The Craggy Files: Let’s play a game, shall we? With a prize!

LAST CHANCE! Cut-off time is 2:00 pm CST today – that’s right, Mom.

This time, I have an actual prize all ready to go. Here are pictures, in no particular order, of my favorite Craggy Secret Boyfriends. Identify them, send your answers to amivins at yahoo dot com, and the first one in with all the most right names wins! Because frankly, this blog has been a major bummer lately, and I think it’s time to lighten things up.

Everyone is eligible: relatives, friends, casual browsers, crazy stalkers… go for it.

Here we go!

1. 2.

3. 4.

5. 6.

7. 8.

9. 10.

My God, the cragginess.

Hints

• Only numbers 1, 5 and 6 are dead. This is a pretty good percentage for Mrs. Euphrosyne.
• Number 1 was a singer.
• Number 5 should be fairly elementary.

Update

• Ten entries so far; the current leaders are one of my aunts and some dude. No one has them all yet… go! Go!

My rock, my bird

We’ll be okay, I know.

Hope, conditionally

You know, I’m sadder right now than I can ever remember being before.

Two days ago, according to the staff at the treatment center, my brother was an imminent suicide risk and in serious methadone withdrawal, because opiates are not allowed at the clinic. They exacerbate depression, which in turn can worsen physical symptoms, like the blinding headaches he’s had since he was fifteen. No one will believe him when he says he has tried every other pain therapy available. Methadone was his last resort – a choice between debilitating pain and paralyzing depression isn’t much of a choice. But he agreed to detox there, try to get the depression controlled, resisted the urge to check himself out and kill himself, went to group meetings, bought into the program. When the pain got bad they told my mom they would get a court order if he tried to leave. Two days ago.

Today his insurance is up. And he is out the door.

If a group of trained professionals had intentionally set out to drive someone to suicide, they could not have done it more effectively or cruelly.

Ambivalence as a lifestyle: looking good, sort of

First example

I hate that she voted for this war. Hate, hate hatehatehatehatehate… but Obama is looking more and more like a talking head to me. I could be totally wrong – but I don’t see anyone there. So:

I guess. Damn it. I’m staying drunk come November.

Second example

I’m reading that Miss Pettigrew’s Day Off is pretty much a goopy chick flick with a patina of BBC faux-class. Okay. But it also has this:

Ciaran Hinds – one of my super-craggy secret boyfriends. What to do?

Working my way back into posting

Tough, because most of the things on my mind are related to awful family matters – which wouldn’t have been a problem several months ago, but now some of my kinfolk actually read this thing. But I miss the outlet, and now that some of the shock and stress has dissipated, it feels a little more natural again.The other thing I want to start doing is commenting regularly on the blogs I read. I hadn’t realized until the last few weeks how much this network connects me with some truly fabulous people, and really, I’d like to be a better member of the community. Plus my tags need some serious help…

Anyway, since digging around in the muck and sewage of my deepest fears is way fucking exhausting, I thought I’d make a list (love lists) of my lesser fears, from phobias to mere shudders.