The Brattychick

Me: I have the mean reds. I feel worthless and ugly and fat. SB: You are loved. Me: Thank you. Are you mad at me? SB: No why? Me: idk SB: Did I do something to make you think so? Is it because my breath smells right now? Me: No. it totally never smells even though you are in constant fear that it does SB: No I can taste it right now. It's coffee and Garlic. Gum is needed. OMG! I want garlic flavored coffee.  That would be delicious. Me: Hmmmmmm SB: So what's wrong? Me: I'm not an underwear model or porn star And I think it's probably time for plastic surgery SB: No.  It's cheaper and easier to throw up. Just kidding. Me: Nothing tastes as good as skinny :-)

Me: I'm not doing well. Are you feeling any better? CF: Sorry to hear it! Whats wrong? Me: I'm not an underwear model or porn star. And I think it's probably time for plastic surgery CF: Oh no... Are you no longer the most beautiful girl in the neighborhood? Boys seem to like you. Me: Lol. Probably i'm still that. I do really well with the immigrant set. CF: Perhaps a move to costa rica is in order.

"Mommy, this will impair my ability to use machines."

"I can feel the force in my...pants."

Here it comes. The race to unconsciousness. It always makes for interesting writing. Tonight I feel the anger and disquiet bubbling up. They are threatening to make me not funny this evening. I can feel my soul writhing around inside myself recently. Twisting and turning and nothing is comfortable. Usually this is a sign of breakthrough ahead. I hope so.

4/5/2012 It's 4:30 am in Dublin Ireland on a Thursday. It's 11:30 pm at home. I shouldn't be awake either place. I'm good at being awake when I shouldn't. I can't sleep. I have a headache. I have a headache a lot in Ireland. It's all the Guinness and Jameson. Even though I tread softly through the room, the man I love wakes as well. Both of us are restless. I've had beastly little nightmares and snippets of last nights drunken and troubling conversation. We fell asleep midway through and it keeps rattling around in my head. I leave him tomorrow to collect my dearly missed children for Easter while he jaunts around a few more days. I push it all out of my mind. I'm cold and lonely to the bone and my teeth are chattering. I draw a hot bath and play music that replenishes my strength and sense of self. I sink into the tub with a pencil that came with the room and my notebook. It's been years since I've written in pencil and I'd forgotten t...

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