Look everybody, I finally got a book written about me! It’s about damn time.
Wow. It has been a hell of time for me these past few weeks, and “hell” would be an amusingly appropriate metaphor, as the firey bowels of the netherworld seem to have been the most prevalent topic on my mind. I spent a lot of time this week immersed in subjects of the occult, the bizarre, the strange. I like to feed on news of the paranormal much like a mosquito likes to siphon the putrescent blood of the diseased. I ingest it greedily, then it festers in my brain for a while until it transmutes into a giant tumor of dread and paranoia. This tumor of terror will continue to grow and metastasize rampantly throughout my head, heart, and gut until any prognosis of clear and rational thinking is completely eradicated. This is probably not a good afternoon pastime for someone like myself who is prone to bouts of paranoia and illogical thinking. But since when has that ever stopped me? Sometimes the worse I know something is for my health and sanity, the more likely I am to engorge myself with it.
I think that is called ’self-destructive behavior’. Hmmpf. I may have to look into that one.
Thank God I found myself a new job and I am back in the saddle again. I was off for about 3 weeks after leaving Matt’s. Although it was a good move for me and produced a much needed change in my life, the way it all went down really shoved me right back down into {ANOTHER! YAWN!!!!} massive shame spiral that plummeted me down to depths of darkness I hadn’t seen in at least 2 or 3 days prior to stumbling into this particular spiral. Yeah, I was feeling pretty low.
*Helpful Hint* Really depressed people really probably shouldn’t read Sylvia Plath, or listen to Sylvia Plath reading Sylvia Plath. Yeah. Probably not a good idea.
Oh Sylvia. How I love you. You are the emotionally imbalanced lunachick’s ultimate muse. I’m not sure which is more facinating-the darkly bewitching madness of your writing, or the even crazier truth behind your life. And has anyone ever told you, that the way you read those poems of yours is kinda creepy, too ? I never realized your voice was so…well,haunting. Yeah, it is, really. It really is. I got sucked into watching some clips about you on YouTube and heard the audio of you reciting “Daddy” and “Lady Lazarus” among others. Really brilliant, I have to hand it to you, but as if you and all your damn insanity and suicide and creepy husband Ted Hughes and all weren’t enough to disturb the bejeezus out of me, the malfeasant sound of your voice as you pound out word after word with such an angry froth…it was just downright diabolical. Don’t do that next time, ok, Sylvia? Try to lighten up a little bit, you’re not the only one who gets bummed out, you know. You don’t have to be such a downer. The way you drone on, it’s enough to make someone stick their head in an oven and turn the gas up, and you don’t want that to happen, do you? No, of course not, because gas is really fucking expensive right now, whether it’s for your car or to light your oven to kill yourself.
Try looking on the bright side once in a while, maybe catch an old episode of the Brady Bunch. Especially the ones where the kids sing “Sunshine Day”.
See! Those crazy Bradys always bring a little sunshine into my day. That is, until I notice how thin, popular and pretty Marcia is…and I’m not! Everybody always pays attention to Marcia, and never to me. Marcia always gets the boys, Marcia always gets good grades, Marcia never ever has a bad hair day, Marcia’s poop smells like Chanel No. 5. FUCK MARCIA! MARCIA! MARCIA! MARCIA!
Wow. Gotta get that neurosis of mine under control…
