boo, hiss!

In my day, we didn't have "emo." We were "clinically depressed" and, as such, put through the Grand Guignol farce known as "suicide awareness." That just made me want to take the gas pipe even more, which probably got me diagnosed as borderline schizotypal. I'm sure it's on my permanent record somewhere. (A friend of mine was diagnosed schizotypal because she told a shrink she believed in ghosts. Her response? "Cool!" Ah, savoir faire. Wish I had more of it. I guess if you believe that Jesus literally died on the cross for your sins, you're normal...?)

If the kids can declare emo a lifestyle choice, then I guess I can damn well claim PMS one too, albeit one my uterus and its conspirators have seen fit to foist upon me.