Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Whiny McSnivel

Lying on my couch, my face pressed against the back of the couch, a pillow over my face, on top of the heating pad, on top of the warm damp cloth of my face, I ponder the level of whininess I have achieved.

Snivel, snivel, whine, snuffle, I had crap I wanted to do today. I do not have time to have the headache from hell. Who the fuck does my doctor think he is going on vacation? What does he think he is some kind of world famous maxillofacial surgeon or something? Oh, wait he is. This is my own damn fault. I need to chill out. I have to be a good little citizen and take my allergy meds ALL THE TIME. I have to use my mouth guard so I do not feel like I have an ice pick lodged in my skull after I have been grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw while I sleep. I’m a dork. Oh this hurts so much, I have not been in this much pain with this for so long, I thought I had “gotten over it” or something.

I am such a bitch, if I were a nicer person, I would have a husband by now, and he could come and take this cloth, and make it more mushy with some more warm water. He would make me some tea because I would marry a nice man who would make me tea especially if he had a nice ass too. My ex boyfriend had a nice ass, he knew how to make tea too come to think of it, but he was a fucking dumbass. What the hell crack was I on dating him anyway? I could not stand to listen to him talk, it was just like the teacher in Peanuts, wah, wah, wa, wa, wah.

Oh man, what was that noise? What the fuck did that Girly Kitty break now? Geez, I wish those fucking cats could make some tea. How come they can’t do stuff for me? They need to get a job to pay for all the crap they break. And Mon Petit Amour tries to play all innocent, you are not fooling me mister, I know who pees in the tub you fuck. Do I pee on your stuff, huh? Do I, you furry little ingrate? Oh, my tiny lovey kitty, you heard Mommy talking to you huh? I’m so glad you don’t speak English. Mommy’s sorry, she loves you Mon Petit Amour, you’re a good little furry peepee maker. Mommy will get up and give you a treat.

Oh crap, I can’t get up. I need to throw up now. Dammit. I can’t even move, when I move I feel sick. I don’t want to throw up on myself, and die in my own puke like that dude from AC/DC. OK, if I stay still, maybe I can not puke. Oh, the phone. I hate the phone. Who is calling me now? Oh, cool it is a real company with a real job wanting to interview me. I hope I spoke English and did not sound too retarded. I must sound weird; I am in so much pain right now. I hope I feel better by the time I go to the interview.

I hate this fucking show. I cannot believe I am crying because I knocked the remote off the couch. Oh, here is the volume thing. I will mute it. That is good. Oh, now my head is throbbing less. I wish I could sleep. I am so tired. I am going to drag myself to my bed. I love my bed. It is nice and comfy in here. I love all these blankets. It is nice and dark and quiet in here. The kitties followed me. Girly kitty is sitting on my feet; they are getting nice and warmed up. Oh, Mon Petit Amour is such a nice kitty. He comes to sit with me. He is licking the tears off my cheeks. I bet if he had thumbs he would make me some tea.

1 comment:

Plain(s)feminist said...

Aw....I really hope you're feeling better.