"Dociousaliexpilisticfragicalisuper". The

"Dociousaliexpilisticfragicalisuper". The customer holding the shoehorn/toiletbowlbrush looked at him quizically. "That's a buck fifty. " "Oh, I thought you said

you wanted two of them." "Two of what?" "Two of those." "Those? What are you talking about?" "Two of those shoehorn/toiletbowlbrush thingys." "No, I said I wanted 47 of them."

"That and this, these and those? No one knows!" I shoehorned him into my overcrowded mental hate space, a cozy room with yellow wallpaper and adequate toiletbowlbrushes. Residents

of my mental hate space have to share a towel. But then I noticed that I was one of the residents in my mental hate space. What the? How could I hate me? I was my own lover.

crooning "to love yourself is the greatest love of all" to each other. Oh so lovely... until the day I found myself texting myself: IT'S OVER. I'M TAKING THE TV & THE GOOD WINE. Ho

nesty had led myself to start cheating on I, with me. I was pissed and was leaving myself for good. But the real fault lay with me. It had all started with me. If I had just

listened to myself and taken my meds all would be okay. I was beside myself. My shrink said I 'self-soothe' too often, but at least I'm doing it with someone I truly adore: myself.

In the recesses of my mind, I could hear another beckoning, calling me, then ANGER! "What the hell are you DOING?!" the voice screamed. "You're cheating on me with YOURSELF?!!! I'm

supposed to cheat on you with YOU!!" That's what happens when bi polar bears date. The moral of the story: Complicating matters will not simplify them.