Monday, January 29, 2007

I still hate a lot.

I'm going to have to keep posting because I think Tyler has officially entered the wonderful world of Oz (with the poppies) while I lay around in bed for days at a time, feeling depressed, reading bad Joyce Carol Oates novels, and eating Tic Tacs for lunch.

- I still hate breaking up. Why is this not getting one iota better?
- I hate ironing. You iron. Then you wear it. Then you have to iron it again! Why does it take so much more effort to iron something than to wear it? Why is ironing so unfair?
- I hate cigarettes. I say this as a person who has never officially been addicted but has smoked 16 of them, none of them alcohol-related, in the past week. And I may go stand in the 10 degree weather in a minute and smoke another one.
- I hate that I bought a couch a month ago and it still hasn't been delivered. Havertys of Fairfax? When I bought a couch from you, I didn't expect great design or quality or even a deal. But I did expect a couch. Because I bought a fucking couch. So where is my goddamn couch?
- I hate feeling like I've been run over by a car for 16 hours a day. I'm fine for the eight hours I'm at work and completely engaged. But the second I walk out the door of my office, I just want to lay down on the street and sleep forever. But instead I go home and I sit in my ugly gold chair (because I don't have a couch) and I lean back and pretend that it's possible that I could sleep even for a couple hours with the help of my so-not-working-these-days sleep aides. Benadryl and melatonin: What happened to you? I thought you were my friends.
- I hate my bangs. They're too thin and overgrown.

At least I have a hair appointment on Wednesday. Then maybe I'll stock up on some Nyquil and drunk dial Havertys.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

All of Joyce Carol Oates is bad, I HATE Joyce Carol Oates.