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who would choose the fate of fire
the apathy of plunge
blade for blood
in the face of death
some of us shine
brighter
as if destruction was our calling
in life
Guest blog post by Bryan Borland, in MedicatedLady’s absence
Dear Readers,
I was honored when MedicatedLady asked me to write a guest-post in her absence. Well, not so much honored as burdened. And she didn’t ask me so much as I demanded. Such is our relationship.
MedicatedLady is, at this moment, touring our nation’s capitol. Her trip is unrelated to the House’s recent passing of healthcare legislation, though, even so, a group of teabaggers resolved not to pay for MedicatedLady’s medication through public funding and took to protesting her visit. MedicatedLady did happen to snap a photograph of one of their crudely-drawn signs (Damn those Republicans!):
In other news, MedicatedLady would like for me report that the closest she’s come to an intimate encounter with a man while on this trip was when she entered a taxi to discover the cabbie had recently completed an intimate encounter with himself. To distract MedicatedLady, he then proceeded to blast the news at eardrum-bursting levels and got snippy with MedicatedLady when she couldn’t hear or understand his probing questions (which, no doubt, were meant to fuel future self-gratuity). Being the gracious woman she is, MedicatedLady simply stared straight ahead and shook her luminous hair until she arrived at her destination.
For your further entertainment, I will now provide a sampling of text messages I’ve received from MedicatedLady in the last month or so:
My dog just peed on me.
Say to yourself, herbs! With an audible “h.” This will bring you joy.
OMG severe storms make my ovaries and left knee hurt.
You can expect more of our mutual charm when MedicatedLady and I finally video-blog together the first weekend in April. We’ll be handing out advice to you, Dear Readers, so if there are any problems in your life you would like us to address, now is the time to send in your questions. For example, are you having trouble with the menz? Do you suffer from paraurisis, the disorder that makes urination in public places near impossible? Are you allergic to love and love byproducts? Did your cleaning lady break your vacuum cleaner? Do you have trouble spelling the word vacuum? Do you hate MedicatedLady because she has a cleaning lady? Does your dog shit on the floor and grind it into the tile to spite you? Does your mother hate the purse you carry? Did you lose your virginity to a mode of transportation? Do you constantly get mistaken for a 12-year-old girl? We can help you out with these issues and more, so don’t be shy.
We certainly won’t.
Bryan
This Medicated Lady is thinking irrationally again.
Irrational because.
I’ve been considering a diet consisting only of those flavored ice pops
especially the blue ones
the ones I like the least
Irrational because.
No one but me looks forward to a psychotic break
Irrational because.
It occurred to me that I’m tired of being medicated
tired of being in need of medication
tired of being in need
tired of being
Irrational because.
Right is what’s right
right as opposed to wrong
right as opposed to left
right as opposed to write
write as opposed to rite
Irrational because.
It makes sense.
Irrational because.
How I’d like to be a Republican
doing God’s work
fighting for the cause
in love
I’d like to be George W.
transparent intelligence
make the course, stay the course
the exit strategy is there is no exit
only submission is possible
I could be leader of the free and righteous world
Women as Christians
Men as Muslims
battling out
the war against terror conquered by tyranny
we will prevail, my sisters
come bloodshed, theirs and ours,
no matter—
the cause is just
The road to Chlamydia is not necessarily the torrid affair you might imagine. There I was, a girl of nineteen at health services on a college campus. It burned when I peed. My side ached. The nurse looked at me sternly but said she was not judging me. She said that she didn’t really see infection under the microscope. She told me I had a STD. Can you get it from a toilet seat, I asked. She ignored the question and told me that she was married, she was very (very) sexually active. I forced myself to blink. TMI, you know? But she waited for me to say something. I mean, I hadn’t actually had sex yet which was not something I was ashamed or unashamed about…but she’d just disclosed such personal details about herself, I didn’t want to make her feel bad about being very (very) sexually active because she’s married because she was just trying to make me feel better and it’s rude to make someone feel bad about such a disclosure. Right? And anyway, denials would be seen as proof positive I was indeed a viable candidate for a STD. Plus, if there was anyone on this planet who could catch a STD non-sexually, it would be me.
So I did what anyone would do. I told everyone I had Chlamydia. I went to my general practitioner; he was very boring. I decided Chlamydia was a more interesting topic than some run-of-the-mill urinary tract infection.
And besides, I’m a hypochondriac, which makes me an incredible diagnostician. I love WebMD. I am a WebMD. And I specialize in STDs, because if there is one person on this planet who would have the greatest unbalanced ratio of STDs to sexual partners, it’s me. One has to be vigilant. What you think might be your common, everyday lupus or plague can end up being something truly terrible, like crabs.
I don’t think you’d be wrong to go to your doctor regularly to check to see if you have STDs even if you are not sexually active. Are your nails becoming brittle? Did that fucker give you something? You’re not going to know until you go to your general practitioner and declare that you are pretty sure you have an incurable STD which will result in your never getting married and being very (very) sexually active.
If there’s one lesson I want you to learn, it’s this: What does not kill you will only make you skank.
bored
not hurting anybody
scrolling through the numbers in my phone
I saw the name
had forgotten the name
already
was surprised it was there
in my phone
when she no longer is here
on earth
I pressed delete before I could think
too much
time spent thinking
how long will it be before I recover my breath
Consider it written in stone. The stone at the head of a non-descript grave at a non-descript cemetery on the outskirts of some field in the middle of nowhere. Here she lies.
This is how it will go. Tomorrow, there will be tears. Tomorrow, there will be a long, sad drive home and an even longer, sadder drive back to the place I live.
It’s hard to say how many people will be there. It’s summer, you know, and there will be no church service. I imagine only family and one or two friends will come.
The family will hug me. They will tell me how thankful they are that I went to see her when she was so ill and no one else was able to visit. Able. Inwardly, I will cringe at this word. Inwardly, I will feel hate and spite.
The family will tell me they love me after they’ve told me and each other what a big “help” I was, as if I’d gone to pick up their prescriptions downtown and not sat beside her for hours while she cried because she was in pain and no one else would come see her. They’ll say they don’t know what they would have done without me. Some of them will list all the reasons why they couldn’t come to visit her when it mattered. I will make a parallel list of all the reasons they should have come. My list will be longer and more substantial.
They did not kill her, but they did break her heart. My tears will be for her and for the injustice of it all. Their tears will force me to forgive them, to stifle the outrage I feel, because I, of all people, know guilt and grief.
I wanted her dead and now she is.
Your Sympathies: