on medicine

Oh, NyQuil, how do I love thee?

The first time I ever took NyQuil I was 17 and chased it with some Alka Seltzer Cold & Flu. I made it all the way down three of the stairs to my room. My dad found me later in a drug-induced coma and took me to bed.

NyQuil, I do love you, but you are not the best medicine. Sorry. I know, it hurts, but I have to break up with you. I found somethin' better.

(brace yourselves for the biggest cliche' evs)

Laughter, you are my new favorite. You really, truly are the bestest medicine evah.

Tonight, after the slowest night ever in the history of bars, a few co-workers and I crashed Terry's formal going-away party. I laughed so god-damn hard I had to change undies when I got home.

Sometimes, when I go places where I don't know anyone and I am in that awkward, uncomfortable place, I, well, I start running my mouth about stretch marks and masterbation and shit. Let's call it my little nervous tick. Lucky for me, my soulmate was sitting across from me at the table and took off running with my blabberings and tonight I am warm and happy and my cheeks hurt a little from so much giggling and recitations of the Dead Milkmen and Monty Python.

Oh, and I guess I'd better do some laundry tomorrow, too. Oh, happy day.

if you leave me now

You'll take away the biggest part of me...

Oh, stupid song. Get out of my head.

Terry and I spent what was our last night at Nallen's tonight. It wasn't the same. Did I tell you that he spent a few weeks in Texas and that he thinks his marriage is worth a'savin'? This is incredibly good news for him and sickeningly bad news for me.

Terry is one of those friends who I cannot imagine going a whole day without. I don't have many of those. People like me, people who have serious problems forming attachments to people, people like me who are absolutely scared to death of loving anyone, we don't take the Terry's in our lives lightly.

Terry is the guy who knows exactly who I am with all the layers peeled away. He is the one who I never bother to say that I am OK to, because he knows it's bullshit and would never accept it. I can, like, cry and shit in front of him and it's alright. He gets me, and I think he gets me simply because he is interested enough to bother to try and get me.

He buys me great birthday presents, we read the same books, we love the same bars, we adore the same music, and on Tuesday we will live in different time zones. I am heartbroken.

So, goodbye, old friend. Good god I will miss you. I will miss you the way people miss each other in movies and on TV. I hope it all works out the way you want it to, but you know what? If it doesn't, we'll all be right here, just waiting for you to come home.