 Hatred! |
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Right now I am preoccupied with what to do with my animals when I go to Florida with my family. I think the cats can kick it on their own for a few days with a continual feeder and waterer even though thoughts of the overflowing stench of the litterbox upon my return alarm me profoundly. I've solicited friends to pop in and check on them once a day so they don't think the human race has abandoned them entirely. They've never been devoid of human contact for that long and I worry that they might worry themselves into simultaneous neurotic frenzies over the sudden absence of laps. The dogs are another issue entirely. My parents have a $50 gift certificate to the fanciest pet hotel in town which would cover less than half of their stay, but I'm tempted. I'm going to bring each of them there before deciding to make sure they like it. My mom regarded me quizzically when I told her this, but shit. Is that unreasonable? I think not. I'm excited to go to the beach, but I hate leaving them. HATE IT. I know, it's an "issue." This weekend I will see both Seabiscuit and Pirates if it kills me. I just want to sit in a cold dark theater and gorge myself on Milk Duds and undiet Coke. Perhaps it will alleviate some of this surliness plaguing me. I hate everyone. Also, yeah. Hatred. I have got to go buy myself a Speedo and some motherfucking goggles this weekend. I have go to think of some way to calm some of this seething rage, and I think swimming laps might be just the ticket. Right now I'm so full of rage that I am actually contemplating the purchase of a soccer ball to kick around my yard. What? Yes. Not to mention that I just started my period and am hence doubled over and feel like I might puke at any moment. I am consoling myself with a giant slab of turtle fudge from the market which is sure to make my stomach feel fantastic after Serop's for lunch. I do not feel like going out to dinner with an old high school friend tonight. Do not, do not, do not. But I never get to see him and I don't want to be a flake. He told me at the reunion that wanted to hear all about what happened with the nonwedding but I absolutely, positively do not want to discuss it. Fuck the nonwedding and the cowardly, lying bastard of a horse it rode out on. What is wrong with Roma Downey? She looks like she had the same plastic surgeon as that woman who wanted to look like a lion. J. and I are writing haiku about cramps right now. He was not seeming to grasp the enormity of my pain, so I instructed him: picture that your stomach is really your uterus and someone is alternately stabbing it with a knife and squeezing it to the point of strangulation. Now picture that someone is grinding the heel of his boots into your kidneys at the same time. And that is what cramps feel like. He responded that he was up all night after drinking old milk. Does he expect pity? Please! If I didn't know that my Felicity DVDs will be arriving later today, I'm really not sure if I could persevere.
© Copyright 2003 elb |
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