So...suck your toe, all the way to Mexico....

Do we ever know as children that all the things we sing song have history, and some have slurs?

I sure didn't.

I remember this one:

That's life.

What's life?

A magazine.

Where do you get it?

At the corner store (like I had ever seen a corner store in my life at this point)

How much does it cost?

Fifty cents. (like a magazine ever cost that...well, maybe, but not in my magazine buying years)

I don't have that.

That's life.

What's life?

and so on until you can't stand it anymore.

So the deed is done. Why do I have the best conversations with my folks when I'm telling them I'm NOT coming down to see them? My dad and I must have talked for close to an hour, about the Bible (Psalms, Revelation, the Inter-testimentary times, how he's doing the Bible in a Year with the Message translation...) about family stuff, about Tulip Time (I will get there, one of these years....)

So I'm feeling better psychikly (is that even a word) but my body aches. Which means I have to report to my psychiatrist. (It's a side effect of Tegretol.) Ugh.

I think I'll watch the rest of whatever Volume this is of Season Four. I'm grateful that I'm in my 30s. I don't think I would understand the nuances of the humor of SATC if I hadn't had, if my friends hadn't had the life experiences we've had.

Off to email the psychiatrist. BUT I DON'T HAVE A FEVER.* This is good. And it could just be I'm worn out, because, well, I've been running.

*I have the AC running. I suppose I could have a fever and not know it?