Posing for Oprah

Yesterday I went for a walk/jog in Central Park, to an ayurvedic lecture at the Yoga Journal Conference, popped by the bar to see the crew for a bit (no drinking!), and went to a restorative yoga session at night. I'm practicing toddler therapy - I tire myself out all day, so that I crash as soon as I get home. It's working...I guess?

The minute I'm alone I cry, so I don't know if all of this positive bullshit is helping or not. I feel like a poser. I find self-abuse and destruction more appealing when I'm in a funk. I'd much rather drink myself into oblivion, eat my weight in cheese and crackers, and take up cutting rather than pretend I'm in the mood for this hippie dippie mumbo jumbo. Maybe pretending I'm at peace will bring me some sooner. In the words of the great Tyra Banks, "Fake it 'til you make it." I'll fake happy until I have the hap-hap-happiest life since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye.

What was that, Oprah? What would I say to MDLL right now if I had the chance? I'm glad you asked. I would say..

MDLL, thank you for bringing love into my life. I wasn't sure I could love or be loved after all of these years and because of you I now know I can. I was angry last week because I felt like you took my chance at having a family away from me. I realize now you didn't. In fact, you gave me the gift of wanting one. I thank you for this, too.

All that being said, I fucking hate you. HATE. I hope you get food poisoning and live. I'm tempted to send you the link to my blog so you can read how your dickcunt inaction fucked my shit up. You'll probably hate me too once you know how much I've shared on here...and how many people I slept with! Oops! (Sidenote - gyno said the cooter is cootie free.)

So there. Is that the response you were looking for, Ms. my va-jay-jay is hurtin'? Yes. Good.

MANIC DEPRESSIVE GIGGLER.