You are not perfect.

Think about that sentence. Meditate on it. How does it make you feel? Inadequate? Disappointed in yourself? Does it feel like if you agree, you are using it as a cop-out? I don�t want to explain this one right now, just sit with it. It�s okay, you know. We are all perfect as living beings, as a part of nature, but imperfect in our humanity. And NO ONE is an exception to that rule. Not even Mother Teresa.

Holy shit, I am such a conglomeration of thought and emotion that I don�t know where to begin. So much, so much. I am hurt by recent events regarding friendships. And there�s too many little ways that I�ve felt put off, unloved, and discarded, and they�re all SO little, but so significant, it�s just not worth it to go into. Then again, I have felt so cared for, taken care OF and loved, that I�m being pulled in this tug-of-war with my emotions. Do I dwell on the disappointments? Or do I bask in the glory of my luck in the world? It�s crazy, because in my head today, I�ve been doing BOTH.

I�ve been busy. Going out, having fun. Thursday, dinner and a bar with some good friends, Friday� that�s another story. Fun, downtown, art, dancing, a stupid decision and a bit of drama. I opted to guinea pig a potion, and well, let�s just say this guinea (see, it�s a pun, I�m half Italian), died right in the cage. That�s right, your typical after-school special, Barbarella was unconscious, beyond reviving, having some fabulous dreams, but scaring her friends in the process. Sorry, guys, my bad. Moo, moo moo (that�s a South Park reference). Who knew it would take smelling salts, being dragged to the bathroom, half-an-hour in cold water, calling friends for advice and help, and threatening an ambulance to bring me around? Not fun, folks, not at all. And today, my mother asked me about the bruises. I told her, �You don�t want to know,� and she let it go. Thank God.

I�m caught up in myself right now. It�s like, I give a shit about too much, unnecessary shit, you know, and then again, I don�t care about ANYTHING. But I�m not depressed here, folks, I�ve actually been in great spirits. Still am. I feel wonderful, emotionally-overall. But I am PENSIVE. PREOCCUPIED. Thinking WAY TOO MUCH. So enough of this glimpse into my dark recesses. Let me give you a bit of an update:

Like I mentioned, Thursday was fun, dinner sucked but we had a good laugh about it. And narrowly winning a game of billiards reminded me how out of practice I am. I�ll work on that, Mom�s still got the table at her house. Friday night (before the badness), I brought a new friend downtown, was hoping some good friends that I haven�t seen in a long time would stop by, but their plans took them elsewhere. So from the gallery to the dance club, a good crowd, some great talks, and then back to a friend�s house, where I was lost for awhile. Saturday = recovery, happy to be alive, self-pity and insecurity that certain people didn�t seem to be that interested in how I was after what was considered by some to be a �close-call�. Saturday night, TV with Jen, very mellow, very nice, into bed early. Today? Sunday? Wonderful, for the most part. Baby-registering for baby showers with sisters and Mom, lunch and a movie. Life as a House, it�s called. Good movie. Then down to Fizgig�s new venue to see some friendly faces and hear some awesome music.

And here I am. The only thing I�ve come to terms with lately is the fact that I truly am lactose intolerant. Tonight, when usually I�d order my usual espresso-milky drink from Starbucks, I caved in and asked for Soy Milk. I just can�t fool myself anymore. The body is too telling. Milk hurts.

And that�s all.

-Barbarella

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