Sunday, April 27

Medicinal High, How Are You?

There is three weeks worth of laundry stashed away in my closet. I’ve been contemplating whether or not to trudge down to the washroom and toss the clothes in for a spin. That, however would require venturing out of my room and down the stairs--- and with my current too-sick-to-move disposition, it’s not the most practical idea. I’m scraping the very backs of drawers and digging deep within the depths of my closet in search of something to wear. Perhaps I’ll show up to school in my froggy pajama bottoms and timber creek t-shirt.

I know my mum would be more than happy to wash my dirty clothes, but I will not enter back into the vicious cycle of codependence. She knows, as well as I do, that the relationship of a mother and daughter hangs solely in the balance of who washes whose undergarments. I will not be silly putty in that crazy woman’s hands anymore---- even if that means going to school in the nude!

Fine. I’ll ask her.

Meh. I hate laundry. I’m moving to a nudist colony so I never have to do it again. But first, I’ll have to gauge out my eyes. Then everything will be perfect.

Cynicism is not sexy. At least from my experience, boys don’t consider it an attractive characteristic. Oh well. We’re all going to die anyways.

He he he. See! I can still be funny…ish!

I never truly appreciated being able to breath out of my nostrils until now. I guess what they say is right: you never appreciate what you have until you catch a cold from an ungrateful little bint you spent he whole day caring for (referring to my sister here). I’m almost so taken over in sadness for such a loss that I may just write an ode to my nose.

Oh Nose, I will never chop off
Your pug shape will remain the same
No matter how the trends scoff
As the days go by and the seasons change name.
Friend, foe, when stuffy I’ll blow
The snot out of you
And breath freely again
There is no distance I won’t go
To try and help you through
You are my best friend.

Yeah…that basically took all my energy, so…goodnight.


P.S. Stuff it.

No comments: