A Litany (Oh Gawd, The Hormones)
I am just all hate-filled today. When I woke up, I was thirsty, and I hated that. Then, I found cat hair in my water on the night table, and I hated that. I hated that the hot water started running low near the end of my shower and that our new toothpaste leaves a sourish aftertaste. My eyebrows turned out uneven, so I overplucked them.
I even hated Oskar, that black cat there. He licked my toes and made a slurpy noise that I found grating.
I am out of popcorn. I want lemon-roasted potatoes, but I hate to cook. I have to go back down to the scary basement to get our clothes out of the dryer. My hand cream smells like gladioli, and gladioli stink. There is a whole bunch of floaty crap in my tea. I have gas. The lightbulb is burnt out in the ceiling fixture in our kitchen, but I am currently too afraid of standing on things like chairs to replace it, so now I'm going to have to do the dreaded cooking in the dark. My cuticles are peeling. I grew three new zits today. I need a haircut. It's cold outside. I have surgery this week. I need a long vacation. I am starting to look my age. Other people exist. My new jeans stretch out too much when I wear them. Cats shed and use litterboxes. We are out of cream for the coffee. I was stupid and didn't go outside today. I hate the guilt I am feeling for hating everything. Beds don't make themselves. Banks should be open on evenings and weekends.
Fine, I'll run downstairs and get the laundry. Are you satisfied?
None of our socks match up. I wish that the finch would just kick the bucket already. I have a headache. One of the cats puked on the laundry pile. Our television has terrible reception, even with the rabbit ears. Our telephone hums and makes conversation difficult. Why don't we always have a bottle of wine in the house? My neck is stiff. I just remembered that we have a terribly old eggplant withering at the back of the fridge. The lightbulb above me just burnt out now. We are going to end up living in the dark. One of my last two living houseplants is slowly sloughing off this mortal coil. Cheap paint was used on the walls before we moved in. Our computer speakers keep cutting out. I have more dishes to do. I'm hungry. My need to write poetry coupled with my sudden lack of ability is killing me. I am monopolizing the computer. My boobs hurt. Our bathtub is ridiculously shallow if it was actually intended for use by adults.
I am going to go get high on household cleaners, cook in the dark, watch television that looks like it requires 3D glasses, and hope that all the loose cat hair in the apartment gathers itself up and rolls away.