I’ve got two pimples that look like a snake bite right where my lip joins my chin in the crease. I look even more ridiculous than usual. It has to be the ice cream, right? That damned strawberry ice cream.

Yeah, I know…ice cream.

I had a binge day of ice cream. Thankfully I didn’t gain any weight, but my skin went berserk.

Stupid skin.

Stupid ice cream.

Stupid treadmill. I see you over there staring at me,  you fucker. Yeah, yeah, yeah. In a minute.

Like an active alcoholic, and not without a grain of truth, I say “It could be worst. At least I didn’t do            .” Sure that’s true, it’s a fact and it is a reality thing…but what the huge-ass-fuck? We deal with some shitty stuff., I know this. But why does there have to be fall out? These are the moments when I wonder if psychopaths don’t have something on those of us with feelings and an internal world that includes emotions of all degrees. Just for a few hours, I want to be able to disconnect my mind from my body. Then I will have no emotional hang overs or binges causing real or emotional pimples and other fall-out on me. Sorta’ like when I was pregnant with Sammie…I was so tired, carrying that belly around wore me out. Her daddy would do this really out-of-character and kind thing for me. While I was doing dishes, he came behind me, wrapped his arms around me and lifted my belly. For a few minutes, I wasn’t pregnant. It was so awesome. It made it a little easier to handle and kinda’ refreshed me when he let go and again I had the weight on my hips and feet. I want to lift my brain belly for a few minutes.

But, there isn’t a way to not have some kinda’ fall out, there are no vacations and this is life. We deal with it and move forward, because the sun is going to rise again tomorrow. We can greet it or futilely try to stop it from rising.

I’m gonna go put some pimple medicine on, take my meds, NOT eat ice cream and give my treadmill the finger before I get on it and subdue it.

Do me a favor? Hold my belly for, like, a minute?