call for submissions, omissions, emissions

I feel like hell. Please email me or comment here and tell me a tragicomic story of, um, tragicomedy. In everyday life.

Anything. However stupid. I beg of you. Save my brain.

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Part of the problem

Rising Sign is in 19 Degrees Aquarius *(I always thought it was Pisces)

You are an intellectual -- emotions and emotional people are difficult for you to understand.

Sun is in 10 Degrees Scorpio.

Intense and complex by nature, you have extremely strong emotional reactions to most situations.

Moon is in 06 Degrees Aquarius.

You appreciate emotional self-control -- you practice it yourself and you look for it in others. You solve problems, including emotional ones, with your brains and intellect, not your feelings.

Mercury is in 25 Degrees Scorpio.

When you become upset or angry, your emotional reactions are overpowering -- reason and logic disappear in an uncontrollable passionate outburst.

* * * * * *

What exactly are you supposed to do with stars like that? Apparently I'm constitutionally incapable of understanding myself.

I have access to all this wisdom because I emailed my mum for my exact birth time. Apparently there wasn’t a snowstorm when they went to the hospital, as I always thought there was. Another Origin Myth destroyed. The best I can do: It snowed reasonably heavily while I was being born. Hardly a recipe for a supervillain.

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(no subject)

Can anyone tell me why, after an 11-hour day during which I was conversationally embarrassed at least once, struggled with the printer, got interrupted, ignored and inconvenienced, and had nothing for dinner except roughly three pounds of mini carrots and gum, ( I feel so good? )

My inexplicable endorphins are merging seamlessly with the oncoming drunk. It puts me in mind of the time I used beer to come down from acid. I can't remember the acid trip at all, but I know that the beer made a nice transition, and then I believe I went to an evening of one-act plays. Which was down a complicated hallway in a sort of industrial basement space, somewhere in this city, yet in no place I can now identify. An evening of plays in which my future ex-partner performed, though we didn't know each other yet. He was a girl at the time. So was I. We were both welfare radicals. Now we're both nice middle-class gay men.

See? Weird. If there's ever a world weird shortage, I can supply whole nations.

Every time I go into the kitchen to get another drink, the last utensil I used to scoop orange concentrate into my cup has vanished. Yes, I know, concentrate. I call the carton stuff 'payday juice' because I can only afford it on payday. Not this payday, though.

It's just possible I am verging on having had a drop too much.

That puts me in mind of ( another rambling story of intoxication. )

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