"Sometimes I think you don't like me very much, she said.
Like? he said. Is that all you want to be? Liked? Wouldn't you rather be passionately and voraciously desired?
Yes, she said, but not every night."
M. ATWOOD, BODILY HARM
Everyone’s mad at me. Everyone in the world.
I have no friends.
Well I don't like anybody anyway.
But why doesn’t anybody like me, though?
Tuesday
Why are you crunching so loudly, aggravating human five feet away from me?
Why do anything if you’re not going to do it to obscene excess? That’s your motto!
What are you even eating that could possibly make that much noise? Bones? Are you eating bones?
Wednesday
I’m going to crawl out of my skin. It’s too hot with my sweater on but if I take it off I’m freezing, because Heat Miser and Mr. Freeze can’t keep their crypt-keeping claws off the thermostat.
Aw. But Mr. Freeze just apologized for that dickhead comment he made last week. I’m so grateful for all the lovely humans.
Thursday
I’m making coffee and thinking about a documentary I had to watch twenty minutes of in some dumb you-have-to-take-this-to-graduate class a few years ago, because why, what do YOU think about while you’re making coffee? A woman was interviewed about her time working at some sort of insurance agency phone bank thing, and her job was to interview the shit out of people who called so that she could deny them coverage, or some such terrible thing, and she would go home every day after work and cry and feel like shit. So then while I’m ripping open Splenda packets (I know I know, look, I tried to switch over to monk fruit sweetener but Whole Foods charges me six bucks a bag and it tastes like earwax, so) I start grieving for humanity, and then I start thinking about how woefully ignorant and/or otherwise unaware so many people are and how sad THAT is, and how little I actually know about anything, and I’m not coherent enough to generate tears so I just lay down on top of the blanket next to a still-sleeping Diego and stare wide-eyed over his head into the darkness as I spoon him for dear life.
Later on I'm greeted in the bathroom mirror by Thing 1 and Thing 2, nestled sweetly together on my chin.
Friday
Inhaled a cheese-covered bagel with cream cheese over my keyboard just now and one hundred thousand percent feel it was the absolute best decision I could have possibly made for my body. Plan of attack for today is to finish the pot of flavored coffee I just brewed myself, switch to whiskey around noon, and google hysterectomies.
Later on, fueled now by both hormones AND Jack Daniels, I feel guilty and wretched and traitorous for writing a blog post that may be interpreted as hostile toward menstruation, so I buy a bunch of women’s studies books on Amazon and promise myself that tomorrow when I’m not drunk anymore I’ll sit quietly with all my new candles and embrace my cycle and commune with the moon.
