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Yesterday I was called out as a pessimist.

Is that so?  And if, is that so wrong?

For all intents and purposes, I don't feel like I've ever been much of a pessimist.  Realist?  Hell yes.  Sometimes you just have to go with experience.  But when someone who was responsible for so much faith and hopefulness in my life, one who encouraged the biggest leap of faith I've ever dared to stride, calls you one without those very things, it sort of comes full circle.

Augusten Burroughs
Originally uploaded by mingaling.

Last night the boy and I went to see Augusten Burroughs at 7 Stages.  He read some entries from his latest novel, Possible Side Effects, and then spent a good deal of time taking random questions from the crowd.

I love Augusten's books so much.  Not just for his self-deprecating humor, not just for his ability to find humor in completely absurd family and life situations, but for his intense honesty.  He spoke about situations in which he's met fans of his books and how awed he is by the personal connection already established through his writing.

I sort of wondered to myself why this blog only reflects part of me and why.  Although I am pretty sarcastic about many things, have I come to show only  the parts of my personality that don't reflect my vulnerability (which is a far cry from my very first posts back in the day)?  And now, on the rare occassions that I do, why is it that people who only know me through this medium get so startled by the fact that I can't be the fun Lori 100% of the time?  Chalk it up to making it easier to have casual acquaintances? 

Yet still, there are those out there who call, email, and write to prove that the connection is still there.  The empathetic ones who have gone through or are going through a similar journey, or those who have been supportive along the entire way and are my friends without regard to mushy self-pitying and snarky commentary. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is thank you to those that have made it easier for Mingaling to make more appearances here.

Thanks go to Maigh for inviting me to fix my seriously neglected hair and introducing me to her stylist.  The Locks of Love goal is still in the works, so she kept the length and cleaned up the rest so that I can stand the next several weeks of growing it out.

Blink blink.

My lashes struggle to separate, bound together by crusty muck.  It's hard to take a deep breath.  I'm all stuffed up.  Somehow make it to the bathroom to wash my face.  The face in the mirror is a larger version of mine.   My eyelids are huge and puffy, and the circles under my eyes have grown.

I take an Allegra to clear up my head, and jump in the shower to erase everything else.  Dry the hair, pull it back, and that mess in the mirror is still there.  Eyedrops.  A little hydrocortisone under the eyes (for emergencies only).  A little more makeup today.  More concealer, more blush.  Curl the lashes - it'll "wake me up."  Pull it together.  Pick up the crumpled tissues, toss them away.  Feed and take the dog out.  Check, check, deep breath.

I remember to make the bed - slowly and lazily - before I head out.  The pillowcase is still stained with last night's tears.  I turn it over and leave.