can promise you once a week. But I can’t promise you daily right now.
Just know that I love you and miss you and that I’m doing really, really well. Maybe I’ll tweet. Maybe I’ll learn to post shorter things that don’t take 45 minutes or more. Maybe we’ll find a middle ground somewhere. In the meantime, know that at least once a week something’ll come down the ol’ chute.
David Bowie– “Changes”
I know it doesn’t embed, but he’s all young and beautiful and Major Tom Aladdin Sane here and it’s so nice. Goddamn, he was so fucking beautiful as a young man. So pretty. Such a rock star. See, that’s who I really, really want to be when I grow up. I want to be David Bowie. There. I’ve outed myself. Who do you want to be, really?