I'm really craving beef.

You don't have a Steak-On-A-Stick franchise that delivers?

Steak-On-A-Stick was bought out by You'll-Eat-Tofu-And-LIKE-It.

Bastards.

You are being amazing through this too, Tep.

Aww, fuck. I'm like Spoon River Anthology in my head. Seriously. There's a Greek chorus of madmen in here. I want Tim back. I want him in bed with me tonight. I hate having our lives and schedules all kerfucked. I don't WANT to be supportive because *I* want to fling myself on the ground and have a tantrum over the massive unfair-itude of Death, Inc.

I don't want to keep hugging the people who visit (I appreciate Tim's dad's taciturn brothers, who Do Not Hug). And I really want some goddamn beef.

I *do* know that what I *do* is more important than the madmen in my head, but I do not feel amazing. I feel insane and wired and WANT BEEF NOW.

I feel insane and wired and WANT BEEF NOW.

Seriously, there's no Chinese restaurant in Cincy that delivers beef and broccoli after midnight, huh?

Maybe the liquor store has some beef jerky in a jar?

Things sound like they are going as well as they possibly can , Steph. Sending you continued strength.

Something no one told me( for Nora) ...but I am now pretty sure when some of our arguments are going to happen. Either matt is stressed and suddenly the kitchen isn't clean enough - or for some reason I feel ignored - which happens a lot when I haven't had enough sleep , or my routine has been interrupted too many days in a row. haven't really been able to stop them ... but I know when they are coming. Takes some of the edge off.

My night's gutbust was hearing what my uncle said to my mom when she said she knew it was hurting him immeasurably: "that's what love is."

At one point tonight, it was just me sitting on one side of Tim's mom's bed, and Tim's dad on the other. And he was holding her hand and talking to her, and then he started with the tears, but just a little. And he said -- to her -- "Oh, I'm sorry."

And I said, "Don't be sorry; you feel this way because you love her."

"I do," he said. "And she loves me."

"That is *never* something to be sorry for," I said.

Seriously, there's no Chinese restaurant in Cincy that delivers beef and broccoli after midnight, huh?

Probably, but I really do gotta go to bed. By the time beef appeared at my door, it would be close to 1 a.m.

Counts, doesn't it. More than anything else. I'm glad she has that. I'm glad they both do, as much as it hurts right now.

and then he started with the tears, but just a little. And he said -- to her -- "Oh, I'm sorry."

It's funny, I was talking to Emmett recently about the line in the song "1952 Black Lightning" where Red Molly comes down to see her husband, who's dying of a shotgun blast and the song goes, "And he smiled to see her cry." Because, you know -- you're worth tears.

And now, because it just showed up in my inbox and made me laugh my ASS off, I am going to reproduce in full the e-mail my brother just sent to me:

I got a Marvel Comics Secret Wars t-shirt today because I am awesome. And handsome. I also just won an auction on ebay for a 1929 Johnson Smith catalog (hard cover) with slipcase. And right now I am downloading "Roller Skating Classics." I pretty much rule. The Johnson Smith catalog is my birthday present to myself. I have wanted one for years but have never been able to justify buying the fucker. My perversions are far too nerdy to be afforded the word perversion.

Fine, I will go back to watching The Addams Family and sipping the bourbon that only cheapskates buy.

My brother makes me feel almost normal. And I say that in spite of the kink, the Batman, and the semi-colon obsession.

In fact, he has given me a new tagline.

Oh, Tep. And you say you aren't amazing.