Mental Constipation

I am self- diagnosed ... it is official (in my mind)... I am suffering from an extreme case of Mental Constipation.

My Dementia is in actuality nothing more than a psychogenic state of being, brought about by an acute obstruction, leaving me with a limited intellectual ability of excretion.

In "Layman's" terms... I am full of poop and can't figure out how to put it in words... letting it ooze out of my head... freeing up space for more crap...

I will need to perform further analysis to determine the cause of the blockage. Preliminary investigations have allowed me to narrow down the culprit to a few prime candidates.

1.) My new diet... I have cut the term "dessert" from my nutritional regime vocabulary... I will get back to you upon further study... but, I believe science will find that the lack of sugar, chocolate, and butter (preferably mixed together) is a direct cause of mental break down in our society... The sooner the FDA gets to the bottom of this issue... the sooner I can eat the good stuff guilt free.

Fat Food = Happy Dance

Back off Mr. J. I did not say I would be content sitting around the house in my moo-moo, with you rubbing my feet and feeding me truffles. I mean seriously, who would find contentment in such a frivolous lifestyle?

2.) Cutting Back on Internet Time... I have a new found respect for the pain of fighting an addiction. I will no longer scrunch up my face at the Heroin Addict, who is trying to dry out. Oh, sure you can say PC addiction and Heroin addiction are not even in the same ball park.

But, have you tried to go a week without turning on your life support system? Don't give me the "I need it for work" ... or "I am waiting on an important Email from my child" line...

Get up. Turn the Computer off... and Leave it off for one week. (I dare you!!!)

You may be strong for a while... but there are moments of weakness... You have just finished dinner, the kids are tucked into bed, there is nothing on TV worth watching....

and the PC is calling out to you... Sending subliminal messages...

Your fingers begin twitching... Your mind begins formulating reasons you need to look something up... You walk by the desk...pacing, nervously back and forth...

But, you are strong... it has only been 8 hours... Only 160 more hours to go!

If this is not one of the major factors in my emotional conflict situation... then, I am perhaps, just NUTS... and I am not ready to give in to that prognosis.

3.) Our Beloved President... The very man of whom I am entrusting with my son's life.

Oh my, Oh my... this man is going to destroy, through inflicted apprehension, my last three brain cells.

I wrote Mr. Bush a letter some time back... and filed it away, never to be read by the sane... However, I feel the toilet is a nice place to flush this issue out of my system.

I have discussed the letter with my son, who is mentioned in the letter. He said, "Go ahead and share the letter. I have everyone in my unit convinced you are insane."

I am so flattered!

So here is the letter...

Dear George,

How are you doing? How is the family? And, how is that crazy situation in Iraq going for you George? A few people have told me that I really should not refer to you by your first name. They do not understand the special relationship between you and me. You know what I mean. Our special connection... You are on a crusade and I have provided a valuable tool, my son! As I see it, in the "Blood for Oil" crusade, our bond is much more personal than most people understand.

You and I have a brother/sister relationship. Although we do not hate each other, the view for the outside, looking in, may appear that way to the naive. They see you cheering for the war... "We must avail... no matter the cost to human life... we cannot let those crazy Muslim-lead-barbarians chase us out of THEIR country... we cannot appear weak... We have God on our side!"

(And they see me ... cringing with every word that comes out of your mouth... Because, as your sis, I hate when you give the impression that we are illiterate country bumpkins. Wait, that was a family dig... just between us...)

What they really see, is a mother, crying out for an end to this ludicrous stand in Iraq.

They do not see you as I do, George. They do not know that you are a terrible chess player. Strategies are not your strong point. It just takes too durn much concentration. George, be a good sport. When you are losing a game, you cannot throw the board across the room... Nor can you change the rules. As an adult, you can admit a mistake was made, stand up, straighten the pieces, and walk away.

I would like to present a challenge to you. I know you like a good challenge... We all do here in Texas!

You, George W. Bush vs my son... One on one... Nothing too strenuous... (nothing physical, my son has an age advantage over you) but, a political debate. That is your area of expertise, is it not? The rules will be quite simple: Neither man will be allowed any coaches/advisors/and or speechwriters to assist them with their answers. Just a straightforward, honest to goodness debate. The winner (my son... he will wax your a**) will be given an honorable discharge from the Army. The loser (sorry George... I still love ya) will put on a uniform and fight the cause that he so fondly clings.

Please take a moment to consider the challenge.

You, George are a generous man. You give without hesitation to the poor countries you are destroying. Your kind heart humbles me. I am sure that God, the same one you mention on many occasions, is aware of your very actions. I pray for you George.

Sincerely,

Your Sis

What??? I deal with stress my way... You deal with stress your way... and my way is to FLUSH! (Is there a better mental laxative?)