irony is alive and well.

today, i went to my kindly headshrinker and found myself with nothing to say. no problems to really sort through. so we chatted a while, and when i left i felt safe in my normality.

of course, it was less than 2 hours later that i spoke to my mother. thank god for her! imagine the lost profit! doctors and the pharmaceutical industry would suffer so if i were allowed to maintain a state of calm sanity. but darn it, my mother sure is keen on avoiding any of that nonsense. no sir, she'll have me bawling my eyes out when i'm forty for sure.

today was, for all my typing, nothing shocking. only disappointing. i've told both my parents i do not enjoy hearing their tales (and often my mothers lean toward fiction) about eachother, their intimacies (or those imagined by my mother) or whatever one of them said about me that's hurtful and mean. it's disturbing, really. having a mother who wants to pit me against my father. amongst a number of other things, of course--this complaint actually rates among the lowest on the scale of "what sucks about having a bipolar mom."

time to do some planning. for work. at 9pm. the night before deadbird day. thanks for nothing day. fuckin' a. i feel 15 and moody. i wish i had a window to smoke cigarettes out of, and someone who would care if i did.