March 1, 2001

Thursday's Demons

What a hellish day. A bland and bitter (is that possible?) rant will there be here. I can't help it. I'm about to go on the rag and I have excess hormones or some shit because I am just not a happy girl.

Ryan probably thinks I'm nuts. I mean, literally, one day I act like a complete schizo around him and the next day I'm all peachy-keen. Hell, it doesn't even have to be a day. My mood can shift between bells.

He just gets so flustered with me, I think. Because I generally get upset about the same thing over and over again and he so desperately doesn't want me to be upset about it...I don't know. I give up. Maybe I'm too emotional to be in a healty relationship.

Anyway, we had an assembly today. It was the 'Power Team' hour. I swear, I am traumatized. These six foot four, 300 pound guys up there breaking cement blocks with their forearms and steel rods with their teeth and preaching at us. I mean, who the hell came up with that combination? What idiot put body builders together with motivational speakers?

George was funny, though. He was the big guy from Alabama. He told us moronic stories about his youth and kept plugging for the show the 'Power Team' had that evening wherein they would break even more cement blocks. But not without first setting them on fire. It seemed to me that these guys set everything on fire. Mal, Ryan, and I, of course, interpreted this as perversely as possible. Somehow George ended up having a flaming penis. Don't ask. We were sitting in the back. We created our own entertainment.

We were convinced he had a mullet, too. I mean, the guy is missing out on his state's official hair cut. We could hook him up. Or at least Mr. Grenier could.

So that was today. It doesn't sound so bad in words, but I was being tortured by demons all day. The weirdest thing is that Ryan is the primary source of all this grief. And to comfort myself, I think of sleeping a few hours on his chest.

Bittersweet irony.