The Way Things Are



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Upward spiral DW.
2006-05-04, 4:11 p.m.

Oh, Mary Mary MaryÖyou always think the best of me, yet itís usually the worst thatís really true. I neither did something terrible to DW, nor am I really sick. Iím just lazy and unmotivated, and thatís the terrible truth.

UPDATE ON MY FACE: Jaw not so hurty, can open mouth with very little pain, source of pain is definitely lymph nodes. Why the ones on the side of my jaw (the submaxillaries!) decided to swall up (thatís how we say it) and hurt before the more likely suspects, like under the jaw or on the side of neck, we may never know.

I have progressed to that feeling of general lymphatic system swellage, like your head is kind of full of concrete, your ears hurt a bit, and your neck is a little stiff. No, not like meningitis stiff (thatís the one with the stiff neck, right?) but more like you have some extra white cells taking up lodging in your neck and face.

Whatís it all about? No telling. Maybe like in the old Russian novels, Iím coming down with a brain fever or something. Oh, but wait. Thatís meningitis, so never mind. Really, if I had mumps or meningitis, I think Iíd be pretty sick by now.

Maybe it really is just stress.

UPDATE ON THE PASTOR: Because Iíve taken you this far, and even if you donít really give a ratís ass, you still want to know. Itís some kind of degenerative arthritic type of disease that cannot be cured with surgery. So the man gets to have some cortisone shots in his spine. LUCKY. This is a condition he has had, but let it get too far without treatment, and suffered for it.

Thatís not like a man, is it? To suffer through something and let it get too far because itís not manly to go to the doctor until you need a bullet to bite on for the pain? And then itís so bad that acetaminophen and some yoga wonít help you, and you need somebody to stick needles in your spine and inject steroids. Smart!

The only reason I care, other than just that Iím a somewhat caring human bean and I like the man, is that he is supposed to talk to my poor, delusional husband and knock all of his rationalizations, justifications, and idiotications out from under him. This will likely solve a lot of problems we have communicating besides just about drinking.

Because anything the man does not want to do or face, like getting health insurance for us, or going to the doctor to get a checkup, he gets all fatalistic, like ďif Iím supposed to die of prostate cancer, then thereís no use going for a checkup and trying to fight it, thatís just how Iím intended to dieĒ and then he says that the Lard will take care of us. Well, I say ďbullshit, the Lard doesnít take care of anybodyĒ, and ha ha, thatís what our pastor says, too.

Anyway, DW uses that excuse to shut down the discussion whenever he doesnít want it to continue, and thatís bad. VERY BAD. And very wrong, too. Ha. I canít stop saying that. HA. I should have thought of this a couple of years ago when he first started pulling theological fatalism out of his ass.

And he didnít pull it out of his ass there because heís any kind of scholar or philosopher; it was up in his ass like a get out of jail free card. Oh, and then he flip-flops to free will, and you know, you canít go back and forth between fatalism and free will. They are mutually exclusive, but can I tell him this? NO. He gets very, very defensive.

****

Hey, some good news is that he just called me and said ďDo you want to go get Mexican food for dinner?Ē and I said YES. If he was a true fatalist, whatís the point of making plans to eat, or even eating at all? Especially if the Lardís going to take care of us? We might as well sit in the middle of the street in rags, in a pool of our own filth, waiting for all that good taking care to start up. HA I say again.

****

I have to take a bit of a break right now because a really good Heart song is playing on the radio. Hold onÖ

AND YOU KEPT ME ALIVE WITH YOUR SWEET FLOOOOWING LOOO-HUUUVVVV!

****

See? Do you see how fun it is in here? Youíre there, trying to have a deep philosophical discussion with me, and Iím taking a break to screech along with Ann Wilson.

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