Still waiting for my MRI results to come in, which I am assuming is a good thing, because anything gnarly would certainly have been spotted and reported immediately, right? I think so.

I should hear something today.

There was no sleepover on Friday, because the J-Man and his guest decided to attend a mass sleepover at the kid down the street’s house.

Now let me explain the insanity of said child’s mother. She’s recently divorced and lives with her three boys. She frequently has the J-Man and six other children from the neighborhood spend the night all at once.

ALL AT ONCE. This would mean that she has ten boys in her home at the same time.

Can you fucking imagine the carnage?

I generally send food and drinks when J. goes there because I feel like I should at least contribute to the fray, because surely they eat the woman out of house and home.

I still can’t get over it. Ten boys. What the hell is she thinking?

She must be on Xanax.

Saturday night B. and I went to see 50/50, which was good, if a little flat. Bryce Dallas Howard’s character was one that you wanted to slap the shit out of, Seth Rogen’s character was, as always, one that you wanted to hang out with; and Joseph Gordon Levitt’s character was one that provoked sympathy and definitely a little empathy.

It reminded me a lot of my mom and her experiences with cancer and chemotherapy.

Afterwards we went out for coffee, and God, do I need to switch to decaf.

Yes, I said it.

I can’t be drinking pot after pot of regular coffee at night. I’m not sixteen anymore. B. was only over until three, but I was up until four-thirty in the morning, tweaking.

All of these late nights and over-consumption of caffeine caught up with me big-time on Sunday and I crashed and burned just as I predicted, having a whopping three seizures and sleeping them off most of the day and evening.

It pissed me off, not only because I wasted an entire Sunday, but because I knew I was playing with fire and did it anyway.

Sure, I’ve been having an absolutely stellar time, but I know that I can’t mess with my med schedule or stay up until four in the morning or go crazy on the caffeine or I’m going to pay for it.

I’m torn between “You Dumbass,” and “It Was SO Fucking Worth It”.

The J-Man is leaving for Washington D.C. in a scant couple of weeks, and I have to admit that I am a nervous freaking wreck.

He’s never been on a plane. He’s never been away from home for more than one night. He’s going to be traveling with the very kids that bully the shit out of him. He’s going to be so far away.

This is my precious BAY BEE we’re talking about, folks.

I know, So Pathetic.

Still, I feel I have every right to be a little worried. I can barely beat the kid out of bed in the morning, and he’s supposed to manage four days in Washington? I shudder at the very thought.

We have been having Very Long Talks about responsibility and taking charge of oneself and getting one’s shit together and ignoring people’s shitty remarks and respecting other people’s time (that’s a big one for my Slowsky) and other such things.

The kid is probably so sick of lectures that he’s ready to duct tape my mouth shut in my sleep, but I am trying desperately to drill this shit into him.

it’s important.

In other news, I sort of love running. I think it gets me a little high.

Happy Monday.

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