KD + PMS

Woke up this morning with a fat lip. And a fully developed cold. I was watching Annie Hall on my little portable DVD player, which was sitting on top of a pillow on my chest. I happened to breathe a little too deeply and it slid down towards my face. Due to the fact that my arms were securely tucked by my sides and under the covers, it toppled onto my lip. Et Voila! A fat lip. As for the cold, its been coming for a few days, and now its made a little home somewhere in my sinus cavity. So I’m over here, plegmy and watery-eyed and ravenously hungry. I want Kraft Dinner. And not the crap, powdery KD. I want that creamy one, with the gooey processed cheese in the metal-ish packet. Mmmmm….I would eat the whole box of it. Half with ketchup. And maybe some hot sauce. Unfortunately, to satisfy this monster craving would mean walking to the store. Which means getting dressed and going OUTSIDE. Geez. That just seems like waaaay too much work. Hey Scotty, I could really use a teleporter right about now.

I guess this laziness can be chalked up to the fact that I’m feeling under the weather. But it’s terribly frustrating. I mean, I hear myself. Hungry. Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Get up. Mhhmm, I hear you too. But the limbs just aren’t willing. So I guess I’ll just keep writing as my stomach eats itself, perhaps even swallowing me whole, leaving a greasy Ayesha-shaped mark on the ass of the chair. Which may not be an entirely BAD thing. Disappearing could be a welcome relief from all of this living crap. Don’t you ever get tired of doing this? Everyday. Maybe it would be nice to stop thinking, and just become one with the ether, huh?

Oh boy. Here we go.
PMS.

Yes, you heard me correctly. I just realized I’m about a week away from the ‘main event’ hence the complaints and procrastination. And for all you guys out there, just trust the words ok? I know you really have no way of comprehending this womanly affliction, and I would thank your lucky stars right now for your ignorance. After all, who in their right minds would want to be stripped of their childhood sometime between the ages of 9-14? Then spend the next 40-50 odd years as a slave to this cycle, where you really only get one week of freedom per month? And if you’re fortunate enough to become a mother, you get to push something like a 9-pound bowling ball through a whole no bigger than a quarter. But you know what the kicker is? When it’s all over and you think ‘finally, I am free!’, you’re left with the testosterone levels of a teenage boy. You grow a beard, lose your curves for new, bulgy ones (in all the wrong places) and basically look like an old chubby man. That’s just great. Thanks, God. Good lookin’ out.

I think its time to take that walk now.