Problematic

I was going to complain about talking to people on Bumble BFF and it's arguably worse to find yourself unable to carry on a dialogue with someone who is not trying to fuck you, but my air- conditioner is not working...so, being in Texas, specifically Houston, in the summer...this is obviously all I can think about. I'm going to die here. This swamp is slowly creeping into my house through the cracks in the windows and the doors. This place is a hell-hole. I take back making any attempts at pretending this is a livable environment. This is the cusp of global warming, people. We're going to have to start making the Dakotas work, and you can blame your parents and grandparents for not giving a shit and forcing us all back to Iowa. My brain is literally melting. It will soon resemble the swamp. I need to move to Chicago. I can buy thicker blankets, I can't buy less sun. I could shoot it down though. I don't know if anyone has ever considered that as our answer to

I hate defending Houston. I hate it. And I find myself doing it a lot. This is a recurring topic, I know. It's a recurring conversation. It's a recurring thought that Houston is like a little sister and only I should be able to hate her as much as I do. It's her misfortune that I grew up with her, because I'd probably like her if I didn't. There's too much history. Statistically, I think, I don't know because I didn't pass that class, there is more opportunity for a chance encounter with someone I never wanted to see again. As it is I have to hear names I'd rather pretend never crossed my path with more regularity than I can endure. Every boyfriend is a little Voldemort. Which is also a reference I don't like making, but I can't think of another person we all know shouldn't be named. Hitler, maybe? But that's too extreme. My pain is only like a fictional genocide. My pain is not the deep. I'm sorry. It's not even pain,

I slept most of yesterday through terrible cramps and back pain I don't normally associate with my periods. At some point, a long time ago, when I had an IUD in, I was told I had some cysts, but I am pretty sure they said it was because of the IUD. I was put on a low-dose birth control to try to regulate things. The IUD slipped and had to come out anyway. The point of this being that I think I'm going to have to go see a gyno soon and I am really unhappy about having to cover the cost. The specialist visit at the school will be $40...which is not a lot...but is a lot when you're constantly in the hole. I think about and over spend money all the time. It's my hobby at this point. I'm trying to make new friends. Which means new friend dates. And then there's the problem of old friends. And they all have kids and they all have birthdays this month. And I felt bad giving out more paintings. And I have my own party to throw with the friends I actually like. And o

I think starting my birthday off with the passage of a dead egg is very appropriate. I'm entering the span of a woman's life where the "last chance" to live out motherhood is a looming threat. So it has been a good reminder of my quickly deteriorating fertility and the plain fact that I don't ever want to take advantage of it. Welcome to 31. Only death and wasted potential reside here. It was a rainy day. Father's day. It happens often that my birthday and father's day must be celebrated at the same time. It's never occurred to me before that I could consider myself a little father's day gift. Like a Valentine's day or Christmas baby. I think Gilbert was a Valentine...but I also like to attribute romantic things to people to make them more interesting...so it's likely he wasn't that important. I don't think I know any other holidays- but I do have a friend who was born on 7/13 and I've always liked the idea of that. Mr. Luck