Down the rabbit hole

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Self-pity is the second best medicine.

The best being laughter, I suppose, but I've never heard of a good laugh curing anything more than a mild case of bad vibes, or possibly aiding the authorities in spotting a space cadet. And by space cadet, I mean someone who's on the green. And by green, I mean Mary. And by Mary, I mean - enough of this. You get it.

Me and one of the men I cannot
imagine life without - Jeremy!
Yesterday, one of my absolute best guy friends dropped by the house. His name is Jeremy, and he's tall, dark and interesting. I really do want to guest him in one of my vlogs soon because he's a lot like me only he looks slightly African American and has a penis.  That being said, I know he'll be a joy to watch. Yes, that's him wearing the John Lennon sunglasses on the left. Now, I say he's a lot like me because we both like to talk (a lot), and we're both politely evil. See, that's something I'd like to coin right now. Politely evil.

Jeremy and I, more than anything else, like talking about people. No, we don't gossip. That's terribly juvenile and unsubstantial. Rather, we like analyzing people in general, how different kinds of people fit into certain social situations, and how we tend to play our cards in the same situations. The cards he and I value the most are politeness and grace. Jeremy and I have both come to terms with the fact that shit does in fact happen to the best of people, at the most inconvenient of times, and on a fairly regular basis. We're also very much aware of the fact that the only forgivable unfortunate turns of events are those that are organic and subject to the laws of physics. Those are few and rare. The ones that are a bit more relentless come from people, so if there are things anyone has to master, it's a convincing smile, a polite laugh, small-talk on autopilot, anger management, and conserving your energy for necessary interactions with people who matter. In short, put on a happy face, and keep your real sentiments to yourself. Be politely evil.

(Jeremy, my darling, if you are reading this, know that I love you and people will only slightly think less of you after this entry is done.)

I don't really know why I decided to go into a significant amount of detail about Jeremy and I, because I was only really supposed to talk about the upset stomach I got right after we snacked on a plate of my mom's nachos. Thing is, I can't really pinpoint the nachos as the culprit because I was the only person who got hit. There you have it, me writing a hypochondriac blog post. I spent all night nursing what I think is a mild case of stomach flu, thinking I'd feel better the morning after. Nope, day two feels worse.

You probably don't know this about me yet, but I consider myself to be pretty bionic. I hardly ever get sick, thanks to good genetics and the additional immunity I've acquired from my years as a student nurse. Thing is, when I do get sick, it's a tough bug to beat. And because it so rarely happens, I like to indulge in a little self-pity whenever I'm down with something. There we go! Finally, the title of this entry has come into play. Whenever I'm sick, I wear my tired, frowny face along with the most unflattering and mismatched house clothes I have in my closet and either sprawl myself on a couch where household members can see me and my sad state, or lay in my bed for hours and enjoy having my mother bring me good stuff from the kitchen. (Oh wow, that was probably one of the longest sentences I have ever composed ever, ever, ever.)

I'm a very effective wallower in self-pity and moping around, I'll have you know, so if anything, I think it's the extra TLC I get from my family and best friends that makes me get well sooner. If I play my sick card right (and I know I do), there's a change of gears in the house and I feed off of all the love and care that I can squeeze out of their little hearts. Oh, I wouldn't call it manipulation. Wouldn't call it regression either, even though I'm sure manipulation and regression fit well. I think it's more of knowing what you truly need, and remembering that nothing shining, shimmering and splendid can ever compare to feeling taken care of.

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