The headlines are fuckin' weird today. Wholphins? It's like a Christopher Moore novel. Kids biting off ears, rogue elephants, runaway viruses.

I'm slightly delirious anyway. Slap-happy, prone to chuckle at the slightest provocation. Tired, my forehead feels fuzzy despite a generous influx of caffeine since about, oh, 5-something this morning. Early research, I've been cramming some in this week to get ahead before heading out of town. When I get back, I want to slam this mother out. In the best of ways.

Last night we watched Big Fish and I had a fucking breakdown. I must have had a bubble of emotion within, waiting to be expressed, because I could not contain myself. Ollie calls it "ugly crying," you know, the kind of sobs that are forced out uncomfortably, like vomit -- it wouldn't stop if you wanted it to. I didn't want it to. It felt good, though tragic.

The movie triggered my fear of loss -- loss of loved ones, of M.s., of my father in particular, the first because of the reflected romance, the last because of the main premise, a son losing his father. And overall, how we own our stories, how we embellish or interpret, how we remember. I live each experience over again when I write about it. I could identify with every character in this movie in some way. And I just couldn't stop crying for the entire second half. Because I'm an emotional dope.

Now, I'm a tired dopess. That's right, I'm making shit up. And you can't stop me.

-Barbarella

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