MY E-MAIL TO A FRIEND I APPEAR TO WANT TO LOSE (BUT DO NOT)!

[This response is to an e-mail from someone who got back from a vacation and e-mailed me to let me know that and a bit more. The "bit more" is explained below.]

I just got back from a walk, a shrink's appt. before that, and now I need a nap after a quick post to my blog, which I may just put off... Hulk tired.

Glad you're alive. Hope you had fun in Some Place You Visited.

Call the goddam cops on your ex and his whole fucking family already.

[This girl -- let's call her X -- is being kinda-stalked by her ex-boyfriend (receiving phone calls and text messages long after the relationship has been over, having told him she doesn't want to hear from him again, but getting the messages, etc. nonetheless... Still, she responds to the communications, even if only to say "stop it.") Wacko's sister is even in on the act, having invited X out to dinner a month ago just to ask her all the questions her nutty brother wanted answers to -- "seeing anyone," etc.

OK, let me amend "psudo-stalked" to Scary-Stalked Family-Style.]

...My guess is you don't because on some level you like the attention -- and especially the fact that you can drive someone absolutely batshit insane. (Though he was going to be that anyway, without you, sweetie pie -- sorry to write that it's not you... You were just there when he had his psychotic break...)

...So keep the game going, by all means.

...Apologies if the above seems crude, but I am an ass, after all, tired, in pain, excuses excuses.

...I'm going to be out tomorrow. Hanging out with Y, actually. ["Actually" because X knows Y.] She's the only person in Lummox I know besides Z... Good thing her musical taste is impeccable.

Later on I'll explain the magic of fibro fog to you, aka cognitive memory disorder. Basically, it's akin to having ADD... I can't recall what was said five minutes ago unless the context is explicitly re-discussed or I think about it for a while... And I mean think about it for about five minutes... The big test psychologists and shrinks give me, which I fail miserably, is that I cannot remember a list of things read to me -- one test was five things, the other only three shapes of different colors -- after having a conversation for five minutes.

Kick ass!

It's all new and wonderful... a sort of metamorphosis I have no problem dealing with... Or at least accept, as what cannot be escaped must be.

...And soon, disability and Portland. Dropping out of the workaday world for the rest of my life. This last has been a goal of mine for years, since I became enamored of socialism...

But is fibro too high a price to pay?

Before I was put on OxyContin, my answer would have been a definitive FUCK YES.

Now the jury is hung; dead... But probably was one hold-out away from returning a verdict of FUCK YES before being strung up.

Cheers

--CB

PS: I thought I would take this opportunity to update you on my situation, though I'm sure you couldn't care less since all we talk about is you you you... I'm sorry that I'm too drained already, today, to be further wearied by tackling your problems.

...Please know the above is not meant to be mean, not anything against you, but only the statement of a fact both of us know.

PPS: I probably will post this to my blog, leaving out any details that could identify anyone discussed here because I'm fucking lazy and think posting my correspondence provides a good window into my heart of darkness...

Mixx it!