January 11, 2013
I Really Am A Drunken Snail
Uncle. UNCLE! UNNNNNNCLE!!!! Isn’t that the stupid word you scream to call off your torturers? Good Lord. I could not possibly be more sick of myself. I mean, for exactly how long can one be a ridiculous, lazy, whining asshole? Who is this person? And who shall I alert regarding this apparent body snatching?
I was once full of bad-assery. Quick-witted and courageous. A couger. Er, no that’s not right. I don’t want you guys getting any ideas here. No indeed. I was a leopard. Never met a leopard print I didn’t love. Hell, I’m just any old animal that runs fast (presently away from men) and is bossy and also a bitch and sort of queenly in the jungle. I was all ‘dat.
And now I’m a tree sloth. Or a drunken snail.
I’ve taken so many vitamins and supplements over the past week that I may have burned a hole in my stomach somewhere. Undaunted, I’m still wallowing in pills. Let’s see, two of these, a couple of these, gag, swallow, yuck!
I threw in the towel on my holiday diet weeks ago. The cookies are gone, the pies have been eaten. We’re back to brown rice and veggies and clean meat.
But it is dark as muthafacker outside, and I can’t stand it. I can’t spin the sun. If I were a single person, I would have gotten in my car and driven fast down a highway until I ran into the sun. Then I would have gotten out of the car, laid down on the hood, and just soaked up every drop.
Today I googled full spectrum lighting and treatment for Seasonal Affective Disorder. I couldn’t decide what to order on account of the brain snatching . Feeling confused and desperate, I scooped up little darling and bolted for the car during a tornado watch and a torrential downpour, and we headed for the hardware store. I didn’t see anything that said “full spectrum” so I bought the brightest natural light lumens I could find. I came home and lined up the lamps with no lamp shades on them and tried to pretend I was in Hawaii while I cleaned the kitchen. Little darling thinks I’ve gone mad. “What is dat?” he asked with his squinted eyes.
It’s mommy trying not to lose her shit during winter.
I suppose I should offer a disclaimer here. Because some of you will think I’m teetering on the edge of madness. The truth is my tolerance is zero. I’m a highly energetic person. So when I’m even slightly off my game, I loathe it. I’m having one of those stupid Oprah “Aha” moments right now this very minute. Because I know full well I need to allow myself time to be a slacker loser, and I should embrace it willingly without a bunch of blinding lamps everywhere. But I’m not in favor of this dormancy period. I don’t like being cooped up in the house. I don’t like cold and rain and fog and dark skies. I’m not really British. It’s just a fun way to talk. Gheez.
I finally started taking down the Christmas tree today. There’s an obligatory ornament holding a photo of Dave which I put high up, so as to inflict the minimal amount of torture during the festive season. When I took it down today, I looked at him and it was as if I had no fucking clue who he was. “God, who is this person?” I shouted silently to myself. I can’t believe you did this! I can’t believe this is our life! How did this happen?! And more importantly, who the fuck are you?!
Beware of those body snatchers! And keep your lights on, madpeople.
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