  The doctor was a short man with dead blue eyes, and he made no attempt to make me be a patient of his. It was a good meeting. Going to go back home on Sunday, I think. Kurt�s a little bit worried that I�ll spontaneously combust or some such; the last time we went home, I had a meltdown. It�s wonderful there; the land, the friends, but every time I go home, I feel rootless, and that bothers me. No closure on the house I grew up in; it was sold and vacated, and moved in by new people all when I was in school.
I never think it�ll be perfect, but I guess I always go home thinking it will be �relaxing�. The, my oversensitive ass will visit my grandmother, and I�ll become whingy. Reading the Screwtape Letters, by C.S Lewis. It�s dedicated to J.R.R Tolkien, and on the first page there is a little blurb on the only way to beat the devil. Laughter is the key; the devil can�t handle mockery. An excellent point, really. Shitty situations aren�t conducive to laughter, but damn, if you can muster some laughter up, you have that craptacular situation by the balls. One of the people I looked up to said that as well, the guy used o pick on me, and I�d try to pick back, and no go; he�d laugh at me. I learned this skill and applied it, I was virtually un-pickable for a while. It left, to a certain degree when I got sick, and everything became personal.
Everything. The paint on the walls was a testament to how lame I was. My brain took everything my ears heard, and picked out the worst impossible interpretation. Oh well, I�m going to get that back. I�m not planning on becoming an insensitive ass, but my coping mechanisms have been shit for a few years, so a recapitulation is necessary. I can�t wait to go to the two towers! 
