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

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Only The Last One Is the Logical One

I had this phone, it was a fabulous phone... but as phones and me go - we do not get along. I abuse and overuse. Used as an alarm, they end up chucked to the other side of the room if they wake me from a good dream. Once my 20th phone ended its short life, it has been replaced by an Android touch phone. Now, it has a touchier purpose: as a massager.

My head has been pulsating from pain for the past couple weeks... non-stop. Face tingles, face goes numb, ears are ringing, and a vein is about to pop in my brain. I press the phone against my temples; I dig my nails into my hand – pain re-direction.

10... 9... 8… 7... There goes the first pill!
All showered and fresh-smelling, I went to the bus, and some feces-smelling MoFo sat next to me. The 15 minute bus ride to the lab was suddenly a fight for survival… I struggled to keep the vomit in my body. I wish I was making this up, I really do, but that little man... that little man, I almost killed him. Showering is not just something you should do for yourself... it's a polite thing to do. I came to the office, I almost flipped, my hat my scarf my jacket were drenched in feces/urine smell. I washed them in my perfume. Rather smell the strong stench of perfume than feces.

6… 5… 4... 3... I dose myself with some more Tylenol.
Stan has moved to my and HM's office. I will die. I get to spend MORE time with the man I am addicted to. We thought it would be great! But reality is this: even geniuses get it wrong sometimes. I stopped going to lunch with him. I avoid coffee runs. I do not talk to him anymore – I do work. YES! Work... shocking. No hugs. No tickles. No deep thoughtful conversations. Just me, him, and … HM. He hinted at spending V-day with me (“the message in my chocolate said I should spend Sunday watching movies/having dessert with my friend” and then the long minute stare). I am bad at hints, so I said: well, lucky friend, have fun with that. And dramatic exit. He repeated it couple more times at couple other instances, I said: yea, I know you're excited... as I said, have fun. I am digging my own grave.

2… 1... I throw couple more pills into my body. The vein in my brain almost pops. The ringing in the ear gets louder.
“So, I am registering you for giving a talk at the Boston conference this summer... You know, about your discovery.” Dr. A. says.
“You serious?!” Yes. “I won't do it.” You will. “No way in hell.” Your discovery already put you on the map out there, you need to spread it like a parasite now. “I rather die.” Well, we'll get you a nice tombstone. “Do it yourself.” No. “I won't do it.” I press the phone against my temples. What's wrong with you? I dig the phone deeper into my temples and pop a pill. “Headache.” Aren't you allergic to these? He points at the pills. “Deadly.” I massage the temples. The phone rings. Motherf----!
“GET A F---ING MRI DONE! NOW!” Screams my doctor.
Pop… goes… the Weasel!

2:14 a.m. - February 12, 2010

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