On days like today, I struggle with feeling like a total emotional trainwreck. I’d like to give several people a nice helping of my middle finger at work, my body hurts from an unidentified facet or sacroiliac joint inflammation on my left hip (as it has for the past six months) that makes it hard to stand up and sit down and everything in between, and I have a weekend to myself in just four short days that can’t really come soon enough. I have approximately 400 pictures to go through from July but I can’t do much with them since a little pill of a puppy (whose name rhymes with Slemy) ate the power cord for not only my external hard drive but also my laptop charger. While they were plugged into the wall. She’s our little genius! Among other things.
I’ve felt under water lately. Not all the time, but more than I’d rather admit. It’s in these types of emotional funks that I turn to Jackie. Mainly because if anyone can handle some hard things, it’s her. Something about her inspires me to pull my shit together, while trying to do so with an ounce of the wit, mystery and style she possessed. She probably didn’t include a blog talking about her problems in her mysterious repertoire, but, well, I pale in comparison so I’ll just stick with it. No one reads it anyway, right?
I’m a little belated in saying so, but reading about Jackie on her 85th birthday reminds me to take days like this with an extended-release Ambien and a smirk that knows it won’t all be fixed tomorrow, but it IS another day. And I haven’t had to rely on amphetamines yet!