The Way Things Are



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

Oh, Mary Mary Mary�you always think the best of me, yet it�s usually the worst that�s really true. I neither did something terrible to DW, nor am I really sick. I�m just lazy and unmotivated, and that�s 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 (that�s 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 (that�s the one with the stiff neck, right?) but more like you have some extra white cells taking up lodging in your neck and face.

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

Maybe it really is just stress.

UPDATE ON THE PASTOR: Because I�ve taken you this far, and even if you don�t really give a rat�s ass, you still want to know. It�s 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.

That�s not like a man, is it? To suffer through something and let it get too far because it�s not manly to go to the doctor until you need a bullet to bite on for the pain? And then it�s so bad that acetaminophen and some yoga won�t 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 I�m 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 �if I�m supposed to die of prostate cancer, then there�s no use going for a checkup and trying to fight it, that�s just how I�m intended to die� and then he says that the Lard will take care of us. Well, I say �bullshit, the Lard doesn�t take care of anybody�, and ha ha, that�s what our pastor says, too.

Anyway, DW uses that excuse to shut down the discussion whenever he doesn�t want it to continue, and that�s bad. VERY BAD. And very wrong, too. Ha. I can�t 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 didn�t pull it out of his ass there because he�s 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 can�t 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 �Do you want to go get Mexican food for dinner?� and I said YES. If he was a true fatalist, what�s the point of making plans to eat, or even eating at all? Especially if the Lard�s 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 on�

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

****

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

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