Dancing to Don't Worry Be Happy with Biggy C

Do you ever wonder if the idea of blogging was stolen from Doogie Howser? Do you ever wonder how much more fantastic that show could have been if it were about me? I am not a genius, child doctor formally inflicted with leukemia, but I do have Biggy C and we dance.

The other day I was doing my laundry at Biggy C's house. The night was peaking in and I was late for my plans to swallow pills and beer with Kate, but I didn't care. Biggy C's sister-in-law was over crying about her mother and telling me about her plans to steal her son's beer, get drunk, and growl at the her own reflection in the mirror. "Tequila," she said. "It's the tequila that will make me growl, but I'm all alone tonight, so I won't hurt anyone but myself." I smiled and looked down at my vibrating phone. Another text message comes through and my own life has become a fuzzy mess of vibrations that mean little and crying confusions that mean lots...but only to me. I will brave an ulcer, lung cancer, and overage charges, but it will never matter and so I hang with Biggy C. She might be insane, live in a tweeker riddled trailer park, and have fleas, but she is my friend. And so the night traveled on and my laundry tossed heavy in the dryer until it stopped...but not us. Biggy C's niece had the look of early depression and Biggy C started singing Bob Marley's "Don't Worry Be Happy." She handed me the baby and proceeded to download the song illegally from Lime wire. Pressed Play...and before I knew it, I was dancing around the filthy trailer, holding a baby tight to my face, and singing "Don't Worry Be Happy" duet style with Biggy C. When Bob Marley says, "If you're feeling sad, just call me up. I'll make you happy." Biggy C looks at me and says "that's what we'll do for each other, Julia, cuz this is our song."

When did I get here and why did I go there and who am I becoming? I cannot tell if I like it or hate it or am going to die this way. All I know is that it is almost over and I wonder how much of this life is going to carry over into my next. Will I lose touch and chalk it all up to "I'm a fucking mess?" or will I confess? I guess I won't worry too much.