So last night the box of one dozen starving, angry brainweasels immediately latched onto my face and started bitin' me all over.

This morning I woke up, and on my way past the hall mirror, I went "... wait, how many zits is my nose hosting? GODDAMMIT." And just now, Clue is asking me if there's anything that I want to tell it today.

I hate it when this happens. The fucking hormones fuck up my mood, and then any little thing can just set it the fuck off, and I implode for a miserable few hours until the bupropion helps me reset.


Because I have learned that even when the reason I'm so upset about something is all out of proportion with the actual problem, and if it seems at all like it might be a legitimate beef when I'm not actually having An Episode, things go better when I address it -- this way there is less opportunity for resentment and misunderstanding and noncommunication to creep in.

Therefore this evening I asked Purple whether it would be possible to schedule a meetup before he leaves, if by some mean twist of fate he didn't make it out this way for the party. (And that I trusted his intent, but that bad fortune had a habit of striking his trips out this way.)

Purple reassured my paranoid brain that, barring some kind of incident involving bouncing off the repellent forcefield surrounding certain nasty public figures or coming down with something contagious, he would be there, and in fact he had rearranged his schedule quite substantially in order to make that happen. He's had the brainweasels before, and he doesn't like 'em. He conveyed sympathy.

Also there's beer bash tomorrow, even though it's also 2600 night.