Who the fuck am I kidding? This is shaping up to be a Dorothy Parker month, and we’re only four days into it. I’m feeling all sorts of bitter, querulous and unkind – and it makes me all the more morbidly obsessed with overthinking whether I’m the actual problem. Some of my friends and family would disagree, but they’re likely the ones who are disagreeable to me right now. At least I know enough to step back and retreat from being the sort of bad company I would prove to be, while trying to avoid too much texting that will be mis-read and misinterpreted. It’s funny how only the texts that people find personally problematic with some element of their life that has nothing to do with me are the only ones that are read or responded to. There, take that sentence-ending preposition as an indication that I just don’t fucking care anymore.
It’s too early to be over this holiday season, and so I shall withdraw into myself, into my own quiet breathing – slowly in, slowly out – enjoying the only company that has always proved to be true. I know I made a promise not to be messy this Christmas, but fuck it, I lied. Some days I’m going to be a strong cup of black and bitter coffee, and I’ll want nothing to do with a tempering of your cream, your sugar, or your holiday fucking sprinkles.
Cold mess, hot mess, bold mess, shot mess – I’m done betraying my brilliance for good behavior.
Dorothy never did.
If I had a shiny gun,
I could have a world of fun
Speeding bullets through the brains
Of the folk who give me pains;
Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love.
But I have no lethal weapon-
Thus does Fate our pleasure step on!
So they still are quick and well
Who should be, by rights, in hell.
