1. I got a manicure/pedicure at my favorite place today: Brookline Natural Nails in Coolidge Corner. I used to live just down the street from there, but now that I live on the cooler other side of the river, I find it harder to make the schlep on a Saturday morning. Mani/pedis are a wonderful way for me to treat myself for a very nominal fee. It's sort of like the poor woman's spa. Except that no one who gets their nails done in Brookline is exactly poor. I have the usual mixed feelings about uneven distribution of resources and the tough scrabble new arrivals to our country make. I've been on both sides of the distribution fence. And my ancestors were not exactly welcome when they first arrived on these shores either. That doesn't change the fact that my life is a lot more comfortable (right now, anyway) than the Vietnamese women who clip off my cuticles and paint my nails so beautifully. They really are artists. A mani/pedi from Brookline Natural Nails will last for weeks if not a month.

2. Despite what the last poem might imply, I am in fact very happy with the way things have worked out with the new boy. I'm not in love. We have a very friendly rapport. Sex and sushi, a nice hug, and then a see you later. And frankly, I'm more likely to go mad from loving a woman than a man. This whole business with bisexual identity and the personal and the political has been with me since I first came out. What's new this year? I've come to accept that I'm into guys right now. Oh, and still attracted to women. I'm not ashamed about it. It's part of who I am, and it doesn't define me.

3. Had a good session with my specialist on Monday. He's been tracking my chronic illness since the turn of the century. After 17 years of having it, I know a good doctor from a bad doctor, and this doctor is amazing. I see him in person about once a month, and he's more than happy to do phone consults for minor medication adjustments. I'm incredibly lucky to have him as a doctor, especially since he's not taking any new patients. Among other things, he's on the faculty of the Harvard School of Medicine, but that's not what makes him a good clinician. It's his warmth and his belief that I ultimately know what's best for my body; he offers his expertise in one particular aspect of caring for it, but he sees me as a complete human being and not a disease to be treated. He reminded me that while I may very well need to be on medication for the rest of my life, it doesn't mean that I can't move to China if I want. He has clients who live all over the world. I love that man like a father -- well, no. He's a hell of a lot more consistent than my father ever was.

I want to dance always, to be good and not evil, and when it it all over to not have the feeling that I might have done better. - Ruth St. Denis

So democracy really is like sausage: it tastes good, but you don't want to see it being made. That holds true whether the democracy is secular or religious. Did you know that the UU's actually involve regular members in the parish government? I mean, the Catholics just told you what to believe, and if you didn't like it you better damn well find a way to deal with it. Or leave. Of course, if you left, you were gonna go to hell.

The UU's on the other hand, say "if you don't like it, come to the [insert committee name here] meeting on the [insert number] [insert day of week] of every [select: (a) month (b) quarter (c) year]." Or, like last night, participate in this facilitated discussion about our vision for the church. It was held at the house of a good friend of mine, just down the road from me. I was looking forward to it, but I forgot how cranky I get when I don't get enough (a) food and (b) rest. This week was my first week back at work full-time, and I have a therapist's appointment from 6pm to 7pm on Thursdays. Funny thing about working full-time and managing this illness: it really cuts into my food preparation time. Of course, good nutrition is a big portion of managing the illness. But we won't continue along that line of thought or I might start throwing things. Things that make a nice, satisfying tinkle tinkle when they shatter against the wall.

So I arrived at this thing -- late, because I decided to eat my crappy chicken sandwich and onion rings somewhat warm at the take-out place instead of stone cold at the party -- only to discover I was expected to stay for TWO HOURS. Until the end. In good, democratic fashion, there was a majority-rules policy in terms of voting on church priorities. But there were only three voting members in the room (sixteen people were supposed to show; you know, your standard for volunteer organizations). And the other two members were married. And therefore had a tendency to vote for the same things. These were perfectly nice people, but their priorities were different than mine.

So here I was, depriving myself of the opportunity to cook a real meal at home and relax at the (almost) end of a very tough week, for fucking NOTHING. Not a single one of the things I care about is going to make it out of that meeting. What a waste of fucking time. By the end of the evening, I found myself wanting to smack everyone in the room -- including my lovely friend who hosted the party and made tea specifically at my request -- upside the head.

Sausage.

The more I get involved in actual church governance instead of sticking to lay ministry, the less I want to go back. Why can't everyone be exactly like me? Then we'd all just get along.

I'd charge them my discounted "sleeping" rate of $20 per hour. Sound fair? After all, expert witnesses get to charge for sleeping hours when they're appearing at a trial.

Heh.

The Solstice came and went yesterday. So did Technogoddess's birthday. And I'm already noticing an adjustment in my energy level. I slept in this morning and didn't show up at my client's office until almost noon. Now it's just that time for English tea: the dreaded Hour of Post-Prandial Lethargy. I'd really like to go back home to my cushy bed. But it'd probably be good to at least get a couple more things done before I leave.

Tea doesn't sound particularly appetizing right now, either.

All I really want to do these days, it seems, is lay in bed and read books. Specifically, I want to read _Heretics of Dune_. And when I'm done with that--which should be farily soon, since I've been laying in bed & reading it every chance I get--all I'm going to want to do is lay in bed and read _Chapter House: Dune_.

This is a new pattern I've noticed. I have a week or two of normal activity: going to meetings, showing up for stuff, meeting up with friends, and then all I want to do is lay around, eat sweet things, watch TV, and read books.

Is this bad?

To a normal person, it probably wouldn't be a big deal. "So you want to take it easy," you'd say. But contrary to appearances, I am not a normal person. There is something different about my brain chemistry, which is why I have been taking regular doses of expensive, doctor-prescribed pharmaceuticals since the age of 19 or so. On top of that, I'm self-employed and have to keep hustling if I want my dreams of world domination--or at least enough income to pay for said expensive pharmaceuticals--to become a reality. So when I start feeling lethargic, it worries me.

Fuck fuck fucky fuck fuck.

Why can't I just lay in bed and read books if I feel like it?