I’ve had to tell this story so many times I’m going to write it down. A long time ago I had a girlfriend with Borderline Personality Disorder. We didn’t know that at the time, & I had been with her through thick & thin (see Lives), held her hand in high school through abortions, moved her in with me & rehabbed her from her ruined junkie life… we’d been friends for over a decade. She was a great friend, unless you counted the times she told her cop boyfriend she was at my house when she was actually out with her other cop boyfriend, or if I had to stand there & fret while she talked to one cop boyfriend on Line 1 of my fiance’s business phone (we’d given her a job) while she had the other cop boyfriend on Line 2. Or when the nice cop boyfriend showed up alone at my workplace to ask me if he was being played. And I couldn’t tell him because I was loyal to her. Or when all the girls at work gathered together & told the manager they refused to work with her (I’d gotten her a job with me since she’d gotten fired from her retail job), so I said to put her on my shifts. And then she’d spend up to 2 hours outside talking on her phone. While clocked in. And I worked for 2.
Good friends don’t make you do shit like that.
I had a long talk tonight with a grieving girlfriend whose bestie just committed suicide. They’d been distant over the last few months, not because of her, but because he was going through a hard time & it made him act like a jerk, & he was the worst to the ones closest to him. She was hurt, resentful, doubted their friendship, but she never really gave up on him. She gave him the distance he seemed to want, not sure how much friending he wanted from her.
Before he did himself in, he wrote her a letter. The cops confiscated it & she’s still never gotten to read it, but I can guess what he wanted to say to her. He also sent her a scheduled text, written while alive but arriving days after his death, which, understandably, freaked her out. The text contained instructions – the kind you give to the person you trust most in the world. Clear my browsing history. Throw out the entire contents of my bedside drawer. You know.
There are people in my life who are not going to like that I’m talking about this, but after an hour of Googling, I’ve been unable to to find sufficient information regarding the continuation of Wellbutrin/bupropion in spite of hives. Wellbutrin is an antidepressant (that’s right; I’ve just started antidepressants) & the only one in its class. It’s a norepinephrine/dopamine reuptake inhibitor – meaning it raises the average levels of norepinephrine & dopamine (that’s right, the good stuff) in your body.
I’m currently on Day 10. My therapist suggested I try antidepressants after I talked to her about a few “bad spells” I had this year. I had disproportionate reactions to disappointments – friends flaking out on a project, a vacation to Fenway Park canceled, family drama that didn’t even involve me directly. I’d be paralyzed by despair, my productivity severely impacted, & well… even as I thought to myself, “This is ridiculous!” I was still stuck in my chair, weeping, feeling utterly hopeless & unmotivated to do anything. Depression & anxiety runs in my family, & I didn’t have the most nurturing childhood, so, here I am. I’m not ashamed of it like certain people around me think I should be & I’m perfectly fine talking about it. Too bad. It is what it is. Deal with it.
The black car & white truck were already there long before that blue car parked, for those wondering.
I saw Saving Grace awhile back, when it first came out on DVD (I don’t have tv so I see everything afterward). Loved it, was saddened by the finale, which was obviously crippled by a network greed storyus interruptus, forcing the writers to shoot their load all at once, quite sloppily & with great – I get the feeling – despair. Just finished watching it again on Netflix (thank you, Netflix; I like you a lot). Still just as annoyed with the ending.
It’s important to remember that this series was about a soul headed for Hell redeeming herself, & that her final choice to sacrifice herself accomplished that. It’s just the lack of build up & the plethora (yes, I used that word) of loose ends that have got everyone frustrated.
I’ve read posts by viewers who feel Hut Flanders’ “death” is irrelevant; I’m undecided. For those wondering how an explosion would kill him if bullets did not, IMO it took an act of good to kill him, rather than an act of malice: the bullets were just Grace having a little fun… I think we all enjoyed it at least a little. But her denial of Flanders’ deal, giving up herself – that was an altruistic, if defiant, act of good.
You ever not know how strongly you feel about something until you actually talk about it on Facebook?
I had my open myomectomy on June 10 at 7:30 in the morning at Kapiolani Medical Center for Women & Children. Check in was 5am & my dad dropped me off; Admissions is inside an office with a waiting room in which you sign in then wait for someone in the sealed off cubicles to call your name.
I was the only person there at 5am & it took only about 15 minutes for one of the girls in the cubicles to call me up. I handed her my papers, she asked me a bunch of questions, gave me some other papers (HIPAA crap) to sign, she asked for my ID & insurance card (which was not listed in the instructions, but fortunately I had brought them just in case), & then I spent another half hour in the waiting room, which filled up quickly to the point of Standing Room Only & we all sat/stood there not looking at each other. The dude next to me started snoring.
Someone came to call us to the surgery floor (basement) in 3s. Once there, a girl who talked really fuckin’ fast walked me to a curtained room & handed me a package then explained what to do next to me. I’m not stupid & she wasn’t telling me anything that difficult, but I had just come out of a waiting room coma, so I had to ask her to repeat herself a few times. I also told her that she spoke really fast. I’m not sure she understood me.