Here it is, another Easter holiday, although this one if way different than last year's. For one thing, I won't be going to church because Dr. Morell says that until the seizures stop, I simply not safe behind the wheel. He may not be wrong. After my last episode, no drivers will drive me anywhere unless I'm belted in my seat with handcuffs, because the last guy's face is still healing.
It's not really my fault, though. I can't control when and where the seizures strike. If you ask me, the whole thing stinks of misogyny. I'm sure seizures go a lot easier on men, probably because they don't have to yell at their staffs three or four times just to get one simple, stupid thing done. I always get the morons. Ugh.
Regardless, I refuse to pay some
I must say that since the you-know-what, I have become very philosophical. I've tried to take a holier, more divine perspective. For example, on the big night of the you-know-what, I had
I was kind of wasted.
Anyway, I like to think of Easter as a time of rebirth, only in my case, it would have to be more like a C-section, because this kind of process is not easy for a person like me. It's not a question of my having to admit what I've done wrong. That would be easy. No, it's more about trying to convince everyone else of how wrong they are about me. That's a biggie. Jesus had to do that, too, and look what happened there. Not good.
I will be back, diary. I must be back. I shall return from the dead and
All of this meditation has worked up quite an appetite. I should ring for Bessie. Maybe there's some chopped liver left over from Passover.