i'm going to buy t-shirts for the whole posse with the morton's salt girl on them.
what else can you do in the face of an entire week of 'what the fuck'?
here's the short version: i was assaulted last week, by someone who clearly had planned the attack. I'M FINE. Don't Panic. i've had to deal with a lot of cops and lawyers in the past week, and can i just say they have all been unfailingly considerate and helpful. cambridge's finest is no joke.
then a good friend was attacked in a wierd road rage kind of thing. she ended up with a broken nose, but that pissed her off so much she roundhouse kicked the guy and took him out. pretty impressive in a scary way.
and then the same friend is dealing with trying to get her stuff back from an ex, who is truly psychotic. no exaggeration. so we formed up the south shore repo posse, and drove down to rescue her stuff. needless to say, psycho bitch changed her mind and called the cops to say we were threatening her - from the other side of a locked door? i think not. then the troglodyte shows up to shore up her friend's fragile psyche... oh, it just got better and better.
i ask you - what the fuck? i mean, really - What The Fuck? we're all pretty nice, intelligent, funny, loyal, *good* people. why are we being visited by the morton's salt girl parade of bad karma? who did we piss off? i checked - there's no full moon, our biorythyms aren't in dire overlap, not a one of us PMSing, none of us walked under a ladder or crossed paths with a black cat... **sigh**
and the straw that broke this camel's back was the series of soul-sucking vortex dreams - you ever have one of those, where you feel like you're being dragged out of your body against your will? if not, please don't try this at home. i had to sleep with the light on. again.
it's all got to get better, n'est pas, mes amis? mais oui. c'est necessaire.