Last weekend I took myself on a 20 mile walking date and it was lovely, but this week I have been stressed and drunk and not writing. Monday I had to deal with horrible things and I think that has been following me around. Or maybe PMS. Or maybe just the ups and downs of myself.
The sun is out and it was so hard to pull myself out of bed this morning.
I’m surprised it took me as long as it did to realize that I’m feeling the way that I am. Because I’ve been mean. I’ve been thinking mean thoughts. And I usually, honestly, don’t! Part of my feminism and my philosophy of life is kindness and understanding that people come from different places. But this week I am mean. I am just so tired of a constantly dirty kitchen and recycled conversations and meaningless figures of speech. Not that I’m any better, except that I at least stop talking when I have nothing to say.
I feel like to be nice I should read fiction and run around in the sunshine and take note of beauty and smile and shit.
I feel like to be good I should take a vow of celibacy and quit drinking. (Not that I do either so constantly, or to excess, but they take up brain space as well as physical time.)
But maybe I just want to drink espresso scowling and read some esoteric theory texts and cringe outwardly as well as inwardly whenever people use the words “epic” and “lame.” Maybe I want to write a “poem” about my “feelings.”
Fuck the sunshine, guys. I’m furious.