I have long sense repressed my "Inner Bi-otch," not to be confused with my "Inner Big Black Woman" or my "Inner Critic." Today I pulled her (my "Inner Bi-otch," who we will call Lucinda...for now), out by not being a good co-dependent, but keepin' it real real. Subsequently, I felt a lot of GUILT and a lot of SELF-ESTEEM. Such is the nature of our "Inner Bi-otch (she's a guilty mo-fo)." Um...why am I talking like this? Cuz it's fun!

Just for today, I can be a BI-OTCH.

I was so tired last night I decided to do the wash, work on my grad school application, and finish watching "Angels in America" [which is the 80th movie to feature a black man as the spiritual savior to The White Man, who in this case, are several gay men with AIDS which he (the black man), ironically doesn't have.]

Anyway, I WAS TIRED. And, it's usually when I'm really tired that I decide to analyze the subversive messages in popular media AND conquer the world, all at the same time, and usually at some hour like 1:00 AM. It's some childhood button that gets pushed, the same one that had me writing book reports at mid-night during Christmas break when I was 9-years-old. Probably the same one that made me say things like "Mom, how would you feel if I washed the car AND cut the grass this Saturday?" when I was 10...By the time I was in college, I was really over the whole workaholism thing...it just seemed so fourth grade.

Anyway, last night I finally just got into bed without getting the laundry from the dryer, without finishing "Angels..," without typing one thing on my computer, and without washing my face (but then I got up and washed it because not to is just gross). And when I woke up at 5:00 AM with dreams of having to urinate, I walked into the kitchen and realized that the monster my neighbor put on the porch looks like a man, and I jumped.

I fell asleep and woke up at 9:00 AM and felt really well-rested, like I had slept better than years. However, I noticed that the electricity was off. Which made me wonder, if electricity contributes to my insomnia.

Just for today, I can write about being tired.

Some day I hope to carry the peaceful vibe of our helpful Eastern European computer tech guy who I will call "Boris" (only because I'm shamefully ignorant of the vast spectrum of Eastern European). Anyway, Boris is so chill! He's like an island of peaceful waterfalls amid the frenzied, neurotic, hellaciousness that is the standard "It doesn't work!...help me!...I'm helpless and I hate life!" insanity that frequents my office (mostly by me).

I don't know what his secret is. But I wish I did.

Just for today, I can have a model of peace in my peaceful friend Boris.

It's not like I'm in a coma or anything, or like those guys from Crossfire (who were so checked out that they invited the magnificent bludgenor of BS, Jon Stewart, to bludgeon them on their home court). I'm not THAT DISCONNECTED! I am just learning there are more subtle ways to register pain and discomfort than a complete freezing of the bowels. And there are more appropriate ways to deal with FEELINGS and EMOTIONS, than getting drunk like a freshman in college (which I haven't done in at least a year, if not more....but I am willing to examine my own denial...).

But all this happens (as my sponsor says) because I avoid feeling The Feeling.

So, this is what happens. I have some thought or experience, like, say I am going to take greater risks in my life because I am growed up, and it's not really appropriate to raise a family in a studio apartment (albeit a very, very big studio apartment). I mean, it could be cozy at first, but then when my son is 15 and wants to invite his friends over for oreos and pornos...it's just not going to really work (please note: I would commit matricide, before I let my son bring porn into my house...note to self: cheap jokes > honesty).

ANYWAY, so all I have to do is THINK about taking greater risks with my career and the JUST THE THOUGHT OF CHANGE sends me onto an emotional precipice below which is nothing more than a vaccum filled void (which is so many negatives it actually should add up to something...but it's something scary and lonely). AND THEN, I start to feel that if I don't wash my bathroom mat with bleach in the next 24 hours, surely the engine of government, commerce, and society will come to a complete halt. And not only that, but I won't have enough money to buy deoderant, or paper towels, or DSL, or any of the crap that hooks me into the world, and our crap-filled consumer society. WHICH WILL THEN ostricized from THE LOVE available to all...but me. It won't be available to me because I'm in the vacuum filled void feeling alone, lonely, and scared. And that's really the only way I can describe The Feeling.

Just for today, I can feel my feelings.

I had a little meltdown on Saturday night when I tried to activate my new bank account and was told by The Machine that my account was closed. I am also having great difficulty doing things like spelling, laundry, and I get distracted by any project I undertake by The Dust [the dust hidden in the crevices of my lamp, behind my TV, and in my jewelry box (it must be gone!)]! (Not to mention, I've totally forgotten how to use brackets.) If my apartment isn't gleaming I fear that my world crumble into tiny bits of lost dreams. All because I MUST HAVE CONTROL OVER MY LIFE!

I was told last night that I need to feel the Overwhelm of a half-clean apartment and an unfinished life. These are "feelings from childhood" wanting release in some way that doesn't involve being a "HUMAN DOING."

I'm too tired to worry about being corny.

Just for today, I am allowed to have a meltdown.

It all started when Neil Walsh wrote "Conversations with God" and, seemingly, cornered the market on...well, conversations with God. I thought about writing a book called "God Had a Coversation With Someone Else, Too," but I didn't have enough dialogue to fill up a book. To be honest, I had no dialogue because I 've never had a personal conversation with God (I didn't know he spoke English so well)...I think I was just jealous of Neil cuz God talked to him and not to me.

For a while I tried to use the word "God" as a catch all word for anything that occurrs that didn't involve my planning, like rain, sales, sinus infections, and the occasional good vibe. But now God is responsible for foreign policy?! God is resonsible for our failure to sign the Kyoto Treaty, start a war in Iraq, and arrest Cat Steven's arrest? God is a Republican?

Someone once told me that if you stop using swear words you can start thinking up other words to describe your emotions...I think I'll apply that to "God."

Alternative Words for "God"

The Universe (way overused)
The Way Stuff Is
The Force
Godess
Chi (is that how you spell it?)
Coffee (jk)
Wind
The Deal

Just for today, I can find a new word for "God."

I just went to see Michael Moore speak this afternoon on a college campus (I thought becoming a speck of rain in the political climate might give my depression a rush of adrenaline).

Strangely, we were greeted a fraternity house of econ majors PROTESTING. As I stood waiting to get in the amphitheater, I realized that I'll never get used to waspy-looking protesters in Polo shirts. These victims of Ralph Lauren were protesting the injustice of...I'm still not sure what. People who make movies they didn't care for? I guess I'm just lazy. I really did NOT care for "The Titanic," but did I do anything about it? Nope. You can't drag my butt out on to the street unless it's for like, abortion rights, or fair wages for migrant workers...until it gets extreme!

Maybe I shouldn't wait for things to get so bad. I could learn something from the Beta Guys.

Just for today, I can learn from Republican protesters.

I went to the Happiest Place on Earth because my friend had free passes and my inner children was starting to crawl up the cubicle walls at work and eat paste.

It's only been since I started exploring Fantasyland as a personal sociological study that I realized what a dark, terrifying existential horror show some of the "little kid" rides are behind that magical castle (which happened to be under construction...so rude). Take for instance Mr. Toad's Wild Ride wherein Mr. Toad essentially goes on a drunk driving rampage before he ends up in court, and, ultimately, Hell (a traditional red Catholic one...) On the (new) Winnnie the Pooh ride, Pooh gets high on honey in one scene and starts having psychedelic hallucinations. For a study in simple alcoholism, the Pirates of the Carribean has no competition (still...that ride has soul).

Maybe Mr. Disney was far more advanced than I gave him credit for and while he disguised his theme park as the happiest place on earth, he was really sharing an art therapy project suggested by his lesser known shrink...
I would get into the Nazi sympathizer, but that upsets certain 35-year-old men who don't like to feel the bitter drum of my diatribe raining on the shining star of Anaheim.

All that said, I know Disneyland better than any childless 32-year-old woman should...

Just for today, I can go to Disneyland.

If there's one thing I've learned, you can't rush a manicure/pedicure job (especially the drying part). I have yet to step outside a nail salon with the paint job intact. And that's with several reapplications by the nail specialists who rush over to me once they've seen the bang-up job I've done with the dryer and just waving my fingers around.

Last night I dropped in to get my nails done because I was too embarrassed to look at my own toes and fingers, let alone show them to the world. I didn't have enough cash so I had to wander outside barefoot to the market only to find that I overdrafted because...[insert reason here]. Needless, to say all the touch-ups in the world couldn't hide the damage to their work. I think they felt bad for me when they saw that I was having a meltdown. I just don't have the commitment or patience for grooming.

Just for today, it's OK to mess up my nails.

Last night I watched a famous director give a talk about his movie to a room full of Worshipful Film School Students. During the question and answer period the Worshipful Film School Students couldn't help parlaying their question into some sort of statement about how his movies had given their lives direction and saved them from whittling away their trust funds on season lift passes at Vale [PLEASE NOTE: I am extremely jealous of these people (must use x-tra brakets to offer the thought that "these people" could be a figment of my jealous imagination)...and from that base emotion comes my mockery], NOT TO MENTION, how they were available to discuss the nature of his superiority over a soy latte at anytime of the day or night.

To his credit, the director did everything he could to tame the zealot energy of their faith, but get down on his knees and cry, "I'm just a man! A flesh and blood man like you!" Having been through my people worship stage (that coincided with my lost youth and, perhaps, contributed to it) I felt tempted to stand up and the theater and yell, "Life's too short to waste creaming your panties for some guy who makes movies with way too many shots of middle aged white men clipping their toe nails!"

But I didn't because that would have been embarrassing. I also might have been killed.

Just for today, I abstain from people worship.

My student worker had a question, but I had to tell her, "WAIT! I'm searching the Internet to find out what year Springfield's "Jessie's Girl" came out! So, hold your horses cuz I'm busy!" Well, as it turns out, it wasn't 1983 like my co-worker Thomas thought, but 1981 like I thought (because I knew I was still in the single digits when I used to watch feather haired teenagers blasting it from their cars)...which means, I'm not THAT OLD!

This all came about because another student worker is named Jessie. Thomas and I like to sing tunes that go with the words we use in conversation. For instance, Thomas will say something like, "Would you like me to install the latest version of Dreamweaver?" and I'll respond with "Dreeeeeam-weeever, I can get you through the niiiiiiiight!" Ok, so it's funnier in real life. The point is that we asked Jessie if everyone sang "Jessie's Girl" to him and he was like, "No, I've never heard of that song before." Which made us feel not just really fucking old, but also really dated. But it turns out that I'm not that old, because I was only 9 when it came out and not 17. It's not like he hadn't heard of the Beastie Boys or something.

Just for today, it's OK that twenty-year olds haven't heard of songs that I heard when I was nine...must...not...panic...yet.

Listen, ladies, I know a lot of you have had bad experiences and are hurt and scared, but lets not support each other in slamming the proverbial door of our "houses." I don't know about you, but someone please shoot me IF when I'm 50+ I ever write an article about the joys of a single sexless life in magazines that are supposed to inspire women over 40, but are really pounding the nails into the coffin of the idea that the trajectory of a single woman's life is a slow painful ride to the Convent of Antiseptic Fun (watching butterflies mate, cleaning the grill by yourself, spending $100 at the bead store). I mean I'm all for the option of living the single life, young or old. I did it for years, so I know the joys of buying Chinese food and watching two full seasons of Sex and the City, and I know how to change the light bulbs, and check the oil (of my car), and call my friends or therapist when I'm "triggered," but we're sexual social animals, folks! And even when the batteries were charged, I couldn't turn my teddy bear into a full sized warm body, and I could only leave so many messages and post-its for myself with messages like, "You deserve love and joy." I don't care how much of an alcoholic sex-addict your father was or how bad your first two marriages were...if we were meant to live alone we'd have more organs and appendages.

Also, if you're looking for another reason to shoot me, then please do any blanket condescending statements about relationships like "One person can't meet all your needs," or "there's more to life than a relationship."

I'm glad that I can take care of myself financially and emotionally, cuz if I couldn't all relationships with men would be prisons. But that's no reason to preach the benefits of isolation as some sort of victory over society.

Just for today, I can support women in their search for love!