For some reason I feel like I’m cheating on my lover. Here its 9:30 Wednesday night and I’m not at my art class. How often does that happen? Like once every three years. And there’s not even a blizzard or anything. I just laid down on my bed today about 3, because of some intense neck pain and suddenly it was 5 o’clock and “L” the Hippie Chick was calling for a ride, and strangely I was saying “No. I’m not going tonight.”
I had gone out earlier in the day and it was like Satan’s ice box out. Only about 5 degrees. I just didn’t feel like it. And this is my only social life! Damnit all! Won’t Charlemagne be surprised when his lovely assistant isn’t there helping out tonight. Maybe he’ll appreciate me a little more than he hasn’t been lately.
Because that’s my goal for 2008, bitches. Be appreciated. And possibly be elected as queen of a small nation of handsome men who are blind and think I’m a Victoria Secret’s Model. Oh, and they’ll all have certificates in massage therapy, so I can just snap my fingers and they’ll all come running, dressed in their brushed leather togas, and rub my neck on command. Of course they’ll have to follow my voice, you know, since they’re blind and think I’m a supermodel.
So how was your New Years Eve? I tried to ignore the fact that it was New Years Eve, so there wouldn’t be that ever-present pressure to make some stupid ass list of things I’ll probably never do. Like win the Iowa caucus. I mean, I’m afraid to fly and its tomorrow, so I don’t think I’ll win. So why even put that on my list, right?
Oh, so back to New Years Eve. I had my usual physical therapy appointment Monday morning, although they are numbered, because I’m supposedly getting better. Tell that to my neck. Ha!
Anyways, my physical therapist told me the most amazing thing Monday…something no one has ever said to me in my entire life. Are you ready? She said, “You can get better.” Oh my god. All the doctors, shrinks and assorted assholes who have supposedly taken care of me my whole life have NEVER ever said that to me. I was astounded that somebody even thought that, because I have always been convinced that I will always be disabled. I mean I almost started crying. Ok, I did. Just a couple of minor tears though. I don’t think she saw them.
She, of course, was referring to my physical condition. But I started thinking about the rest of the things that hold me back, like namely the bipolar disorder. Because having mental illness is like having a giant scarlet letter scrawled across your chest, even though YOU personally know you’re pretty damn good at a lot of things, people continue to put you down and look at you funny. We’ll just let them be idiots and then succeed despite them! Ha!
After that I drove into town and went to my empowerment group with my old friend “J”. We went a little off format like we always do and talked about expectations for the new year. Its funny how we always want what other people have and they want what you have. Like I want a husband, house and SUV. “J” wants to be a cool, artist type who gets to see naked people every week. Maybe we can trade off on alternating weeks or something. Anyways, I was finally able to pick up an old office chair from there, since my chair at home broke over a month ago, and I’ve been sitting in a living room chair at my computer, which had been contributing in a major way to my extremely sore neck. When we got outside I had “J” roll me down the sidewalk at a high rate of speed (at my insistence), which was fun, until we hit a pothole and I nearly became airborne. We all had a good laugh though.
And then, of course, there was New Years Eve. I virtually never go out. And I almost always cry and say “My life really sucks” at midnight. But I did really well this year. Except for the minor flesh wound that is. But first things first…
So I decided to watch “The Queen”, which despite the title, ISN’T about Richard Simmon’s rise to jazzercize super-stardom, but rather about the Queen of England. I was rather despondent when I realized I wear the same exact glasses as the Queen of England from 1997. How nerdy is that? Anyways, the movie, which was very well made, brought me up to about 11:20 p.m., at which point I turned over to the New Years Eve celebration. I sure didn’t want to watch Dick Clark, A.K.A Corpses-R-Us model #21, so I switched around until I found Lenny Kravatz on the other channel. I also hopped over to the computer and briefly chatted with “G” down in Manhattan, who announced he was in NYC watching NYC on TV.
Anyways, at about 2 minutes to midnight, I decided to gather up Guardcat, since its always nice to have someone you love to hug at midnight. So I found her zonked out under the coffee table as usual and picked her up. She’s not real big on being picked up and held. In fact on a list of Guardcat’s favorite things, its probably about #989. Plus I was under the mistaken impression that it would be really cute if I was hugging my cute little kitty at midnight and take a picture. Like, awww, how cute, awittykitty and Guardcat welcoming 2008 together.
So there I was: Trying to watch the earth-safe-green-Al Gore approved Waterford ball with its 38,000 lightbulbs. Trying to get my digital camera ready. And then trying to get my increasingly nervous cat in my grip, since the countdown was just second away…
OWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Guardcat suddenly and inexplicably erupted into a crazy ass 20 claws of fury meltdown, just as they said “….Happy New Year!!!” and somehow managed to rip my lip open with her claw and I started bleeding. Naturally I let her go. I also felt some warmth in my lap and momentarily thought she had peed, but she hadn’t. And then she ran over by the computer and started hyperventilating. Fercrissakes! I was just trying to hug my cat for new years!
So she’s over there hyperventilating. And I go in the bathroom and there was blood on my lip and its starting to puff up like some Dateline collagen injection story gone wrong. And of course there was no call from my mom. She was over celebrating with Gay Elvis and his minions.
I definitely want to be queen of my own island of handsome men who think I’m a Victoria Secret model. Definitely. Because hugging cats on New Years has just fallen off the list of fun things to do.