A month ago I broke an ankle. It sucks...no it blows...no, it sucks and blows. I have no way to do the normal things I do. Ironically, enough when I was doing them I spent alot of time berating myself for how I was or wasn't doing said thing. I realize how important moving is to me...not just in my mind or in opinion or even in a mood in a given moment or day--just being able to move. Moving means getting away physically from said mood, opinion---my own or someone else's or someone else period. Moving means doing something while under your own veil. You can't fly under the radar on crutches or in a motorized cart. Somehow breaking something makes you more conscience to yourself as well as to every damn one else. And so the whole blows and or sucks thing comes in to play.

So far I am pretty sure I am setting my girl up for some adolescent demonstration of a need for love, validation, or independence...though given the state of my face you could already call me grandma. The boys are well along their way towards endless days of repression or over achievement. Hopefully, a Corvette in their forties and a little psychotherapy will do the trick.

Right now I hate insurance companies, who assume you are so desperate you will take their joke of a estimate for your car since --hey-- you're poor and quid pro quo galactically stupid--1200 under market value for your car is more than fair. Right? I mean poor also means desperate. Right? And they must talk to hopsitals since somehow word of my underdeveloped intellect has leaked and so I am buffed up super duper to sign their ol' 4hour 10 grand hospital bill without looking at any kind of itemization. Don't laugh, I asked for one cause I just wasn't pissed enough...

I could go on and on but I am afraid it would drive me to go hunting around on a rollie chair for the bottle of codeine I have somewhere around here. I weaned myself early since coming from genetically defective gene pools I got my shiny memberships decals from, I have a predisposition toward abusing narcotics. Where is the justice people? I pick no drugs and mind numbing pain over comfort cause I would hate to get strung out on drugs. Holy crap you don't even get a certificate of commendation for that sick little choice.

I think that is it.

The thing about a sturggle is that is a struggle. You dont' get a cookie for going through it or some sign that you are a better stronger, more well rounded human being. This is a quiet, pathetic struggle in my head--you know, where quiet desperate struggles generally are-- you couple it with a more blatant, ridiculous physical struggle that family gets to watch and even more horrifying-- may take a few lessons from...ack.

So no, while I am not moving in any gross motor kind of a way-- I have moved into hyper drive in a gross mental kind of way. My mind is an ugly place to be right now and it has to make nice with her "we should all be grateful that it wasn't worse" housemate or make plans to take her out and make it look like an accident.