Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Primal Metaphysical Seething

I hate the PMS excuse.  It doesn't hold the weight that it should.  Like when you hear someone say 'I'm PMSing' you discretely roll your eyes.  The more important thing to do is bring your hands into prayer position, bow slightly, and back away slowly.  If you look this deadly being in the eye, notice the intense fire that burns, and pray to her like she is the goddess of fire.  Maybe she will let you pass.

 I think another renaming is needed.

Let's put it in list form, and the name should come naturally....

Right now I feel like stabbing someone.  And curling up into a little ball to cry.
Roid rage has nothing, but because there has got to be an accompanying surge in adrenaline, I should go to the gym and try to bench a box full of Prozac.
I need a mental health day.  You know, like people that have real jobs take when they want to burn the office down.  But I stay at home with my kids, so I guess it's time to pull out the marshmallows because this pile of twigs that we usually call a house is about to get torched.
And I need new shoes because the tread is down to the nubs and I plan on hiking a few mountains in them so when I slip and break my leg, I'm going to take them off and launch them into the woods as hard as this Prozac benching bitch can manage.  And when they beam a bear in the mellon and she gets pissed because the shoe then hit her cub so she comes to rip me apart... well lets just hope I'm having this same hormone surge so that I can tear her up and peel her fur off so I can wear it like a cape as I duct tape my broken leg back together and run out of the woods.  I'll eat her heart raw, then leash her cub and take it home as a new pet.
And that's not even a list, but I don't care because the pulsing in my veins wants someone to say it isn't a list so that I can scream for a reason.
But right now I don't need a reason to scream, when do you ever?!
My eyes are in fast forward and I feel like the walls are spinning like a teenager on x.
If you don't read this in fast forward, like E.E. Cumming writing about greasedlightning, the point is gone.

And that makes me sad.

So I'm going to go sit in my prison issue rocking chair and cry.

Its been one of those days.

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