Random neuron firing, lame philosophy, literary pontificating, movies, sex, clothes & other femme stuff

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Rain, dawn

I'm not happy. For the past week or so I've been letting myself fall even more apart (into more pieces? further? spread out over a greater area?) than usual. I feel bloated, ugly, horrible, inept, clown-footed, useless, loathsome. Did I mention depressed? I weigh as much as a prize ox. I weigh forty pounds more than I did when Greta came back from France five years ago. And I can't stop ingesting for anything. This morning I felt sicker than I can remember feeling in years. I awoke with an awful hangover and tried assuaging it by drinking a gallon of milk and a bottle of fuzzy water. I was a water balloon sloshing within it a mercury balloon. I felt like I was going to give birth to quints the way John Hurt did that eponymous alien. I honestly thought I might be dying (you know, like those people do who drink too much water after a marathon) and decided, fuck it, it would solve a lot of problems, most immediately my feeling sick.

Greta & ended up sleeping all day, until dinner time. Now I can't get to sleep. She has no problem sleeping pretty much around the clock. I guess maybe she's more depressed than I am. Or maybe better at medicating. Speaking of --I haven't taken any prescribed medication in over a week. Or put on any make-up. Or scent. I smell bad. This blanket smells bad. The kitchen smells bad. As does life, in all its appallingly tedious variety.
must be something in the air...
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