Back at work after a fruitful week off full of overindulgence, performance and sleep...marvelous, magical sleep.
In a better mood now. It's amazing what the full moon and menses do to you. This morning I woke up and thought, "OK, unless the new Nazi pope used his dark powers to make me immaculately knocked up, I'm not pregnant. If that then is the case, how can I be having a fucking miscarriage?!" Oh, extremely heavy periods! That make you think you're perhaps giving birth to a stillborn! Fun times!
And while we're at it: there's nothing like taking a shower and realizing that you're reenacting "Psycho"*, starring you and your hyperactive uterus! The bathroom looked like a crime scene. Me? No, I don't mind scrubbing the floors down with Lysol at 7:45 am, naked but for a sodden towel. I'm Irish, it's in our genes. Hearty stock, fit for cleaning, breeding and- quite evidently- bleeding. Ba-dum-dum-CHING! YOU'RE WELCOME!
Someone at the office STOLE MY CHAIR while I was gone. I'll fix you.
*not in any way a reference to the shitty, unnecessary Van Sant re-make.
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2 comments:
I put down the hotdog to make room for the six helpings of Skittles, Thin Mints, Popcorn, and Twizzlers. Who went into a diabetic coma upon heading to bed....?? This one.
You forgot about the plain and peanut M&Ms.
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