- Last week, I very nearly died. And because I don't get sick very often, I am an extra big baby when it happens, and it puts me in a particularly foul mood.
- We were in the sixth week of parental visits to see The Contrarian. Now if you've never met a superhero's parents (and since most superheroes are orphans, it's entirely possible that you haven't), they are a wonderful lot--usually retired from fighting crime but happy to help their kids out. Needless to say the training room combat dummies are sparkling, the holographic threat projection system has been upgraded, and all the spandex has been dry-cleaned. But it also meant more dishes and more cleaning for the resident sidekick.
- I did something kind of ill-advised last week. I asked someone out. The thing is, I'm ALWAYS wrong about whether or not someone is interested in me in a non-platonic way. If I think they are, they aren't. If I assume they aren't, it turns out they are. It's called The Brecheen Inversion principle, and the worst part is that it turns out that if I try to factor it into my equation ("I think she likes me, therefore she doesn't because I am always wrong"), I will still always be wrong. The current wording of The Brecheen Inversion Principle goes thusly: TBIP states that the platonic/non-platonic interest of any subject will always be wrong, EVEN when accounting for The Brecheen Inversion Principle. Almost thirty years of dating. It's just a thing--like taxes, The North Star, and Carrot top making a joke you wince at instead of laugh at at least once a minute. Don't misunderstand, I'm not a monk; I get laid plenty. My partners are awesome and hot and generally way too good for me. But it's always women who do the coming on in my life. Any time I ignore that little voice in my head that reminds me why I don't do the asking, and I sally forth with a "carpe diem" or "fortune favors the brave" on my lips, I end up remembering why it's not a good idea to ignore that little voice.
- I kind of got caught up in a swirling vortex of doom on a bunch of comments on one of the other blogs I write for. Just your usual "bottom half of the internet" stuff, but I was having some real trouble with it since it involved me. I mean, I know this is weird for the internet, and all, but it almost seemed like they were talking past me. On the internet. I mean can you believe that shit? So comment followed comment and I followed the spiral into the vortex of doom.
I'm actually pretty surprised I didn't go down the rabbit hole. Usually weeks that bad have a pretty clear trajectory into the abyss that can be my brain. By about Friday afternoon, I figured I was a goner and I was going to spend most of this week with my cranky pants on.
But then the clouds kind of parted.
- Much like the dude turned newt, I got better. Somehow. I know the complication rate of rhinovirus is almost 1%. Given my age, I was very lucky to survive. But I'm a fighter. And somehow I pulled through.
- I survived the superhero grandparents! The last one left on Sunday after teaching Uberdude a secret evil foiling technique involving a hinge trap that always worked for him. (I didn't ask.) But once they were gone, I could take off my crime fighting mask and lounge around in my secret identity, which involves having no pants.
- I walked. Like a gillion miles.
LiterallFiguratively. Ostensibly I stormed out of the house to get something that wasn't "another damned sandwich" for lunch, but after wandering around looking for a place to eat for an hour, I noticed I was feeling pretty good from the fresh air and the exercise, so I just kept walking for a couple more hours. I came back feeling pretty cloud-busted.
- I have returned that little voice in the back of my head to its station of honor. I call it "The Great Voice," I feed it peeled grapes and fan it with peacock feathers, and if it tells me not to carpe any diems, I sure as shit won't be. Fortune favors the cute who wait to be asked out. Not the brave. Unfortunately if the pattern of my forgetting what I've learned repeats itself, somewhere around forty-five, I'll ignore that voice and ask someone out. Mores the pity. In the meantime, don't forget that I'm always accepting resumes. Awwwwww yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaah.
- There were several conversations with my fellow writers on the other blog that helped me remember that I'm writing on a highly charged environment over there, and the bottom half of the internet is place of deepest madness. Sometimes people might even read past your points or be biased and stuff. You have to let go...even though someone is wrong on the internet. Frankly, after a good bitch session about the people involved, the whole thing has taken on the timber of a big joke. That's right, ya bastages, I am the bottom half of the internet. Respect!
- The Contrarian is really cute. He started giggling this weekend. And he recognizes me and smiles when he sees me. And if baby smiles and giggles can't stop a bad mood in its tracks, that's one serious fucking bad mood.
So here's hoping for the continued trend back into the stratosphere of "Less Suckitude" than before.