I was up before one today. I was sent to bed at 9, but stretched it to 9:30, because I had Christmas stuff to do. The presents feel like a train wreck. My sister-in-law was madly and completely in love with this guy in Michigan. She was prepared to move out there so they could be closer and live together. The whole thing ended in her calling the police and changing her phone number.
We (I) bought her this adorable tea set, it fits for two, which, of course, would be totally acceptable. Now, it would just be rubbing her face in it. She is the type of person who would take that quite seriously and be extremely put out and pissed off by it. So no tea-pot for her.
Back to being asleep by nine. Mr. Malakoa came home from school, only to find a quite perky wife. I wasn’t bounding off the walls, but he was seeing signs of hypo-mania. I hate it when he does that. I feel like I know myself, thank you very much, and I have the right to determine what I do and how I handle it. The worst thing about it is that I am wrong and he is right. Sleep is a great way to treat all the phases of bipolar. It’s easier to do so when depressed, but when I’m manic, when I have trouble falling asleep, it’s still possible. Needing less sleep, for example, getting up at 1 o’clock, is a sign of hypo-mania. So Mr. Malakoa is right. And that annoys me.
(Feeling like I’m over-using commas today.)
I’m working on a book about my grandmother. She was an extra-ordinary person. She was well loved, admired and a beautiful person. When she was young she looked like Gloria Swanson. She went to Hooters and said she didn’t mind it because when she was younger she looked better than (the waitresses). I believe she probably did. They must have made quite a couple, he was dashing and she was gorgeous. They must have caused a ruckus where every they go.
There are two of the grandchildren who caught those beautiful genes. My cousin, L, and my brother, J. L looked like one of the girls off of “American’s Top Model”. My brother gets asked for his autograph when he’s in L.A. The rest of us are not necessarily ugly, but we are probably average to slightly above average. Some obnoxious person once told me, “you’re beautiful on the inside, and that’s what counts.” It ticked me off. I believe she was comparing me to one of Mr. M’s ex-girlfriends. The ex-girlfriend was psycho, though. And she cheated on him. And it’s the inside that counts.
Am I rambling? I feel like I am. But, it’s my blog and I’m free to do whatever I want to do, and write whatever I want to write. My printer has been broken for a long time and I am frustrated by that. I wrote two beautiful letters to my grandfather and great aunt and uncle and I’d like to be able to print them out, as they are a part of their Christmas presents. I don’t want to wait. I wrote such a letter to my grandma and it was in transit the day she died. Everyone else read the letter, without my permission. They read it at her funeral. I hope that my grandfather and great aunt and uncle don’t think they’re dying and that’s why I wrote the letter. I don’t want any part of that.
Well, that’s all for tonight. I have a precious friend who has offered to help keep up the blog for me. I truly appreciate her help. Look forward to hearing from her.