Empathic Attack
I've written this morning, so hoorah, and no promises. Nor promies.
Matthew Good makes the best write-to music ever. He is lovely.
I'm becoming such an astrological person, it's nice to vaguely get a handle on something that I'm so interested in.
Someone send me an e-mail that doesn't have nude college girls live on the subject title, because, really, if I'm interested in seeing that, I can really go find a mirror.
Stephanie, there's a good picture to send you! Aaaaaah!
I saw a really good Dr. Phil episode yesterday, and I while I imagine that some people deserve and need to go to a psychiatrist to help them work out painful issues. How-uh-evar, sometimes it helps to just have someone say "HEY!"
A shout into the blurry consciousness that kind of meanders and bumps into itself and mumbles under its breath a lot.
The episode was about a woman who was in a relationship and suddenly felt as though she had so much to lose and her brain kept producing fears and dark thoughts that kept her restrained and tortured by her own head because she didn't think she deserved such a good relationship, a good life.
And he helped her see somehow, that she's trying to mess with a plan that she can't see. And I agree, hurting because of uncontrollables out in the universe is some of the worst kind of pain because it numbs on the top, but beneath, it stays sharp.
I don't know.
I wanted to tell you all about my empathic attacks, but I don't know if I have time.
Indeed, i need to go extract some pants.
Hmmm.
Hmmm-mmm.
