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Tuesday, February 7, 2017


Actually, I am a failed anorexic. I have anorexic thinking, but I can't seem to muster the behavior.
~ Carrie Fisher, Postcards from the Edge

Yeah, I can SO relate! I've got all the food related guilt and anxiety and the off-base to the point of fictional self-image. BUT I just can't be arsed to purge, do the laxative deal or even ixnay the occasional cookie. Nope.

I'll add that I’m also a failed alcoholic. Yesterday and, seemingly everyday since my beautiful, wonderful Amazing Bob shuffled off this mortal coil (NOT the same as shuffling off to Buffalo, by the by) I thought, I’m so desperately sad. I miss TAB so keenly, so sharply, I think I’ll pop open that bottle of Jameson and spend the day in a drunken stupor.

Who could blame me? No one, that’s who! Still, did I? Have I spent even one day in calm, sodden dormancy during these spectacularly painful seven months of his absence? Nope.

What’s that all about? Eh,  I get distracted – cats, knitting, painting, Big Bang Theory watching, the Y, cleaning, reading about our horror show president, paying fucking bills (which should rilly stop coming for at least a year. Ya know, as a way of honoring the dearly departed and shit). Before I know it, Jen’s home from work and we’re sitting down for a nice, civilized cup ‘o’ Chianti – overdoing the Jamo’s forgotten.

To paraphrase Ms. Fisher:  
Actually, I am a failed alcoholic. I have alcoholic thinking, but I can't seem to muster the behavior.

So then, there are actual health benefits to being stunningly lazy and having a hummingbird's brain. Waddya know?!

She’s also said, take your broken heart, make it into art.

Yup, workin’ on it.

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