Why I drink: 

I was an accident.  When my mother found out she was pregnant with me at 42 she was devastated.  This used to hurt my feelings when family would mention it, but now I really feel bad for her.  I ruined her life.  She’d already married a selfish so and so who was of the “the kids are for the woman to deal with” generation but he stuck around for the free cleaning, shopping meals and companionship as it suited him.  Now she’s dead and he’s devastated because there’s no one to boil eggs for him.   I’m less than sympathetic and this means I am not as nice of a person as I once thought I was. 

I was neglected emotionally yet still managed to be somewhat spoiled and raised to be more or less useless. I’m co-dependent.  I’m spineless.  I am sick and tired of struggling with weight gain.  Up and down up and down up and down.  I’m incurably selfish. 

I just want to get some writing done.  But I’m a slave to others.  I have to be available AT ALL TIMES.  I don’t want to be.  Mothering and looking after stuff requires selflessness.  I’m really fucking struggling with that one.

Be available. 

Be useful.

Come and see us.

Give us the pleasure of your company.

Listen to me.

I need attention.

Be on tap.

Let us see the kids even though we’ve treated you like one dimensional property that belongs to our family/social set and once you spoke out we now hate you and you are dead to us and when the fuck did YOU get an opinion that didn’t completely align with ours?  How dare you!  Now shut the fuck up so we can play happy families because your kids are adorable. 

No, you can’t be in a bad mood or having a bad day because I need you to be on tap for when I’m having a bad day.  Because my bad days are more important.  

Fuck this.  Fuck womanhood.  Fuck coffee mornings and shopping.  Fuck beauty salons and inane chit chat.  Fuck breakfast TV.  Fuck celebrity gossip. Fuck weight watchers and drinking tea at 8pm.  I hate all of that shit.  I always have.  Christ, it’s boring.  Fuck, I’m hungry.  

Yeah, my greatest sin is eating too much chocolate….ha….whatever. 

I honestly am at a point now where reading MM romance is strangely liberating as it’s free of the screwed up heterosexual dynamic.  You can get to the core of love, romance and intimacy without any of the fucked up power dynamics between men and women and all the bull shit that goes along with traditional marriage. 

There is the pig asshole to end all pig assholes in the White House and most of the people I’m related to think that’s awesome.  His beautiful trophy wife did not get together with him out of love.  But it’s all good because they are straight and she is hot and he proves that in America you can be a lying, ugly piece of shit but as long as you’re white and moneyed you can have whatever and whoever the fuck you want.  Bring on the porn star style blonds with smoky eye makeup and nice tits! Oh, I can hear the sensual gagging and gulping noises already.   I’m the president…oh um yeah…Jesus and church and God and family, etc. etc.

Eat it, Obama with your marriage based on actual love and your compassion and that other evil foreign stuff.  You are intolerant to Christians…I have a right to be a bigot.  This is America! Yeah…that’ll learn all you “educated” libtard snowflakes.  That’ll show you for making me feel insecure.  Ha.  

My point is everyone and everything hurts and how on earth can the silence be so deafening while I am being carved up inside?

Your time is mine.

Your heart is mine.

But you stay the fuck out of my head.  Stay out.  You don’t know the terrain and you never will.  It’s for me to figure out. It’s the one thing that’s always been mine.  You don’t get access. 

This is nothing.  This is a drop in the ocean.  This is a cover of a cover of a cover. 

A poorly done, indulgent whim.  Nothing.  This is nothing.

So leave me the fuck alone.  Don’t shush me.  Don’t say how dare you.  It’s your turn to shut the fuck up. 

–           Happy Monday.  Where’s the Tylenol?