May. 03, 2005 - 17:41
"went to the doctor, and asked [him] how to make this stop. got medication, a new addiction, fucken thanks a lot."
i'd like a scotch right about now.
i've noticed that i've started drinking more-dramatically. and i'm happy too. i mean, i'm a happy kid. i'm not in a state of depression or anything. i've been fine.
___
so i trotted up the stairs earlier to find my eldest sister, and health fanatic, kim, sitting on the sofa of the upstairs family room.
"your poop needs to be this long to be healthy." she holds out her fingers about a foot apart from each other as i appear around the corner.
"what?"
"on Oprah, they say your doo-doo needs to be like this (holds up fingers again) and shouldn't be like, (makes lively do-do-do sounds). just watch with me, it's about health."
"what?" i exclaim in my mind, but decide to watch with her anyway, in disguist and curiosity both. i mean, it's not everyday someone has such enthusiasm towards defacation.
i hop downstairs to retrieve a snack, the most abused substance of all time, the aid to which made Bart obese in an episode of the Simpsons, the horrible processed food which really isn't food, but millions of americans consume it anyway, a pop-tart.
i hop back up the stairs and onto the arm of the sofa closest to her.
she says, "so do you feel better ever since you started at the gym."
i pause for a few seconds.
"no. i actually feel the same."
she gives me this bored stare.
"maybe you need to eat better."
she looks at me more apathetically as i ponder a few moments, atleast attempting to formulate a comeback in my mind.
"do you want a pop-tart?" i smile.
"those aren't healthy for you." she portrudes rudely as she squints at me.
"i knew you'd say something as soon as i came up here with a pop-tart."
she just stares.
she does that well.
___
these people from my life amuse me.
___
sometimes i wish the diety, creator, whatever, would just inform us on who we should form a "sacred bond" with (marriage, eh, you know).
do you know how much time that would save,
wondering if every attractive being you ran into is "the one."
i, like so many others, have believed i was with "the one."
that our love was stedfast and arduous, and neverending,
and then, time passed and i realized, like so many others, so abrutly, that i was wrong. and i couldn't have been more ignorant if i were a fish swimming around in a race-track shaped container. (for those of you that don't know, scientists believe that fish only have a seven second memory, and so swimming around in a race-track shaped container would trick them into believing they were travelling a broad strip of ocean. how sad.)
i don't know. or maybe i've met the one before and blew it,
or i could possibly be with the one right now and don't even know.
by the way, twobaddogs is a great diary.