Things I don't know about = fine by me
So this morning I was reading the very humorous blog at dooce.com, courtesy of sitzfleish, which reminds me a great deal of missvitriol's laconic and delightfully dry delivery, and I was laughing so hard I was crying.
Then suddenly, in that way it does, it turned over into full-on sobbing. Ya know? Where one minute you're laughing at a story about somebody's four-year-old and the next minute you're crying because you got honey all over your favorite woobie and your mouth has been swollen up and painful from gluten for OVER THREE WEEKS NOW, and hey, looks like you're going to get a 4th week ABSOLUTELY FREE, and you're not fitting into your costumes because of the gluten, and you just feel like shit shit shit all the time, and you have 4,000 things to do and yes, you're working through that pile, but no - you're not gonna make it to the bank today, maybe tomorrow, and ohshit you should pay your motherflippin' bills and then -
suddenly -
that lovely little Voice of Reason in the back of your head interrupts you mid-hiccup and interjects, "hey, at least you don't have cancer!"
Sobbing subsides. You giggle a little at yourself and feel a bit relieved of your stress as everything slots itself into proportion. "That's right," you think, "I don't have cancer!"
Then the little Voice turns out to be not the Voice of Reason but the Voice of fucking Hypochondria and adds darkly: "THAT YOU KNOW ABOUT."
Which has made *me* laugh even harder, so I'm almost crying again. Fuck off, little voice. Don't have time for you today. I'm busy Not Having Cancer (That I Know About).
Smooches, from No-I'm-not-on-the-rag
(THAT I KNOW ABOUT)
Then suddenly, in that way it does, it turned over into full-on sobbing. Ya know? Where one minute you're laughing at a story about somebody's four-year-old and the next minute you're crying because you got honey all over your favorite woobie and your mouth has been swollen up and painful from gluten for OVER THREE WEEKS NOW, and hey, looks like you're going to get a 4th week ABSOLUTELY FREE, and you're not fitting into your costumes because of the gluten, and you just feel like shit shit shit all the time, and you have 4,000 things to do and yes, you're working through that pile, but no - you're not gonna make it to the bank today, maybe tomorrow, and ohshit you should pay your motherflippin' bills and then -
suddenly -
that lovely little Voice of Reason in the back of your head interrupts you mid-hiccup and interjects, "hey, at least you don't have cancer!"
Sobbing subsides. You giggle a little at yourself and feel a bit relieved of your stress as everything slots itself into proportion. "That's right," you think, "I don't have cancer!"
Then the little Voice turns out to be not the Voice of Reason but the Voice of fucking Hypochondria and adds darkly: "THAT YOU KNOW ABOUT."
Which has made *me* laugh even harder, so I'm almost crying again. Fuck off, little voice. Don't have time for you today. I'm busy Not Having Cancer (That I Know About).
Smooches, from No-I'm-not-on-the-rag
(THAT I KNOW ABOUT)