Jesus H. Christmas, I am in a horrific mood. I believe I may be a rage-o-holic, in need of some weed, a nap and a attitude adjustment. Oh, and I need to laugh. God help me, I need a good laugh.
I am the original scream queen, and my dog and cats will tell you I am hell on wheels when I start feeling sorry for myself. It starts small, like crying through the entire service at church on Sunday. My poor pastor is going on a really long hike in Spain, and he suffers from anxiety, just like myself. You should have seen the look on his face, when, backpack and hiking stick in hand, he addressed said trip with the congregation. I don’t know why (HORMONES PERHAPS???????) I lost it, but I did and I think he was alarmed, or his widened eyes were not my responsibility and I am centering the universe around myself. Again.
I just called my girlfriend, let’s call her Kathleen Schaeffer for privacy reasons. She lives in Maine, but we went to high school together. I pity the shit out of her, because she will soon listen to my voicemail, which goes something like this:
Hi it’s me (blubber, blubber, BLUBBER) I hate Summer this humidity is killing me the ice machine is broken and I can’t get rid of the fleas and my family sucks and I can’t take it anymore. (blubber, blubber, BLUBBER!!!!!!) I’m gonna get stoned and take a nap. Don’t worry about me I feel bad because I know others have it worse bye.
Not a bloody breath taken, I turn off my phone and proceed into my filthy house. I can’t win, no one loves me, the cat just peed on the floor, why aren’t my vases selling, will I ever make anything out of myself, WHERE IS THE WEED DAMNIT, Hank you may NOT enter the house, you have abused your privileges, was that a FLEA that just bit me, oh Lord, why am I so depressed, somebody get this F***ing ice machine fixed, I have no clothes.
I feel better now. The dog is hiding under the coffee table, but damnit, I FEEL BETTER.