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The punchline wasn’t the real punchline
Or at least it wasn’t funny

She wept.

Like most things
It’s what comes after the punchline that matters most

She wept.
For him.

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

I took my leave because there’s nothing left to do. I thought I’d be more upset, saying goodbye for the last time and knowing it was finally, truly the last time. She moaned in agony. I patted her shoulder and left. I mumbled “I love you” on the way out.

I thought
I’ll be glad when she’s dead.

The guilty thoughts—wishing my aunt dead, not paying enough attention to her, not caring enough, thinking her a chore—I take them out of context so that I suffer more. So that I’ll suffer longer. Because she’s dead after all and I’m not. I tell myself that I wished her dead, as if I wished her dead in a vacuum. The context is she was dying. The context is she suffered and I wanted it to end. The context is I was selfish, but most people are. The context is my thoughts and reactions were completely understandable for a caregiver over the long haul. Death sucks, you do what you can.

The context is
she had cancer,
motherfucking, no-cure cancer.

The context is
I wished her dead, yes,
but. the thought. did. not. kill. her.

I continue to keep up with author/SEAL Marcus Luttrell, who survived a grisly battle in which three of his teammates were killed in Afghanistan and who wrote a book about it called Lone Survivor. He’s starting to help soldiers get comprehensive rehabilition upon returning home. Nothing right wing or left wing about it (see previous posts!), it’s just a damn good idea.

ML

More info from FB:
Lone Survivor Ranch – Marcus has a vision of an all encompassing, phased in facility that will not only support hunting, fishing and many outdoor activities, but other rehab/wellness as well. The primary intent is to create a safe haven for warriors and their families to heal. He plans to identify a BEAUTIFUL piece of property in TX and build a multi-phased ranch/rehab complex. The ranch will have an on-site gym complete with coaches, trainers, etc. He intends to build it with significant expansion capability, and ultimately support warriors, their families and kids. He’d like to have a counseling aspect interwoven into all activities which could include team building, obstacle courses, horseback riding, bowling, rock climbing, art therapy, journaling, fishing, yoga, spa services, etc.

Long term he sees the need for a physician, nurse, and social worker/therapist on staff. He’d like the physician to be trained in pain mgmt, because that is an issue that affects almost all of our wounded warriors. He also plans to have benefits counselor come there during everyone’s stay to conduct a government benefits brief and help get whatever is lacking.

For more info on Marcus Luttrell, go get your google on or check out his facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Marcus-Luttrell/63643878405

part a

this has been the year of guilt
last year was the year of reckoning
I go through cycles like the Chinese horoscopes

I’m a horse
I’m also a goat/fish tail in the regular astrological wheel
I never liked goats

I’m guilty
I’m also depressed/manic-but-not-in-a-Patty-Duke-sort-of way

I’m moving and surprisingly it doesn’t hurt.
I have distractions from my distractions.

I’ll do anything to make you smile
is not going to replace
I have no affection for you
heartfelt, the latter wins out.

part b

he is no rock star

in accordance with tradition
he wears plaid golf pants up to here
a yellow shirt always with crisscross suspenders
he does not actually golf

he is no ladies man, either

his deep wrinkles sag
he looks younger than Larry King
whether that’s true or not is of no consequence to him
but the little old ladies across the street want to know
just in case he might be a younger man
with all of the perks of younger men
more energy, more sex drive
and with a body like his, how could anyone blame the ancient biddies
creaming their panties in anticipation for his arrival

If you give me your addy, I will send you a ML special direct from my house @ no charge to you. Yes, folks, this is a free service. I have much to offer. Medicatedlady@yahoo.com

they drew blood, sure enough
soliciting my veins
as if touched by a dirty homeless person
the thread of string
winced and jumped back
trying to avoid the inevitable

Stop stalking my blog and me. Seriously.

SOB with me

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