blawg

  I think the most intolerable thing about you is your dishonesty. You lied about your relationship with Meg from the very beginning. First she was your "roommate", then your abusive ex that you hadn't slept with in two years and couldn't wait to get away from. It was when I was just days from coming that you admitted you loved her and wanted all three of us to "just get along." You took offence when I asked if you were chatting with her on the drive from Texas to San Francisco, but I can see now that you reacted that way because you were lying. You have probably been dishonest about her abuse; I don't question whether she abuses you, just to what degree you participate in the abuse. I suspect that you're not as passive as you portray. You did admit that on the day she called the police, you'd drunk 10 beers. You were probably just as active in the fight as she was. You have also said something about hitting her, once when you were high when we ...

 Nothing. My mind is blank and my eyes refuse to stay open. Just the remnants of a Madonna song come to mind. Something outside sounds like a crying puppy. Piddled on the floor and got swatted with a rolled-up magazine. Probably a catalogue. Okay, to blog. This is a blog post. The topic today is the thundercats who are scampering back and forth, cries of "Mrr!" issuing from their pink mouths. What makes the cats thunder? I didn't know where they were all night; they sneak around on little cloud toes that don't quite touch the ground and could have passed me one hundred times. In the dark I was alone. Now they thunder. It feels like a thunder of joy; kitties gleefully thundering past shouting "Mrr! Mrr!" Occasionally one stops with me, to survey the milieu, and to remind me that I'm special. Then he leaps off and resumes thundering, "Mew!" When you have a mood disorder I guess it's kind of like being a thundercat. When you're down, low a...