Winter Discontent

Tonight’s that part where you’re so sick, for four days now, and the laundry isn’t folded and it’s been two days and your throat itches…on the OUTSIDE…and your hair needs a haircut so bad but it’s so expensive and there’s no time, NEVER ANY TIME FOR ANYTHING OR ANYONE OR EVEN TO WATCH THAT THING I WAS GOING TO WATCH, WHAT WAS THAT THING, and your car makes that horrible noise when you drive above 55 and it makes you panicky and blotchy that someone will slide into you and crush you into the concrete divider while you wait for help when it breaks, whatever that thumping is, and someone yelled at you at work and you want your Dad to wait in a dark alley and beat the person up but he’s been dead for 25 years, he hasn’t threatened anyone since that one teacher all those years ago – ok two teachers but totally different circumstances and then you pull off the. very. last. paper towel and check and double check and realize there are no more, and you dissolve into tears. Phleghmy, coughing tears, not even Laura Dern ugly face crying, but more pathetic and shitty, as you think about when will you have time to get that cyst removed from your leg, or your wrist, and OMG it’s mammogram year and that thing on your tooth and who knows when the last Pap was and do I get that screw put into my tubes this year or what and how the EVER LOVING FUCK are you going to run a race in two weeks if you’re drinking bourbon with honey and lemon for your damned fucking shit fuck never-ending cold every night. Friends who banded together to buy you a turkey because you can’t afford one this year makes you cry harder. And people you love who are far away and never available when you need them to be, and more pathetic crying and blowing out the mass of goddamed yellow hatred of people from your nose and neti pots and decongestants and humidifiers and cough drops. And crap sleep and Who Fucked Roger Daltry and you can’t even get any goddamned REST when you SLEEP, WHAT THE ACTUAL.

When you’re so desperately in love and hate with everyone around you that you want to punch a stranger and then grab the next one, pin them to the wall and kiss them fiercely, like they’ve never been kissed, hard and soft all at once and suddenly pushing them away just as soon as they begin to like it, shouting, “THIS IS CLEVELAND, FUCKER!”

I can’t take anyone else being nice to me, or I will break and dissolve like the thin, pathetically weak ice over the pond at my death-dark apartment complex tonight, beautiful until you touch it, covered with goose shit and stagnant. I can’t take anyone else being mean to me or rejecting me or chastising me, or I will go to such a dark place, I will never come back and nobody will ever hear from me again. They might not even know I was really here.

Or was I.


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