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...

I've accepted that I probably have best friends to whom I am not the best friend. Both in my acts and placement. I don't let a lot of people in, and the ones that gain entry don't always like what they see. I want so badly to be the close relationships type. My closest relationship is to the feeling of the city. Not this city. Just the height and density of a city. I have been going out running in the evenings, which is something I used to enjoy. It's strange to find things that you used to enjoy. Things you dropped when you lost control. So, I've picked up running, and I realized that the trail winds toward the lights downtown. Just like the trail in Austin. And I wonder if this is true of all cities. That everything you want gravitates toward the center. Not just the high-rises that store boring people in boring offices doing tech-y things I only think are boring because I don't understand them, but the density of all those buildings. Is the center of our ...

Pain floats. Aches travel streams of nerves, through muscle, and bone with no known origin. It will disappear just as mysteriously. Maybe it's because I haven't had much to eat. It's probably stress. It could be boredom. I would not put it past the tissue and marrow to revolt for no better reason than a lack of appreciation and entertainment. They never get any exercise. They're frequently torn and held in poor positions. I can't fault them. I smell peanut butter. I'm pretty sure that's the first sign of a stroke. Maybe I should have taken the stronger anxiety pills. ***************************** Every day I say that the next day I will do better. I make a little promise that I know I will break. The next day is never different. The next day I do not do better. The next day is very similar to the day before and I am inevitably in my underwear eating spoonfuls of Nutella like an Onion article. I play Tinder roulette with no intention of talking to anyone...

Sad people listen to sad music. It's fun to wallow. It's cathartic. Contrapoints went over this recently. I don't remember what she said because I have a very bad memory and I miss the point for the aesthetic. I mostly remember her singing Hello Darkness My Old Friend. I don't think she actually discussed sad people and sad music in depth...but like I said, I'm shallow and I'm in it for the lewk. I wasn't that into the lewk this episode, so I remember even less. So much of this is half-jokes to make myself seem desperately unappealing, you know. I find myself wholly unappealing and this is just one long unnecessary advertisement making the case for that fact. In essence. There's other stuff, sure, but at the end of the day it's a story about cannibalism and suicide through the coercion of a lover into drowning me. If I were more literate it would be all angst and ultraviolence. Drink the milk and kill, children, because our rich daddies don't ...