Very truly yours,

Why do I tend to ask myself how I�m supposed to feel before I allow myself to feel what I�m feeling? Why is it so difficult to relax and experience a moment without analyzing every little bit of it, why I feel the way I do about it, compare it to how I think I�m supposed to feel about it, thereby missing whatever my true feelings are altogether? Fuck, and you thought YOU were neurotic.

Anyway, I had a wonderful weekend. I may allude back to that first paragraph with an example of what the hell I�m talking about, but in the meantime, let�s just fly with the update and forget all about that brain seizure. Friday night was a little bit of different and a lot of the same. I went to a party at someone�s place, people I didn�t know, I was invited by some new friends. I took to the party like a cat takes to barking. Though I picked up the language of the folks, understood their deal, I had no interest in speaking it. Cats are finicky that way. The theme was Cowboys & Indians (clue #1), and it was somebody�s birthday party. Fair enough, they were all nice people, with their little hats and drunken smiles. I headed back to the Stanton Residence to bump elbows with some dirty boys watching Japanese animae porn. The spelling of animae? I dew knot no.

Had some fun, hung out, left, you know, same old same old. Saturday, however, was VERY different for me. That�s right, people. I turned off my phone and spent the rest of the weekend (WEEKEND WITHOUT PHONE) at my mother�s house. And it was... simply wonderful. My sisters did a slumber party, it was Jane�s birthday. My father came over, we had a genuine Turkey dinner, just like Thanksgiving. Pop Pop, with his perpetual smile, said it was the best Thanksgiving he�s ever had. He leaves on Tuesday. Hence, my introspection questions on appropriate feelings versus actual feelings. I�ve come to the conclusion that mine are just mixed, and that�s that for now.

We laughed. And laughed. The four of us, my sister�s and I, we laughed until our stomachs hurt, maniacal giggles, whooping noises and moans of pain and hilarity as we tried to protect our bellies from any more pressure. My father told me last night, when he called from Florida to give me his contact information, that he couldn�t describe the joy he felt just to sit off to the side and watch his daughters laugh for an evening. �You�re all so lucky, hon. So friggin� lucky.�

It�s true, you know. And when I think about that, how lucky I am with the love in my life, how great it felt to just take a break and disappear for a day, well, there�s hardly room for any of that analyzing stuff. As I read in an article recently, �wonder is a bulky emotion.� Not much room for anything else.

I�m one lucky bitch.

-Barbarella

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