Canker sores suck ass. According to my experience, and several medical web sites I consulted, two of the triggers for these mysterious ulcers that occur inside of the mouth are menstruation and stress. BINGO! THAT'S ME, and that's why ketchup burns, that's why I'm speaking with a bit of a lisp because there is NO cure for cankers, the little bastards just show up, irritate the fuck out of your mouth and give you a headache for about a week before suddenly taking off, not to reappear until the next time you are on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
They're not contagious, by the way. And there's no way to prevent them. But who cares about cankers? We're leaving TOMORROW MORNING. Hence my stress. Yesterday it just seemed like there was so much more to do than I was actually capable of doing. I got overwhelmed. No, haven't turned to the last little blue pill yet, I just went to bed and waited for a hard-ass workout this morning. I got it.
Stress aside, I'm excited. I'm looking forward to this trip for a lot of reasons. On a completely different note, I just sent off the last payment for my car. Now, the Barb-mobile is officially, utterly, and totally MINE, bought and paid for. Yay! One less thing to think about.
Through my pathetic, pointless sobbing last night, my PMS-induced, stress-exacerbated tears, M.s. reminded me that I have it pretty good. He's right, of course, but dammit, I didn't want to hear that. I wanted to mope. Moping felt so GOOD, my hormones wanted me to be miserable. But he's right.
Today, sore from working my body hard at the gym, weak from my emotions working me over last night, I am able to once again be conscious of the fact that I am living my dream life. I watched Cinderella and Aladdin with Bella the other day and found myself identifying with the main characters at the end of each flick. Happily Ever After, dreams come true, blah blah blah, all that crap, welcome to my life -- where everything reallly is as good as it seems, even if I sometimes forget.
The problem is, Cinderella wasn't half as neurotic as I am. A good neurotic can find fault in perfection. Last night, as David was impersonating Humphrey Bogart, telling me, "Kid, you gotta knock it out, you have everything you've ever wanted and more," he then told me, "If we were really in a movie, this is the part where I'd slap you and you'd realize how silly you're being."
He stroked my head. Wiped my tears. Told me everything was going to be fine, everything was already fine, and I knew it was. It wasn't long after my head touched the pillow that I passed out, exhausted from my antics. And today, today we've had some hurdles, gallery stuff, tying up loose end stuff, some setbacks and frustrations. But we know everything will be fine, that it already is. And we smile and we shrug, because sometimes you just can't do anything about a situation, and we take our showers and I do a load of laundry and I sit down to work.
And tomorrow morning, we'll be on a plane, playing travel Scrabble and eating almonds. And smiling.