I'm starting to think I only write blogs when I need to complain. Which is bad, because I write in a raggedy little notebook all day long, knowing not a soul will ever read it.
Why is it that I'm so hesitant to write in this little white box? Why is it that knowing that pretty much no one reads this, but that it could be stumbled upon and my words twisted and judged give me a mini panic attack every time I think about it?
I don't fucking know. Nor do I care anymore.
I'm pretty sure I've joined the ranks of unemployment once again. The funny thing? My mind hasn't even registered it yet. And I don't think it will until my alarm goes off in the morning and I get up and dressed to go nowhere. When I'm tossing and turning tonight and damning the world because I can't sleep and I have to be up.. I'll realize, I don't have to be up at all. But I will be. Just like I have for pretty much the last 72 hours. Because as much as I'd have loved to believe it, I, apparently, am not a masochist. I don't enjoy pain. I don't enjoy my ear being infected and my jaw feeling like it's being cracked in half.
My throbbing is now accompanied by vomiting, which could either be a sign that the 3+ entire bottles of aspirin/ibuprofen/Motrin that I've been taking is finally taking it's toll on my liver, or just the simple fact that that much acetaminophen, mixed with stomach acids and no food for eh, about 3 days sitting on your stomach lining is probably not a good idea. Either way, Thank god for not being to sleep. It means I get to vomit more frequently. How Joyous.
There were Christmas cards in the mail today. From Florida. From my grandmother. One for Danielle, One for Mom and Larry. The one with my name on it.. non existent. The same woman who has neglected to send me a birthday card since I turned 18 has now written me off of her Christmas list, too. Maybe she thinks I'm dead. Fuck florida, and fuck her.
I hate Christmas. I hate the holidays and everything they represent. This year will be 7 years since my dad has been gone, and every fucking time the snow falls I feel like I'm 14 all over again. Every Christmas morning I feel like I'm waking up to a half dead father and a Christmas that doesn't feel like Christmas at all.
I should start learning the dreidel, and marry a jew. No more Christmases.
Now if you'll excuse me,
my face has an appointment with the toilet.
1 comment:
Trace-Rex. :( What happened with Wal Mart? I wish there were an easy solution to this jaw thing and the fact that you have an ear infection too means it's probably abscessed and the infection is spreading so fuck the damn dentist, can't you find another one? Come here, come to my dentist. He's a nice Christian man and his hands aren't very large. And all the dental assistants are fat, they'll make you feel pretty. Why do I write such long comments? Why are our families such huge pits of cock? Why did my mother send me a message saying she wanted to adopt you? And then mentioning that she needed a daughter with a job? HAHAHAHAHA. :|
Okay this is too long. I love you. I have panic attacks about posts, too. Thus why it is all deleeeeted. But you, shower me with words because I miss you and the world and my vagina when it is not bleeding...and wearing dresses over jeans. And Food Network. ...and making you listen to a thousand different versions of mine and Joe's songs that no longer are in existence. And randomly yelling at you for no reason. And driving to McDonald's in the mornings so I could smoke and call you. okay really this is over. inglo is the verification word. anglo. saxon. you're welcome.
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