a lot of crazy, fucked up shit has gone on in the past three months since I fell off the blogosphere (and, remarkably, none of them have anything to do with unrequited love, for once.)

“Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up… — Iñigo Montoya from “The Princess Bride”

now if you’ve read this blog for any length of time whatsoever, I’m sure you’re familiar with my penchant for melodrama, but, to put it in 25 words or less, a loved one had a near-fatal event, another relative is in the middle of a long drawn out messy divorce, another relative apparently deliberately failed to invite me and my family to a wedding, another relative is getting married rather soon.

In the midst of this all, I have stood at the bedside of two babies, watching them die, without me being able to do anything about it. My stupid dog bit someone. An American city has been destroyed, not so much by nature, but by sheer, brutal incompetence. And for the past couple of days I’ve probably sleep nearly forty hours. Yesterday I was literally awake for only 4 hours.

Ah, yes, let me vent my hypochondrism before I start believing my own paranoia. Yesterday it was about 12 p.m. I had gone to sleep around 8 p.m. the evening before, so I was kind of hungry by now. I hopped into the car, crossed a few intersections, then realized that I really couldn’t turn my head without wanting to puke.

Fun times.

So, my peripheral vision severely curtailed, somehow I manage to get a bite to eat and make it home without either crashing or puking. Thank God for better living through chemistry. I’ve been popping meclizine like breath mints, and while it keeps me horrifically sedated, at least I haven’t spewed barf all over my apartment.

Naturally, I am forced to wonder, do I have viral meningitis (because it can’t be bacterial, otherewise I’d be dead by now) or do I have a brain tumor? Realistically, I should wait until next Friday before I jump to conclusions and demand brain imaging. As it is now, I probably deserve a spinal tap, but I don’t have much desire to have a three-and-a-half inch large bore needle shoved into my back. And, unless it’s herpes (which is unlikely, because, again, I’d otherwise be dead by now), there really isn’t anything I can do about viral meningitis except bitch and moan.

In the interim, I have zoomed through a few books by Tom Holt, a British fantasy writer whose prose has made me laugh out loud in quite inappropriate venues. So, yeah, it’s funny. It’s pap and filler half the time, but if you’re a fantasy freak, how can you not love references to Gollum?

He does, however, pack a mean melancholy ending. One of the books I read Little People ends with the guy not getting the girl. Pretty much the same thing happens in In Your Dreams where the hero saves the girl who had once loved him, only now she doesn’t because the bad guy (or, bad girl, to be exact) sucked it out of her brain.

It really is nice to know that someone else can relate.

But what else is there, really? My mom keeps bugging me about meeting someone and getting married, which really isn’t anywhere on the agenda. It’s at best around number 125, right up around brokering world peace and being one of the first Filipinos on the moon and/or Mars.

Anyway.

That’s really the sum total of the past three months. I could go all out into deep meta-analysis and illustrate just how these events have completely warped my mind, but suffice it to say, if you thought I was weird before, you ain’t seen nothing yet.