mommyjenny I think I just saw a mountie blowup doll hump one of the beavers #bleachmybrain
20 seconds ago via web
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From the category archives:
Time-out. (General insanity)
I was all like, you’ve got naughty cartoons in your bathroom! How can you get away with that?
And he was all like, welcome to Urology!
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My gift to myself is not a Zhu Zhu hamster, as coveted as those little suckers may be this season. My gift to myself is to find a way to stop dragging the stinking corpse of my old self behind me in the snow. We are leaving quite a trail, she and I, and a [...]
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Man, our bipolar theories can keep us locked up pretty tight. We strap on our smiles like oxygen masks and ain’t NOBODY gonna budge ‘em in the school parking lot at pickup time after school. Uh-uh. Smile and wave, boys, smile and wave.
Fibromyalgia, Lyme disease, TMJ, bipolar, depression, anxiety disorders—in the lunchroom of the world’s many illnesses, we’re a few of the ones sitting at the table in the back, at the iffy table of misfits, eating our stigma Jell-O. Not everyone’s convinced we really exist. Sometimes, we’re not sure we really exist, or if we’re just total and complete f*ckups.
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I keep seeing the catchphrase “epic fail” around these days, and that’s sort of the nasty feeling I’ve got in the pit of my belly.
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I looked in the mirror and faced my own camel vajayjay. And I lived to tell.
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I do not have the passion it takes to be a tweeting, blogging, Facebegging mother of two. Something had to give. My occupation, my breasts and my thighs have already given up the ghost (RIP, darlings) and Twitter was the next logical thing to go.
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And when I got there, to Steve Martin’s house, he had all this great FOOD that I wished I had in my refrigerator, and he was mocking the FOOD! So I ATE some. Stuffed some in my mouth when he wasn’t looking. Felt bad that I was STEALING FROM THE TERMINALLY ILL. But, dude, a tormented girl has got to EAT.
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Dear God. I pulled over in the gravel, cringed as traffic flew by, narrowly missing the turtle with zooming tires.
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Manic depression is a tragicomic disease, until the comedy flees and only tragedy is left in its wake. The suicide rate for bipolar bears is staggering. If you are in over your head with a beloved bipolar, do not hesitate to get help from a crisis team. When your bipolar loved one becomes unrecognizable to you, yes, it is time. It may be time, before that point, but who can say? There are stubborn bears. They don’t want you to know how bad it’s gotten. They want to be like you. They want to be good, calm, normal, successful—like you.
There is simply no “right” here.
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