Today’s tiny adventure went quite well, so I feel compelled to tell you about it.

First, you have to know that I was out of insulin. Honestly, I ran out Thursday night. I totally could have gone to get it on Friday, but I was too distracted and lazy. And I could have got it on Saturday, but my little pharmacy is only open between 10 am and 2 pm on Saturdays, and by the time I remembered, it was past 2 pm. Too late.

They’re not open at all on Sundays. And they have my insulin prescription on file, so I couldn’t go one block further to Shoppers and get it.

So Monday it had to be. It’s a tale as old as time.

As it turns out, I had another errand to run : stick that signature form in the mail. Joe was nice enough to give me a stamp and a manila envelope, being the icon of awesomeness he is, so this morning, after lunch (look, we don’t all have the same definition of “morning”, okay?) I signed the form, and very carefully hand lettered the envelope, and stuck the form inside, and sealed it.

That’s probably more detail than needed. Oh well.

Honestly, the whole process seems so archaic now that it almost seems like magic. Like I am a wizard inscribing a scroll with words according to an ancient ritual that will make it teleport to a far distant land.

Well, not that far distant. It’s just going to Victoria, after all. I could get there for like, ten bucks.

So the stupid signature form was ready to go. And I was thinking I would have to go the extra block to use to mailbox in front of Shopper’s drug mart, and then would probably get pulled in to the gravity well of White Spot. And that would put me over budget for this week, which would make me feel sad and insecure.

But no! Turns out there is mailbox right across the street from the pharmacy. And by a stroke of luck, I had chosen to travel on that side of the street, so I didn’t have to go out of my way in the slightest.

I love it when things work out that way. Makes me feel better about the world that I normally can’t help but feel is a harsh and unfeeling place filled with rakes waiting to pop up and hit me in the face.

I know that isn’t true. But it’s what my chemicals tell me, and so it’s what I can’t help but feel, even if I don’t technically believe it on a conscious level.

Consciousness is, after all, just the interface for a very sophisticated computer.

I’m working on it. I am utterly committed to the process of therapy, and honestly, I don’t think I could stop it if I wanted to. My mind has developed a very strong taste for this purification process, where wrong thoughts are not just suppressed but crushed and swept out of the way. I feel like I get stronger every day.

When I think of the timid, confused, terrified creature I was when I first went into Doctor Costin’s office, all I can do is shake my head and wish I could give that poor guy a hug, and tell him it does get better. You can free yourself. Doctor Costin will help you a lot with that.

Every step along the path of recovery has been that way. From the very first day I took St. John’s Wort, it has been a slow process of waking up. At least, that’s how it seems like when I look back. Like I was trapped in a terrible nightmare, and my entire life since then has been a process of waking up from it and become more awake, alive, and whole.

Hopefully, Kwantlen will further accelerate the pace. Having more to do with my mind always helped my mood, as does moving around more and being more active. Plus I will be getting social exposure in an environment (school) where I feel relatively comfortable and secure. That has got to be therapeutic.

Plus, I have enough self-confidence and maturity to fear no verbal bully. Go ahead, make fun of me, see how that works out for you. Not only am I likely to have way better verbal kung fu than any random idiot, I am perfectly willing to use it to smack down a bitch who is trying to front with me. Fuck YOU. Let this be a lesson to you all!

Plus, I seriously, genuinely, give absolute zero fucks what people like that think of me. So even if they had my kind of skills and managed to get in a good shot, it wouldn’t harm me. In fact, honestly, it would make me respect them.

I might even get a little turned on. Yeah that’s weird, so what?

Last night, during conversation with the fabulous Miss Felicity, I realized something that had been in the back of my mind for a while : I truly feel like, as a white night verbal kung fu master, I will, of course, never use my powers to punch downwards, pick on the weak, bully anyone, or otherwise go to the dark side.

But I am nevertheless a warrior who seeks worthy and/or deserving adversaries. So if I ever come across someone who is getting away with being a verbal bully, I am deadly serious when I say it will be my mission to destroy them.

Not physically, of course. That’s called murder. But verbally and possibly even psychologically, hell yeah. It is the duty of the strong to protect the weak, and when it comes to words, I am definitely on the strong side.

When it comes to literally anything else…. not so much.

But this is the digital age. Being brilliant with words has never been more powerful. The venues have changed but the Internet is still ruled by text. Listicles, blog posts, Facebook statuses, even images people share around : all text.

So fuck the “real world”.

I got Internet power!

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.