Why? WHY am I doing this? Never mind, I know why I’m doing this. I’m doing this because I am a masochist and enjoy pain. No other reason comes to mind. VERY WELL. I shall do your NaBloBlah-ing and I shan’t complain. Okay, that was a complete lie, I will most likely complain a LOT, but that’s neither here nor there. In my day, we wrote blogs on cave walls with sharpened rocks, in the snow, barefoot. Up hill. Both ways. AND WE LIKED IT.
I’d like to apologize for this ridiculousness, I am in the midst of a dreadful chest cold, and I am hopped up on Robitussin and woe. That’s probably why I decided to do NaBlo, I am delirious and probably have fever.
Anyhoodle, I’m actually doing this because November is going to be all sorts of exciting, being that I am finally going home, home, HOME on the 12th, and it’s going to be scary and exciting, and let me tell ya, five months of treatment has done a world of good, but I’m a little scared that I’ll end up like that poor old guy in The Shawshank Redemption who hangs himself because he doesn’t know how to be on the outside. I’m institutionalized now, and I have to learn how to be normal again. Wait. That’s ridiculous. I’ve never been normal. I have to learn how to PASS as normal again. That’s better. But we all know the truth, don’t we, my beloved little squirrels? We all know that I’m battier than a bat-thing, but we like to pretend that what I’m doing is eye contact and not the piercing stare of a psychopathic loon, right? Right.
So yes, I’m going home. Back to New Jersey, back to my apartment, back to the cats…Oh goddo. The cats.
THE FREAKING CATS.
I have been away from my precious babies for FIVE MONTHS. Will they remember me? Will they shun me like so many Amish? Will they poo on everything I own? The possibilities are terrifying. I can just see them moved back into the apartment and stalking off under the bed indefinitely. I hear they’re having a grand time at my parents’ house, and Toby-boy even went to my brother’s house for a week, and I don’t know if he had a good time, but reports have come in that he was NOT pleased to return to my parents’ abode, NO SIR. There was a lot of yelling. And barfing. Always with the barfing.
But I digress. It will be wonderful to see my parents, and my friends, and the cats, and my little apartment, but man, I am going to miss the shit out of this place. Wait, let’s re-phrase that. I’m not going to miss this place at all. What I WILL miss are the people. I’ve met some seriously amazing people here, and lifelong friends (I hope) and I’m going to be a little bereft without them. But we have Facebook, and email, and I will visit Boston when I’m able, and we’ll cope. Because if there’s one thing they’re awfully keen on around here, it’s coping skills. Everything has a coping skill. Don’t like your dinner? Use a coping skill. Hangnail? Coping skill. Suicidal thoughts? Coping skill. Scuffed your combat boot? There’s a coping skill for that.
You get the picture.
So yeah. Lots of ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes around these parts. If I miss a day or so, please don’t, you know, hit me with sticks. Let’s have a go at this and see what comes out!
Until then, pass the Robitussin.