Because It's Better To Be Irrational With Me Than Rational With Someone Else

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EVERYbody Wants to Play InterVENTion

The Bad
As I am wiping the contents of a whole grande cup of coffee that I spilled on myself, HP and HM look curiously at me. They try to detect some sort of emotion in my hurried wiping motions. It is just Wednesday noon, and already so much happened.

The Intervention
It is Wednesday noon, but I already found out that Dr. A arranged an "intervention" of sorts for my "problem." The problem? No, not the fact that I obviously need a sippy cup for coffee. Apparently I look like shit lately. No, scratch that. I take showers. My personal hygiene hasn't changed. My personal grooming hasn't changed either. I continue to follow a routine in everything else as well. So what tipped Dr. A and others off that something is off about me? Maybe the ever slight avoidance of close contact, just in case the imaginary crawlers I see are not so imaginary after all? Maybe that one time after I killed that bug I exclaimed: Ha! You were a real one, weren't you!" ? I cannot tell. I do not seem happy anymore, although to me it seems I am the happiest in the department. I might be delusional though. Then, there's that big elephant in the room that needed to be addressed: the lost 20 lbs. From size 5 to 2/3, I went within a month. Nobody mentions that, although it is on everybody's minds (and as shown by mystery food being left on my desk with messages: "EAT ME" attached). And while people talk behind my back, I scratch myself, I panic, I lose weight, because all tastes the same metallic taste, and nobody asks why, but all just assume.

And here I am on Wednesday noon, all annoyed that people want to intervene thinking I am anorexic and stressed out for no reason, instead of just asking me straight out if I have problems so I could just straight up just tell them I am on meds and just plain sick… so I am sitting down wet like dog and smelling of coffee, and all I can think is that it is just Wednesday and it cannot get worse than that.

But It Can Get Worse
But I cannot tell the future. I cannot tell that on Saturday my boyfriend will request back the diamond necklace he gave me for our six-month anniversary after I will call him unsupportive. I cannot foresee that I will finally hack into the stalker website and find out the scary truth. On that Wednesday, I have no way of knowing, that on Sunday, I find out that my stalker has known my every single move since year 2003. S/he knew where I was in NJ, Boston, PA, and now. What I did, when I did it, and how I did it. I have no way of knowing this on Wednesday. And that's okay.

And You Deal With It, Passively, Non-Aggressively
Today,-Monday, I will get a speech from my now ex-bf how the timing was wrong, and a speech from my very underweight friend how losing so much in such a short time is dangerous. Stan will also spend the whole day with me, and with his eyes he will make love to me.

And while I am having panic attacks for one reason or the other, and while my dangerously underweight friend worries about her status of being the only underweight in the department, and while Stan and I go through our best friend/hope-we-were-lovers woes, I go and practice my tennis racket swings. It might come useful. Swing right or left, at a ball or someone's head. Never know.

12:22 a.m. - June 16, 2009

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