soma coma

i write this from the cushiony luxuriousness of my bed.  not only is it the preferred location, it is infact, entirely necessary. it seems that somehow i am in a coma. i'm reasonably sure it was brought on by the combination of Soma and Nyquil Cough syrup. i wasn't feeling particulary Cobain-ish before i retired last night, i just couldn't fucking stop coughing. it's been going on like this since thanksgiving and it is ridiculous. it's not a big juicy dark green bronchial cough but a tickley scratchy feeling somewhere between the very back of my throat and the top part of my lungs. i'm not congested but there is a ball of snot that seems to reside there constantly and i have more than a sneaking suspicion that it could have something to do with the puppy i brought home from the pound. of course it's the one i love the best.

so now i'm in what i like to call a talking-coma.  i can hardly open my eyes to write this and my words are slurred as i weakly called for someone, anyone to make me some coffee. i need accupuncture. the last time i went they did the little pulsey-feely thing and said my lungs were the culprit. "does it feel like you're being choked by a seatbelt across your chest?" the lady asked.  i mistakenly thought she was referencing my boobs and said, "oh, ya, i need new ones but am waiting for newer technology and enough money to go on vacation in singapore to get them."  apparently with all the little tranny boy-girls needing implants you can score a fabulous boob job for under 2 grand vs. the $9,000 they wanted in virginia.  

no, it's my lungs and i don't even smoke (much).

now i sit, months (?) later, coma-free but relaxed due to the pre cinco de mayo tequila shots i imbibed and the fact that it's already tomorrow. david letterman is talking to robert downey jr. and i'm in love with both of them.

does this blog have any meaning, i wonder? do i dare push the seductive orange button to my left and PUBLISH this verbal diarrhea? what the hell. 

who really reads this anyway? 

i perused some blogs by other strangers last night and came across a christian woman who was writing about her new "man of god" and their proposal and i viewed pictures of their new bathroom and she even said the word "past" (which is not really a word, is it?) i was disturbed. highly disturbed. it brought up so many things from my past: church, religion, submission, hypocrisy, family...the whole fucking shebang. 

i was convinced that it was time to let all the people who i've allowed to vomit their opinions on me all these years while creatively avoiding hearing "my side" hear what i think, once and for all. not in a spiteful way, just in an "eye for an eye" sort of way.

why do we care so much what other people think about us? if we are doing our best to be our best, most authentic selves then why must we hide who we are, what we think, how we feel?

i'm in love with sarah silverman. i admit that i thought she was retarded after i saw her show a few times, but after her stand-up i was hooked. holy fucking shit she's funny and irreverent and hot. i relate to her when they say she dresses like a 14 year old boy. who doesn't love a 14 year old boy?

g'night.