Some mornings I lift my head off of my fluffy pillow, wipe the sleep from my eyes, look out at the beautiful sunrise in the gloriously clear and vast sky and think…
EVERYTHING IS SHIT.
This is not a post for optimists.
Normally, I’m not sure which religion I ascribe to…optimism, pessimism, cynicism, realism, alcoholism…But I would have to say that on the whole I am a decent mixture of all of them. If I was a cocktail I would be 2 parts optimism, 1 part pessimism, 1 part cynicism, 2 parts realism, and alcoholism…? Well, I think the fact that my metaphor is based on a cocktail speaks volumes. But once in a while all my negative thinking rallies together, starts a revolution in my brain and starts effing with the hardware up there…
I’m out of toothpaste this morning? Well, F@#$% you Crest! And your mother!!
The barista at Starbucks gave me Skim instead of 2%? Is she trying to say something?!
I ripped my tights on an exposed screw? Who put this f%^&*ing screw here?? Was it you, Joe?? What about you, Betty!? I see you giving me the stank eye!
I ran out of gas halfway to work and I’m already running late? Who didn’t fill up my f@#%ing car?? Well, who drove it last?!? Oh…me. Well, f@#%^ me!
I feel slighted by some ass-faced goon I shouldn’t be wasting my time with anyway because he’s rude/5’2”/6’11/unfeeling/married/smelly/pervy/douche-y/grumpy/doopey? What the f@#$%, Woo?! Why are you perpetually attracted to b-holes!?
And when I’m in a mood like this there is very little I can do. All the usual forms of therapy utilized by 20-somethings fall short of solving the problem.
Drinking: I get angrier and start a fight with some 11 year old on the street who looks at me funny until I realize they just have a lazy eye.
Eating: I eat way too much and literally don’t stop because then I will have to confront said eating and then I hate myself for the hours of gym damage control I’m going to have to go through. To deal with that I fight with the same 11 year old.
Hook-ups: I am too cynical and moody to believe that anyone would actually want to be around me so I get aggressive and pick a fight mid flirt. There’s a lot of fighting going on…
Actual Therapy: Well, maybe this one would work…
All I really can do on days like this is lean into it. Because what else is there? I put on my Scooby doo pajamas from the seventh grade, drink wine straight from the bottle, and cry over diary entries I wrote Freshman year of high school where I’m just discovering the word FUCK and use it with unearned aplomb. Thought it is a word I’m obviously quick familiar with now.
It is all about just admitting the fact that for the day I am this:
Adventures of TootsieWoo 