April Fools make May Tools!

Today I look on the calendar as I write this, and it's April Fool's Day and I want to play a practical joke on someone but I don't know how creative and adventurous I want to get.  I mean not to get too philosophical on your ass, but the real practical joke is the one we are playing on ourselves.

Let me not fool myself, expecting to write a column every day is asking a lot of myself.  Expecting you to read one every day is also asking a lot.  Like I mean, seriously, I have put undue pressure and stress on myself.  

The joke that I need to be crazily working all the time is on me.  I'm looking for jobs people, I'm trying to get a book published.  I got shit to do.  This writing of a blog is recreational sometimes I think, although it's not, it's important for my profession.  I want to write for publications that actually have a huge audience.

I'm sort of preparing this portfolio for the publishing community to look at.  But it's OK if I can't get one out every day, it's hard to spill your heart out every goddamn day.  And on top of it, I've got to think of something to say.  I'm deathly afraid I will run out of ideas.  

I need to not fear it.  It will be OK. 

The reason I love April fool's day is because I had this bus driver who was a riot in high school.  And she said that she called her friend once and told her she was in jail, and the friend went to fucking jail, and she was standing there laughing her ass off, "April fool's day!"  I kid you not she actually did this to her friend.

I respect humor, like practical jokes, I've never done any really but think it is funny.  I hear like George Clooney is really into them.  They make you laugh for a while, unlike a regular joke.  Clooney and Brad Pitt, hotties are into practical jokes.  

They can go too far, I heard a story about someone once sending someone a pile of shit in a candy box.  That was the end of that friendship.  I don't know I'm nervous, I tell people's stories online and one day somebody is gonna slap me.

A guy once asked me if I was gonna write about him in my blog.  Well I am now.  Don't be afraid to know me or tell me shit about your life, I'm trying not to exploit people, I really am.  I'm trying not to exploit myself.  It's hard.  

I'm annoyed that privacy issues are part of my job description.  I'm annoyed that I could hurt someone, especially myself.  I'm annoyed that there are exploiters out there.

I'm annoyed everyone is not sitting at the edge of their seats waiting for a new blog entry from me.  As I'm sitting at the edge of my seat waiting for inspiration.  I have to write books too.  

Every profession is hard work.  Work is worship in many ways. Work is kind of a bitch in many ways.  It's complicated.

Why is the writing thing a one way street, I tell all and you sit there and take it in and give me nothing of yourself?  It's a lie I'm fooling myself, the process of reading itself is so giving.  Thank you for giving me your time. 

Sometimes it annoys me how straight forward I can be.  I just told someone I don't know very well that I think he's hot, he's probably too young for me.  Then I told him April fools!  I'm embarrassed. I'm a fool.  

April fools.

This married man is also after me and I told me we need to just be friends and I'm flattered because I'm actually very attracted to him.  But I'm annoyed that I have morals.  Am I fool to try to be good?

I don't have anyone in my life, but I'm sure of certain things in my life, I'm sure about what is right.  About what is right for me.

I would be a fool if I got involved with a married man, even just for fun.  I fool like me would fall in love.  Maybe it's not just my moral stance on adultery its my common sense about adultery.  Somebody gonna get hurt.  

You watch Russell Peters ever?

I'm sure he would come up with some good pranks. 

Fools are funny people, fools are funny.  Maybe be you have to be a fool to be funny.

I'm too serious sometimes.  Sometimes you got to just be foolish.  

What am I talking about, I'm foolish all the time.  Only fools fall in love people, listen to me.  

Foolish heart...

nina

Is Facebook Killing you Softly?

Let's talk about Facebook for a second here, it's sometimes the first thing I look at in the morning.  I have a blog and I like to see who has seen it and commented on it, etc.  But let's be real who is looking at my blog in the middle of the night, although I do have an international audience, there are a couple people in the Ukraine who are reading this shit.  Go figure.  But, do I secretly need validation from the world on social media.  I'm not gonna lie, I like to be liked.  

Push that like button baby, push it.

Do I feel jealous when I see some of my friends go on their umpteenth vacation?  I don't know.  I've heard Facebook can cause social envy.  You are looking at only the good parts of people's lives and your life looks like shit in comparison.

I don't know if I really have that problem because I generally don't feel shitty about my existence.  I'm thinking about when I was depressed, Facebook did not even depress me then, it sort of made me feel connected to the world when I wasn't connected in other ways.

I look at the screen too much, I know that.  I check my blog statistics too much to see how many hits I've gotten, I know that.  I think it's fascinating that anyone would be interested in what I'm doing on the toilet.  

I have hundreds of "friends" of Facebook, but who can I really call when I run out of gas?  I can count those people on one hand. It's all fun and games until you run out of gas with a cat shitting in your car (refer to The Cat in the Shat).  But it's funny and a good story.

These are the days of our lives, or the posts of our lives.  What we post on Facebook is our scrapbook.  I was recently thinking about getting into photography and I thought, wow I have an instant audience for my work if I do that, Facebook.  I'm not into taking social pictures or pictures of myself as you may have noticed.  I'm into random pictures of like fruit and the sky.

Am I overusing Facebook? Probably.  But some of my best friendships have now begun by an encounter on Facebook.  So how can I complain?  I'm also using it to promote my writing and it's working.

I mean I think it's better to talk to people face to face than post shit about them on the Internet, but I don't think we are neccesarily headed towards hell because of social media.  

There are bigger fish to fry I feel.  Like I'm against the propagation of violence through video games.  People will rail against Facebook but hard core pornography is still alive and well on the Internet.  

My mom is against Facebook, she doesn't read my blog and doesn't know that I reveal far too much for her taste on it.  She would be appalled.  If you know her, please help me keep my secret for as long as humanly possible. 

I hate pictures of myself, not just because I think I look fat, but because the camera does something funky to my face when it flips it backwards, it's horrible.  I look like an alien.  So I don't let pictures of me out there.  It's not cause I hate my looks, it's because I hate my pictures.  

However I like photography. So it's all a conundrum. 

Sometimes I go as far as getting my news on Facebook, which is pathetic, I mean I should find other sources, but sometimes a hot news story that everyone is talking about is revealed to me.  I get my news on the Daily Show with Jon Stewart as well, I'm not exactly fond of hard news.

I'm fond of my friend's news though.  I like the idea of having a place to congregate online.  I like having a place to brag and bitch.  I don't know there might be some judgey people on Facebook and I have been warned that I might regret revealing so much of myself on there.  

What about privacy?  I feel like I'm on a reality show sometimes because I'm relaying embarrassing things that happen in my everyday life.  I mean if Kim Kardashian can showcase how boring and irrelevant she is, than I can talk about my insecurities.  Please tell me I'm more charming than Kimmie.  

I want my blog to go viral one day, like that and winning the Nobel Prize in literature are my too professional dreams.  Learning the difference between "too" and "two" is my second professional dream.

Speaking of reality shows, why is it they only show the reality of the rich and famous and beautiful? Why not show reality?  I mean I get it but then what's the difference between reality and fantasy then.  Hoarders is a real show, and it scares the shit out of me.  

It's the same with Facebook, you don't often see people airing out their dirty laundry.  It's a showcase for the pretty parts of ourselves.  And that's OK, who wants to see the dirt anyways.  I mean we dig dirt on each other in other ways as it is.  

I was gonna write something about something on my blog, and a friend cautioned me that I might regret it because my blog is posted to Facebook and people in my community, in all communities can be judgy.  Well I took her advice and didn't write about it and feel like she is right, I need to set boundaries while still being open and intimate and honest with my readers.

Honestly, I'm not going to be completely honest with you.  I'm gonna dress up this dialogue with charm and hopefully some wit.  I want to look pretty too.  Just because I don't usually put pictures up doesn't mean I'm not vain.  

Do I secretly want you to envy me?  No.  I want you to be moved by me and I want to make you think and sometimes make you laugh.  I don't want to make your life hell.  I want you to know me better and know yourself better.  

I always wanted to be popular in high school and I have a friend who once told me the scar of not being popular in high school stays with you.  Do I want fame so I can be popular?  I want fame so I can be rich.

I will tell you honestly I saw pictures of a party I wasn't invited to on Facebook a little while ago and was a little hurt.  Envy.  I said I didn't have any.  I didn't lie, I just didn't realize.  

Being social and being on Facebook is part of this new electronic existence of ours.  I like to be social, but I'm a little bit of an outcast in some ways, I'm not like other people in many ways.  

I was always on this dead end search for people like me, a community of Ninas I could take to Ninaland with me.  I think I'm begining to realize that one Nina is enough and I have made a really good community of like minded people and I am always on the look out for brilliant people, but more for the brilliance in people I already know.

So if I hang out with you, even if it's just online, remember you are special.  Special to me.  

nina

I Wish I was Like You, Easily Amused...

I'm listening to Country music right now, and I'm not sure of myself. Like why do I kinda like it?  Let's be real, I used to make fun of one of my friend's endlessly for listening to this crap.  Why is it not that crappy, it's definitely sappy.  

Whatever, I need to get a life before I have to put in my Match.com profile that I listen to country.  It's embarrassing.  I mean I need all the social status I can get considering that I listen to light FM while I'm working out.  

I'm not a fast  moving person, consequently I don't like really fast music.  So sue me.  I know, it's not cool to be slow.

You ever wonder if you are "cool" or not?

I don't know if I fall into the "cool" category or if I ever did.  I think somewhere in my twenties I did, I had some kind of attitude about it.  But I shed that shit. I mean where is the cool thermometer, how do you know if you are cool or not?

I live to do this, by the way, contemplate complete bullshit.  Seinfeld was a show about nothing, my dream is to blog about nothing until it bothers me.  I want to die trying, although I always come up with a point or two.  

There is a fine line between meaning and meaninglessness.  I like walking that line, it makes me feel close to infinity.  What does that mean even.  HA, or what doesn't it mean?

I don't know dude.  

I know as little as you do about infinity and such things.

You know the other day I told an Indian guy who lives in India that he was cracking me up and he didn't understand what the phrase meant.  That was interesting to me and I'm thinking of this now because it's a Saturday night and I'm watching an Indian movie with my parents.  So not cool.  I'm doing essentially nothing on a Saturday night.  

It's an older movie and the man and woman are running in the forest, they are lovers.  A beautiful song is playing.  I only understand like half the words.  

All of a sudden, for no particular reason, it occurs to me that everything is going to be OK.  I didn't know that before this very second.  I'm not even sure I know it after that second.  

Indian movies are like fairytales, there is always love.  I'm not cool enough to think this is dumb.  I kinda think it's cute.  I'm a romantic like that.  Sometimes I think life is kinda like a fairytale.  

I mean don't get me wrong there are some really bad Bollywood movies out there, but there are worse Hollywood movies.  Just like there are good people and bad people.

My friend was telling me the other day that I'm not having success Internet dating because the majority of people are "Douches" as she put it so eloquently.  (Is that how you spell that?)  I don't know if I'm that jaded yet, the human race has not lost it's splendor for me still.

But I get it, what she's saying.  

This is not a blog about nothing, is it?

I'm not successfully meaningless.  C'mon, I'm not really trying.

I'm just being random at this point.  

Are you easily amused?  I think I might be, but I like to think I have a discerning sense of humor. 

On a totally unrelated note, I'm having an epiphany and thinking of actually doing something serious about my weight.  

Let's be honest, I'm a bit of a lazy ass when it comes to the gym. Can I change that?  I mean I don't know, I'm gonna have to if I want my dreams of weight loss to come true.  I can I just don't.  I will.  

I mean going to the gym and dieting is not my idea of a party, but I want to be the life of the party again.  I mean, yes it's vanity, and health mind you.  I have some health problems because of my weight already and they are a real bitch and I'm not even forty.

I want to feel good about myself, I want to be normal and feel normal and get laid.  Let's be real.  
  
Maybe I want to feel cool again. 

I don't want to be the fat girl.  I just don't.  I don't know, am I crazy?

It's hard living in a world that values thinness so much.  A world that is in fact so obese.  

This is not because I don't love myself, I do.  In some ways more than when I was much thinner.  

I mean there is this whole element of wanting to feel sexy, to look sexy.  Not that overweight people cannot be sexy.  It's not exactly my style.

My look is not my style.  I've never been rail thin, but I was always a little curvy, but it went out of control.

I know it's who I am that really matters, that jovial woman who is smart and nice.  I know I'm beautiful now and always will be.  So it doesn't really matter if I do this or not.  But I'm gonna do it anyways. 

I'm cool cause I say I'm cool.  That's the law in Ninaland.  I wanted this blog to be light and fluffy after such an emotional post but it turns out I'm very serious these days.  

But you and I will always laugh together I hope, at these small moments of epiphany and cry together.  Try being easily amused, it's a good trait.    

What Else Can I Say?

Sometimes I feel like it's odd that I bare my soul for the public to see.  Am I not even a little ashamed of my soul?  I mean we all wear protective gear, where is mine?  I mean I still believe it or not, don't tell my readers everything.  There are things that are sacred, even for me.

My family is sacred.  They may have a flaw or two and I know those flaws like the back of my hand, but I will never tell.  I will tell you though that they are rock stars.  Seriously, they took care of me, they take care of me, and I'm not like easy to take care of.  

I don't know if you know anything about Manic Depression but it is very difficult to watch someone go through it.  (Let me make one thing clear though, it was only when I was not taking medication that I was ill, there is a cure to my disease, the pills.  I now take them everyday).

When I didn't take my medication, I was mean.  There were times I was a straight up bitch.  

My family loved me through it.  

I wanted so badly to hate them, but they made it impossible with unconditional love.  I'm not just saying that because I'm related to them.  I mean my parents are Indian for god sakes, they wanted a normal daughter who would get married and be a doctor.

I'm none of those things, mainly I'm not normal.  They I'm sure did not expect to love someone like me, but that is their way.  They love their children, whatever way they turn out.  

Not to say I turned out bad.  I think in some kinda way I'm a rock star as well.  I mean I'm beating a disease and I'm trying to live out my dreams and I'm kind.  I'm not a hard person to love in general, but when I became crazy I was.  And it was a disease and it was chemical and biological.  

But it got personal.

My sister has never for one second held a single thing I said or did to her during that time against me.  My sister is a truly beautiful person.  Everyone loves the shit out of her.  

Oh she has her share of spunk and she'll tell you what's on her mind, but she is all good inside.  We are not friends, we are not enemies, we are not twins or anything.

We are the true definition of sisters.  She could not be more different than me, but we share a sacred bond.  She cares for me.  She is a nurse practitioner now and helps me with medical issues as well.  

I love her.

Look I got lucky.  I live in the lap of luxury in Troy, Michigan with want for nothing.  Yes, I'm thirty eight and live with my parents.  I need a little assistance and when I'm ready, I will move out.  

Sometimes I'm ashamed of this fact that I am allowing my family to take care of me.  Then I think, Oh my God, thank you, I have a family that can take care of me.    

Every time I have a conversation with my sister, she offers me money, and not in a derogatory fashion, but in a loving and decent way.  I told her to wait, because there may be some time when I actually need money from her, and I know that I won't even have to ask.  

My father put me through college as he went blind and still worked, my mother worked so hard all her life as a doctor to keep us in designer clothes.   

So why am I ranting all the time about this difficult life that I have?  You know human nature and all that crap.  Fuck that.  

I need to be grateful that I'm not living on the streets, where a majority of mentally ill people live.  I broke bread with homeless people in psychiatric wards.  I may have an Ivy League education, but the only thing that separates me from those that have to sell their body or drugs, is my family.  

Straight up, they are the reason I'm still alive.  

I ran away to New York when I was sick.  I could have died out there, but I didn't because they came.  

I told them not to come.  I told them I hated them.

They came anyways.  They came to Harlem, my dad with a blind man's cane, and my mother with a bad back, neck and shoulders.   

I told them not to love me.

They say love is blind, I disagree because my father is blind but he can see me, he can see what I really am and he loves me still.  Love is not blind, it can see, it is actually kind of stupid really. Love is rather misguided.     

But my family is not stupid.  And I'm not stupid.  We are smart, and we still love each other even when it makes no sense.  

Perhaps it is stupid for them to love me, but thank god for irrational, unconditional love.  

Some people say there is no god, but I don't know who else could have made these people I proudly call my family.  

Thank You for Being a Friend...

So picture this:  Oprah and Gail mixed in with Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake.  What do you get?  You get me and my BFF's sitting around philosophizing in hilarious but useful ways that could solve the world's problems with a spiritual twist.

I mean me and my friends think we need to be the new writers for Saturday Night Live and that we need our own radio show that could rival Oprah.  Of course I say radio because I've always had a face for radio.  

The three things that me and my buddies love to do are:

A) Psycho-analyze the living shit out of each other

B) Solve the world's problems

C) Allow hilarity and wit to ensue

Let me tackle A first, we like to sit around being each other's therapists, talking about our fears and emotions and relationships until we are blue in the face.  I'm speaking of me and my women friends of course, this is what girls like to do best and we are proud of our psycho-anlalytical abilities.  Dr. Phil could take advice from a group of serious women breakin' it down.  

B, we sit around and find simple ways that world peace could actually occur...this one's a little more difficult to explain but all I can say we are all one and love is all you need.  We are hippies at heart and want peace on earth.  You may say we are dreamers, but we are not the only ones.  

C, now this is where it gets fun.  Hilarity can ensue during A or B or both, and hilarity can just ensue on it's own.  I have laughed so hard with my besties that I have literally stopped breathing and thought I was having a heart attack.  I mean this shit is for real.  It is off the hook...I think I'm funny I think my friends are funnier.  

Let's face it the all of the above mentioned is what friends are for.

Some of the most important relationships in my life have been my friendships.  Very recently, a couple of my closest friends had an intervention with me.  They sat me down, looked me in the face and told me what was up.  They were straight with me, they love me, they told me to get it together.  I was kinda losing my shit so to speak and sinking into a depression. 

They were not nice and they were not mean, they were real.  

One of my friends was a friend of mine from a hundred years ago and another is a friend I recently reconnected with a year ago.  The friend from a hundred years ago knows all my parts, my insecurities and my failings.  She also knows my strengths and qualities as well.  Surprisingly my new friend knows different aspects of all those things.  

Surprisingly as well the true love of friends can transform you, as these two did, in one sitting.  They scared the shit out of me, they hugged me while I cried.  

See friends are just like family, just as important as significant others.  And your real friends will tell it to you like it is. 

A true friend does not worry about you liking them, they know you love them, but they know you need to hear the truth.

They told me the truth:  That I'm worth their love.  That I'm worth my own love.  That I am loved.

See I got sick some years ago and lost some friends because I lost my sense of reality, I had a manic episode and hurt some people very badly. When you lose a good friend, you understand more how important friendship really is.  

I still feel guilty to this day that I lost my mind and a friend, both at the same time.  But I truly believe certain people come into our lives for a certain amount of time so we can experience something with them and then sometimes you have to go your separate ways.  But it's hard.

But I still got my girls...      

I mean picture it:  2044---I'm sitting on the dock of the bay, by the fire, with my third cat and three best buddies.  There are three friends of mine that I went to high school with that I always picture I will become the Golden Girls with one day.  I imagine we will live in the same house and drive each other nuts.  Hilarity will ensue.  And the theme song from Golden Girls will instantaneously play in the background whenever we start laughing so hard our guts hurts. 

The song goes something like this:  "Thank you for being a friend."     

Mismatch.com

So I go innocently my way on Match.com because I am truly an  innocent citizen of the world.  However, I agree to go on a date with a guy and then change my mind, and in order to appease him I lie and say I'm going back to my ex.  

He is soooo nice about it, he's like, "Maybe you need space and blah blah blah," then all of a sudden out of nowhere he goes, "That was so deep, thanks bitch, later cunt," and hangs up the phone.  

He used the C-word on me.  No one has ever called me the C-word.  I don't know that I've heard that word from a man's mouth before.  

I'm sorry no one calls me cunt.

What am I gonna do about it you ask?  

That's a good question, but I repeat no one calls me a cunt.  It's the dirtiest word in our language.  

Anyways, then ten minutes later he sends me an email, "you are liar and a fake desist from contacting me or receive a restraining order you are a pervert stalker and I will report you to the police"

He is accusing me of being a stalker for no apparent reason.  I repeat I did not contact him again in any way.

I know, I know, I found him on the Internet.  But he is also a citizen of the world, people act like people you meet on the Internet are not human.  He is most likely human.  

What is happening to humans?  I almost went out on a date with this guy.  Truthfully, I didn't go out with him because I thought he was stupid.  As in not smart enough for me.  

Well my instincts were right about that.  He is stupid.  And I'm getting tired of meeting stupid men.  Where are the smart ones with good hearts?  

I'm gonna be straight up honest, the last guy I met online was great but he was too ugly for me.  Maybe this guy is right, I'm not a good person.  Yeah right.

I'm no frickin goddess or something, but I expect some bare minimum traits.  And at the least, don't be a psycho and accuse me of being a psycho. 

Well thankfully this guy doesn't know who I am, but his Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde routine scares me.  The Internet scares me and men scare me a bit.

So what to do?  OMG I just checked my match email and he wrote me again and he changed his profile to say the following: she wouldnt be a dumb ho thats fo sho, maybe she likes making her man some money, if that bitch aint to cheap to support her own habit. you know what, aint no worth a ring, if she wants to stink up the air with her taco shell than i might grab me a plate, but it better not smell like beef!

HE USED TO HAVE A NORMAL PROFILE.

He sent me another scary message accusing me of stalking him on match.

LEAVE ME ALONE

FOR FUCKS SAKE I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU WIXKED CONFUSED BITCH, LEAVE ME ALONE OR I WILL BE FORCED TO ALERT THE AUTHORITIES, BE CIVIL AND STOP CONTACTING ME, YOU ARE WRONG IN THE HEAD 

P.S. I have not contacted him or in any way harassed him.

I want to laugh, I want to cry, I want to say "WHY?" 

I don't care enough though, I mean I care and then I don't care.

I mean my real question is, how did the world, or people get like this? I mean it takes a village people.  

We as a society have created these monsters and now we have to deal with them. 

You know sometimes I think I'm crazy because I have a diagnosis as Bipolar. But this guy is the real crazy person, bad people are the real crazy people. Everyone is crazy, it those that don't know it that we need to worry about.

Nina in Ninaland

So the thing is, I've been in Ninaland for a little while.  (For those of you who have never been there, it's an OK place.  I mean I wouldn't raise my kids there, but you know).  What does that mean?  I don't know, I was in my own head, didn't feel like writing.  Just didn't feel it, but now that the monster of a winter is almost over, I'm ready to re-engage.  I think.

I sort of hibernated this winter, but didn't miss the big events like the Olympics.  My grandfather also passed away this winter, so it made it harder to interpret life from my smart ass point of view.  I'm not that smart.  I have a Masters in writing from Columbia but my grandfather had a better grasp of the English language than I do.  Really, he spoke and wrote better English than me.  

But he lived to be ninety and as a tribute to him I would say I should be joyous.  I should smile more.  A lot of people think life is short, but I actually think life is long.  I want to die in like my mid-eighties.  I don't really want to live longer than that.  Did I ever mention that I think it should be legal to do Crack when you are eighty?  I mean what's the risk?  OK, maybe not Crack because I hear it's not that long lasting.

So if I'm gonna live to be like eighty, middle age is like forty.  Oh my I'm almost middle aged.  I always assumed middle aged people were very boring and very desperate.  You know, the crises.  I wonder what I'll do for my midlife crises, I should plan it out.  My theme song will be the theme song from "The Breakfast Club," "Don't you Forget about Me..."

Or maybe that should be my funeral theme song...hmm...party planning has never been my strong suit.

In many ways this has been the winter of my discontent.  I felt a little blah, blah.  I've many times felt as if I live in the wrong town, that I'm misunderstood and that I'm not sure if I fit in...anywhere...don't worry this is not a woe is me type of dialogue.  I've always just felt slightly different than most people. 

And although my moods can sometimes fluctuate, I generally have a positive attitude about life.  Well something happened to me in the past few months...I temporarily lost that...optimism.  And I'm trying to gain it back.  I stepped away from life in some ways this winter, and I looked at it, closely.

What did I see, when my head wasn't wondering in Ninaland?  I saw myself disappearing.  I saw myself dying.  We are all in fact dying, some faster than others.  In some ways I played dead, and in fact it is experiences like this that make living so brilliant.  Because you can't really see life for what it is until you see that it could disappear unto death.   

Don't misinterpret this, I can just see someone thinking that I am suicidal.  I am not, nor was I this winter.  What I experienced was different, I just went into a cave and hid there for a while.  Those that love me wondered what was going on, they worried, they created interventions.  Those that spoke Nina finally got through to me and I am waking up from my sad little dream. 

To put it simply I was a bit depressed.  I was at first not going to use that word, because I was ashamed.  Ashamed of what?  Of being sad? This is part of my dimension.  And as all good things come to an end, so do all bad things.  

Writing about it is part of my healing.  And if you judge me for being sad, I judge you for being mad.  Mad as in crazy.  The real crazy people are not those that can admit that life sucks sometimes, but those that can't admit that they are human.