You Lost Me

The Funasaurus and I finally succumbed, and decided to start watching Lost, after everyone and their brother insisted that it was the best show on television. Everyone and their brother for some reason thought I would like this show, yet neglected to mention that it is about a fucking vivid PLANE CRASH, that they insist on showing OVER AND OVER and from EVERY POSSIBLE ANGLE, despite the fact that everyone and their brother knows this is basically my biggest fear ever. EVER EVER. Up and to the point that everyone and their (and my) brother knows this because I have drooled pathologically on their shoulder when I fly with them because I am so cracked out on-anti-anxiety medication that I have lost control of a) my drool b) my mind, which is kind of fun when you have a chauffeur picking you up, but less fun when you have a short layover in Chicago O’Hare and you are forced to navigate the blinky neon lights and trance music in the tunnels and OH IT’S FASCINATING when cracked out, but not so conducive to efficient walking. (There may be a Cat-sized dent in the wall under the spot where the purple lights end, where I totally fucking walked right into it, feel free check it out, next time you are in O’Hare with some time to kill.)

Hi, so yeah. We got three episodes in, and there shall be no more. Basically because The Funasaurus is not a fan of being kicked all night long, in between shouts of “THAT’s NOT THE RIGHT TUNA, OH MY GOD!” (My dreams don’t necessarily make sense, but when they’re particularly stressful, my subconscious often elects to share them with the conscious world, anyway.) So the fucking PLANE CRASH haunted me all night, and made me think dire thoughts about tuna and the incorrectness of it all, and this morning I feel a) hungover b) like I spent the whole night crying, which, hey, maybe I did, tuna can be complicated, man.

Lost is not for me, thanks for the suggestion, though. I will be enlisting your help to get another prescription, seeing as how I told my doctor I would not need any more a couple years ago, after working through my issues for a decade and finally attempting to fly without the drugs, again.

At least this has put a delay on my spendy ambitions to get to Scandinavia for a while. Maybe my fears will recover about the same time the dollar does.

Anywhos... Easter was fun. We ate cheeseburgers up at The Funasaurus’ family’s house, which is a drastic change from the mimosas and omelet stations and ice sculptures and fancy clothes that I have been used to in Easters past, but I will say, I was MUCH more comfortable this year in a discretely unbuttoned pair of jeans than in a fancy skirt. Skirts have their time and place (THURSDAYS!) but maybe Easter doesn’t need to be one of them… or maybe I just need to invest in more skirts with elastic bands.

Either way, that reminds me that I DID participate in skirt Thursday last week, even if I forgot to post a picture. I was busy being distracted by the pending marriage proposal. I will attempt to post a picture this week, as I am already weighing my options. Please feel free to join me in the revolution this week, especially if it is supposed to be in the SIXTIES where you are, like it’s supposed to be here! Hooray!