A Game Of Crohn's

Making the altered book is part of my therapy. You’ll hear a lot about my altered book. I’m sure I’ll be persuaded to take pictures. You can google “altered book” or “art journal” and get an idea, but know that I’m nowhere * near * as awesome as ...well, all of them are. Mine is my own, and it’s my therapy, and it’s been a lifesaver. It’s a never-ending project, and I absolutely love working on it. In texting B, I told him what my current project was, and he said “yeah, you told me already.” When I’m telling Jen about that text, I was pissed and frustrated, because I had absolutely no memory of telling him about my project, and this was not the first time losing memory had happened. I’d had instances of weirdness happen with her as well. I was having a waking dream of Oliver standing in my room talking to me about “mom” (Jen) going to DQ for ice cream - normally I would go with her. So I start screaming for Jen,  because if I tried to stand I would likely bash my face into t

I've been procrastinating on this blog for a long time, haven't I? I know that some of you out there have wanted me to put my thoughts to a format much longer than facebook for a while, and I've told you that I would. The perfect storm has finally happened, and I'm moving on the blog.  And I'm scared shitless. Here's where I'm taking off my metaphorical clothes.  This is the first page, where I can still hide behind words that aren't so revealing. This is the page where I'm going to tell you what to expect, and warn you that my writing can be very stream-of-consciousness and when I'm high (not just on weed, and if you want to see into my life you'll just have to pay attention, k?) I tend to go off into rants, I don't worry as much about grammar, and there is a solid possibility that I will blog while high, and that will provide some interesting shit.  I know me.  Also - if you're in my life, you're going to be mention