Joe Demicoli... the best medicine

I am going to be brazen and tell someone what to do. And the target of the day is.. Demicoli. Yes, it's Joe Demicoli time again. There I was, really heartbroken, so sad and helpless that I actually forgot about my Tuesday evening ritual, which is, tuning in to his radio programme. Until a good friend called to tell me she was having a blast listening to him. And I was the one who had told her about it in the first place. Sorry Joe, I didn't feel like tuning in, but I did. And I'm so glad I did. My tears have dried up, I'm smiling now, and I dare say I've also had a few laughs. Good laughs. So here is why I think Joe should change profession. He's brilliant at his act, but my guess is that comedians do not get a fat pay check. Shrinks do. And he's done the same job for me, the same job a shrink would have done, only, probably a shrink wouldn't have succeeded in making me laugh so successfully. Talk about mood disorders being rectified in five minutes. He has been my saving grace tonight. And he hasn't even prescribed me any meds, or presented me with the bill. Demicoli has been the best medicine after all. So I'd suggest, and hoping he won't take offence, that he kits himself with a doctor's bag (just to look the part), grow himself a beard (also just to look the part), eat a little bit more (also to look the part), and set up his front room as a clinic. It would pay more, and still be satisfying. I thought that nothing would stop my tears tonight. But Joe Demicoli just did. And watching a sad person being transformed into a happy one in five minute is more than a shrink could hope for. Perhaps you could prescribe me something for the pain... the pain that comes with hilarious laughter, the side-splitting pain, the kind of when you think your heart is about to stop with pleasure. Go for it Joe. You'd get the pool too. And oh, thank you so very much. I owe you one.

Love ... beware

I am not sure if it's actually worth having experienced love or not at all. Love is beautiful, love of any kind, and in any form is a feeling worth having lived for. The problem is when the object of your love suddenly ups and leaves. And no I'm not talking about the love affairs which end as swiftly as they come. So, having thought about that, perhaps it's better to be alone in the world. Because you will not miss what you've never known. Shitty example, I never missed Cavalli or Gucci at 5 years old. Now I want them with a vengeance. The first time I set my eyes on Versace's Medusa trademark, it made me feel dizzy with a sudden want, no need to get my polished hands on it. Before that, I didn't know, so I did not suffer from the dizziness. Same in love. Perhaps it's not such a good idea being a twin after all. True the bond is a dogmatic bond, but then, what happens when one of the two just leaves? Horrible thought this. And as in the man loves woman stakes what happens when the object of your desire also leaves and there is no way you can text heaven or hell or even limbo? That I can talk about through experience. What happens is you are suddenly thrown a ball of grief to deal with on your own. Life suddenly becomes a dark uphill rocky path with plenty of Malta's potholes just popping up suddenly for the sake of making you land flat on your face. And the saddest part of it is that it's called life. I know a little about this kind of life and it's not very pretty. And perhaps I wish I weren't human but E.T. instead. Yet even E.T. wanted to phone home. That means he had feelings, that cute little weirdo who won so many hearts in his time. And suddenly all the daily things I worry about vanish into oblivion, and I don't care about my Enemalta bill anymore, I don't care what I look like anymore. I just care about the ones I love and that includes my army of cats and dogs. And I'm not sure I feel lucky to be loved. Perhaps it's best that you're left all alone in the world. That way you'll be saving and scrimping on a lot of tears. But then I'd rather regret having done something then not having done it at all. And that also includes love. It just should come with a warning like the one on my cigarette packet... beware love can seriously damage you for life. But then, I don't even head the warning on my cigarette packet. I don't think I'd head the one on the love package either.

Goodbyes?

There I was talking about the queen of queens. Right now I feel just like a queen too, this time, the queen of cowards. And I've had the most restless night to prove it. Perhaps I can't face goodbyes. Or, most likely, I cannot face pain, so I run away. I should have been at a funeral today, but I wasn't. I just couldn't do it. For once, I thought, what's the use of going, crying like a baby, and undoing all that therapy? The sad reality is that although I didn't go, I still cried like a baby, and probably still undid all that therapy. I just thought on the lines of, this time I'm going to think of me. The dead are dead and one less at their funeral won't matter. I'm sorry Yvette, but I just couldn't, and given your forgiving nature, it'll be ok from your side. And it'll be ok with her, but I have just embarked on a massive guilt trip. Yvette may forgive, I don't. I don't even forgive myself. So I woke up about 10 times this night, and now have a cough to prove it. I always know when I am in distress because my lungs cough it up. They are probably my worst organs giving the 20 years of feeding them nicotine. They are also probably my smartest organs, they give me the warning sign. It's like an SOS, help needed, now, immediately. And suddenly I'm off food, which is crazy. Yet another SOS. I thought I'd just sleep it off. I didn't. And it's all so sad. Sometimes life is way too ugly to understand. Or maybe my brain's just had enough of trying to deal with untimely goodbyes.