So there I was, thinking I was happy and that everything was ok. No drama, just good, solid and okay. THEN... the mood hits. What is the deal with this? Yes, I'm PM and by now I should expect this fit of irrationality right around... NOW - but man, sometimes it's a doosy. I'm feeling completely at the mercy of my whimsical brain chemistry, whirling like a maelstrom of cacophonous circus music and then pop. Back to normal again. I love being a woman. Yah. Rock.

So yah, depression is a drag - but some days it really feels like the texture of your life - the ups and downs of existence - nothing too dramatic. Other days it feels like a wall that separates you from all that is normal, happy and good (yah Katy, and those are synonyms). It is like a blunt, inarticulate bouncer to "Club Normal" where everyone's dancing to Avril Lavigne and drinking Tuaca shots and you're stuck outside trying to reason with this force of negativity that won't let you enjoy the Tuaca because the Tuaca is stupid and a waste of time and there is man's search for meaning to be considered and how dare you. What good reason can I tell him that I just want to dance and drink the Tuaca. No Tuaca for you! You can never "just enjoy the Tuaca" - not without irony you can't! And then there's poor Avril Lavigne... who represents every stupid poser girl who made me cry in junior high (sounds like a lyric...) Anyway, this analogy is getting a little zany but you get the idea. Sometimes I just want the Tuaca.

Other times I feel like singing that song "that ain't no way to treat a lady, no way to treat your baby, your woman, your friend" to myself. Mostly because I'm crazy - but also maybe because we should all give ourselves a break once in a while and just be nice to us.

NON SEQUITOR ALERT - Do you ever wish you knew a few key phrases in Vietnamese - like when you get a manicure and there's this frenetic conversation going on all around you and you always, somewhere in your mind anyway, imagine it's about you, although certainly it isn't (or I guess it could be 0- but smart bets are on not?). I saw a lady yesterday talking loudly on her cell phone the whole time she was getting her nails and feet done. Isn't that wrong or something? Isn't there a rule somewhere that says you have to sit there in silence and suffer. Isn't suffering beauty? Or is it? Am I over-thinking this - do you see what I'm saying?

It's like, just drink the Tuaca, get the manicure without feeling awkward and smiling the entire time. Stop struggling in vain to find the correct speed at which to speak so as not to be insensitive to the fact that English is a second language but also so as not to condescend (after all, do I speak Vietnamese?). Why not just paint them at home? Oh, that's right because I'm "treating myself".

Why not just have the hair ripped out of your face with scalding hot wax so that the men in your life (and on the street and whatever) won't think you're ugly and will accept you as the beautiful and therefore worthwhile woman that you want to be, despite the incongruities with your feminist leanings and strong self image. Oh wait - I already ripped those hairs out of my face with tweezers during my lunch hour - besides I want to relax you know - cuz I'm doing this for me. I am. Really.

Oh, and Matrix II sucked.