Spank the Monkey.
Dammit. For a Monday, today seemed quite astronomical. My personal life is hiccupping (and I'm not even sure if it's legal to make that into a verb. Should I not have doubled the P?) and I'm feeling a little bla. I think I need to throw on something hard and get it over with. Something that will decimate my eardrums and make me want to shoot milk out my eyes. (For the record, I just had an internal gag. Lit'rally. I sometimes wonder if I am the grossest person I know. Anddd I just strengthened the hypothesis. Again.)
Every time I sit Indian style on this bar stool, I have a fleeting glimpse of the stool breaking with me being unable to put my feet down and something metal inserting itself into some dangerous and unexplored orifice. Thank God it's only a fleeting glimpse or I'd need perma-xanax as much as I end up sitting Indian style on this stool. When school was starting, I made myself this terrific little niche in the corner of the living room. I thought I'd use it faithfully. It has two chairs that I could sit Indian style on and never worry about a metal pole ending up inside my rectum ... yet I sit here. At the bar. On the stool. Dammit. Did I say that for a Monday, it's been an astronomical day?
I can't quite get it together. Things are not looking great. I've been antisocial, keeping everyone an arm's length away for a few days now. I'm hoping to see boyfriend tomorrow, sex the shit out of him, and be on my happy way. Til then, I'll be finishing off "Carmilla." (Ahhh, if only I meant that lit'rally. That'd teach him to spend 96 hours at a time on the Xbox.) ;-)
Later, you with the evil grin.