Like sands in the hourglass, so are the happy pills soaking back into your system

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. I feel horrendous.

Yesterday I attempted to fix it by going and blowing money I don't have on my favorite pedicure man "Larwwry". That man is a godsend. I will never, ever let a woman touch my feet again. I would almost let him suck my toes he is so good.

Anyway, my toes felt better, and I felt more relaxed. (If I had an extra $20, the Atlanta School of Massage is offering half off their novice massages. Sometimes, it is better to get someone in there who is ultimately focused on the deep tissue because their graduation is dependent on their performance. You just can't beat $20 for a 50 minute session.)

Somehow, things changed radically throughout the evening. I started a new class last night - some fruity blend of philosophical cognition theory and basic existentialism - and the General Counsel playing Professor gives me heartburn. As he aptly described, "My father calls this mental masturbation. But this is important stuff, people."

Yes, hyperactive I-wish-I-were-an-actor-with-my-constant-Dr.Evil-impressions-so-I-became-an-entertainment-lawyer-instead, you are one of those dorky egocentric fools who actively practices mental masturbation. It is so distasteful when people truly dig their own thinking to the degree that they believe they are intellectuals, and derive some sick sense of superiority from their mental ramblings... Ick.

I couldn't sleep until 1:30 AM - my brain was wrapped into some knot of pseudo-anxiety. I finally gave in, and set the alarm an hour ahead, despite the fact I really needed to be early at work so I can leave early on Friday to drive to North Carolina.

My Mother has already called in some anxious stressing guilt-tripping fit. As she gets older and crankier, she has completely begun to resemble her own mother. I don't remember my maternal Grandmother - her and my grandfather passed away two weeks apart when I was two - but from all descriptions, she was a true cranky beeatttch. If there is such thing as a hybrid Arizona-raised Presbyterian who is really a walking Jewish Mother hidden on the inside, my mother fits the bill. She is even starting to nag in that cranky Jewish Mother tone- you know, where the last word in her sentences lift an octave in a higher whine, and drag out for a few syllables. "If that is how you really feeeeeeeellllllll...."

HELP.