So, my dear readers and friends, I’m gonna let loose on YOU! I’m one of those people that keep pushing all the petty, moderate and ginormous annoyances into a lovely, poisonous stew that simmers and bubbles for a long while until … it EXPLODES!!! And leaves you gasping for breath, crying, covered in noxious green, chunky goo. That’s how I roll, folks.
I want you to sit down, shut up and hold on for the ride. Here’s what all the thoughts in my head look like:
This ain’t gonna be pretty. It probably won’t make much sense – stream of consciousness, ya know. But I’m going to let it out. Warning: DO NOT TRY TO COMMENT WITH LOGIC!!! It will be ignored. My rants have nothing to do with logic. If I were logical, I wouldn’t be arguing with myself all the time or trying to corral thoughts zipping around my head like deaf bats on crack. These are three of the combustible thoughts that I was able to catch today.
#1. After many years of “sex as a chore,” I ventured out to find “fun” sex. It was during this time that Mulder had done something that shoved me off the edge right into the abyss. I hated, despised, disrespected, ignored and generally had no use for Mulder. I started reading blogs, articles, fiction, fantasy, medical journals , memoirs, etc. on sex. I discussed it with cyber-friends because I have very few RL friends. I bought my first vibrator and started to masturbate. Oh! BABY, I LOVED it!!! I discovered what I really like and need to orgasm. I could make myself cum with my fingers or the Rabbit. I started to see myself as sexy, desirable and interesting – not a fat, dull, middle-aged woman. As things progressed and I sunk deeper into the abyss, I sought out medical treatment for clinical depression. This came with medication and therapy. I doubt the therapy has had the same effect on my overall ability to achieve orgasm but I’m pretty sure the medication does. I still have to take medication because I’m s-l-o-w-l-y climbing out of the abyss and it’s got slippery walls. Is it the Wellbutrin I take for depression? Is it the Paxil I take for panic disorder? Is it the Lisinopril for blood pressure or the Lipitor for cholesterol? Whichever the fuck it is, it’s pissed me off. My clitoris is dead and my g-spot nonexistent. If Mulder, Art or any prospective “dates” tried to make me cum with just their tongue of fingers, they’d be walking around with nubs mumbling incoherently. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! I have to buy batteries in bulk because all my vibrators get so much use. I’m surprised THEY haven’t blown up or shorted out because they are “on” for so freakin’ long. Dammit!
#2. I’m tired. I’m tired of working, tired of stupid people, tired of traffic, tired of exorbitant gas prices. Just plain fucking weary. My boss is a good boss but he thinks everyone in the office should be, “like a family.” I’ve got my own real family and that’s quite enough for me. There is not one person in that office that I would choose as a friend let alone want as a family member. *Sigh* My co-worker that sits not three feet from me is like Martha Stewart, Betty Crocker, Mary, your nosey next-door-neighbor and mother all rolled into one. She prays for me. S.H.E. P.R.A.Y.S. F.O.R. M.E!!! She refuses to recognize that Mulder and I are divorced. She wants me to eat stuff, all the fucking time. Trust me, I can miss a few meals without any lasting effects on my body. She knows everyone’s name, what job they do, and all their business. You know, their life history business. I couldn’t care less about any of it. I don’t like to talk much less talk about random work people that don’t interest me in the least. Although I respect her desire to lead a “good Christian life.” With a strong belief in God, etc. She doesn’t respect my wishes NOT to be prayed for and that I have God issues and prefer NOT to have religious education during work hours or EVER for that matter. My small consolation with this is she hates swearing so I make sure I swear a lot and say, “FUCK!!!” as many times a day as I can.
#3. Having an argument in my head with the 90% bitch Dust Bunny and the 10% nice Dust Bunny about a guy I’ve been talking to. He so totally does NOT get the whole “Friends with Benefit” arrangement. He said that was what he was looking for because he’s been hurt several times. What he said and what he says are at two ends of the universe. I don’t want another full-time man. I don’t want to be someone else’s mother or constant companion. I definitely don’t need another person looking to me to be their entertainment, their problem solver or plaything. Mulder and I are trying to work out a satisfactory arrangement that will make us both happy with our new selves. This is work. Trust me, friends. Most days are difficult. (I’ll leave you with that right now. The Mulder and me situation is an ongoing story and I haven’t really even given you much to go on about that yet.) This man I’m talking to, comments, suggests, taunts, teases, berates, whines and generally gets on my last nerve. But here’s the rub – the evil Bunny wants to tell him to, “Fuck off, Jack!” but the good Bunny doesn’t want to hurt him. I DON’T WANT TO HURT SOMEONE I’VE NEVER LAID EYES ON! How fucking messed up is that?
By the way, have y’all seen Amy Winehouse lately? Isn’t she the most pitiful excuse for a human being? Who or Whatever is responsible for creation of the species certainly does have a wicked, warped, twisted sense of humor.
I have more but I think I’ll let it rest tonight. You’re all probably bleeding from your eyes right about now anyway.