My eyes are all swollen and red and mushy from the weeping. I weep and I weep. It�s horrible. I know the whys of the weeping, I understand with my rational brain (little bits are still there, I�m almost sure) that this is a function of hormones, something that happens every goddamned month, but it doesn�t stop it from feeling real and it�s horrible. I have no perspective, everything is monumental, nothing is in its proper place. I feel mad, like crazy mad, like I�m trying, the me me, trying and failing to climb up the crumbling hills of sanity and I can�t. Sanity is a crumbling hill. So I give in and weep and then get angry for the weeping because it�s not me! I want to scream, it�s not me! And then comes Doubt. Is that even true? And here, my old pal, Frustration. I cannot know anymore: is my life really wrong or is this simply my mind playing tricks on me? Or is this really me, just without all my hefty defenses? But then, what am I if not all the tricks and workarounds that I�ve constructed lo these many years?

And then I get mad because this writing is such melodramatic and abstract bullshit. Aye, let�s beat up on Molly and her stupid brain some more! Yes! Let's!

I was so angry when I got home last night. I was in the grip of the furies. Thank god Jeff didn�t come home until well after I�d finished my walk and had some supper and changed into comfortable clothes. I walked very angrily down to the river with Bash and Peaches and then I played with them and felt a bit healed and then I went into my favorite room in my mind and let myself feel the simple and unambiguous joy of dog love and, this is also true, during this time everything simply feels more and so it was such a pure unadulterated joy, like feeling joy for the first time. That was good. But I can�t stay in that room, not when some other person is about, because I must speak and act like a human capable of communicating with other humans. Poor Jeff. But he is so good�he doesn�t let my crap-ass mood get him down, he is his own person, all solid and true. Thank the heavens.

I cried for Frankie who is at the vet getting her female bits snipped out and I bet she's scared and lonely for us.
I cried for Peaches who is too young to be left alone so long.
I cried for Basho who is my best most trusted self who I feel like I never see anymore, whose eye is all irritated, but I ain't got no money to take him to the doctor.
I cried for my bank account which is totally fucked.
I cried for myself and how I can never ever get ahead with the money. Every month a little worse than the last.
I cried because I got no money for gas and I got no money for smokes and I had to ask Jeff for money and he didn't really have it and then he made me take money that I think he has to put in the bank for a check to clear and I told him no but he made me and I took it just so I wouldn't cry if front of him. Because I hate that, more than I hate anything, I hate crying in front of somebody else.
I cried for Bathsheba who is gone and she was the reason I do this, she is my favorite writer, my most beloved, and I cried because I miss her and I miss her and I miss her and I miss her.
I cried for Oliver who, when I wrote and asked him to rate from first to worst five business names for Jeff, sent me back his picks along with 27 alternate names. I cried because I sell him short and don�t appreciate him for his actual tremendous and creative self.
I cried for Jeff who tried to cheer me and got nothing but sad weepy eyes in return.
I cried for Harold and Miss Blue.
I cried because I couldn�t find my water bottle.
I cried because Basho didn�t come when I called.
I cried because the sheets were twisty.
I cried because I cried and could not stop.

God, let this be over soon. I cannot bear it.

P.S. Jeff just called to say nice things. He also said that I'm something worse than a basketcase and he said that I'm a hysterical woman and he said that I'm crazy and insane like all women are. I told him those parts are going on the Internet. Those other parts, the sweet good things, those stay with me.