The cup tastes as sweet as the punch.

The relevant before the ranting:

I had surgery again on Monday. It was wonderful. I regained full consciousness before they pumped me full of pain meds, and having refused the OC before surgery because I didn't want my nose to be itchy, all the connecty monitor shit that I was still attached gave me a minor anxiety attack--During which I ripped of my oxygen mask, pulse monitor and blood pressure cuff. I was pulling on the IV cord when the nurse came in. I don't like having shit over my face.

Stewart stayed home with me Tuesday, but that gave me most of yesterday and today to sit and mull and be completely unproductive and occasionally artsy.

On the artsy side, I started a new set of stencils for xmas gifts.

On the mulling side, I began to resent not being able to just talk to a series of people who I (still) worry about, even though it's fruitless and just going to drive me nuts. It's a short list of very important people. And most of them are untalkable for stupid reasons, or at least stupid reasons by way of blood.

But moving on... Living in sin is great. I like being with Stewart and living with him is nothing short of easy and comfortable and enjoyable. I haven't had to sleep on the couch yet, although I have threatened to send him after a couple Chinese food nights. My favorite thing about Stewart is that I never have to worry about him. Open and honest is the way to go. I do worry about the other broads... But I can always just punch them.



My highschool reunion was last Saturday. I saw a few people I cared too and a few I was indifferent about. There were a couple really awkward moments involving hugs with people who may as well be complete strangers, but Walsh showed and there was an open bar.

A note on the concept of open bar: NOT a good idea at places where awkward is the anticipated social climate. I drank too much, didn't hit me until about 15 minutes after lying down and then hurling commenced. Like a volcano of ramen and Banana pine needles. And I hurled on the sheets, and Stewart changed them. My mom said it must be love, because she just left my dad on the lawn when he was that bad. Stewart said he was too late, because I was already upstairs and it was a cold night.

And something I need to say out loud and out of context: how can someone disrespect themself enough be with something like that?

amen. good night.