In my sleep, I was composing and singing:
I’ve got one hand out of hell
and my nails in the dirt
I took so long to get out
I took so long to stay hurt…
It had a terrible country sound to it, come to think of it. Ugh.
So I’m looking at today. Duchess would not rest after 8 AM, nor would she poop – she took it upon herself to jump into the fire pit where there are nails, and start rooting around. I didn’t want to be the neighbor screaming out at her puppy so I threw on the flip flops and marched through wet grass (cause beating her ass is that much better – just kidding) when she bolted with a piece of charred wood in her mouth. Naturally I’d left the door open and she ran right in and dragged the ashy mess across my new carpet.
Now she’s retrieving our shoes, bothering Gigi, etc etc. I don’t have what it takes, today. I just don’t.
I’m reading Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which is going really slowly. I’m not digging the old style even when it incorporates flesh-eating unmentionables. Leave it to me to be unable to appreciate a classic. Maybe it’s just this crap mood.
The blockbuster rental that showed up in my mail is some newer Rob Schneider movie. It’s one thing to throw iffy shit into your queue than to actually HAVE one of the crappers in your hands. I did it out of some odd loyalty to the Adam Sandler clique, but am now regretting the decision. Rob, maybe we just have to face the fact that you’re a Loser.
Okay, I’m sorry. Fuck you, I’ll watch it. Just not right now.
Could be worse. At least I haven’t officially screwed my Special Day, as my friend Nick the Twin has. I was just laughing to myself recently, how he went through our calendars some time ago, marking his "half birthday" in them. The result was disastrous; people were unable to recall the initial date in November as the real deal or his cute little "half birthday", and so, did not recognize the day at all! What a backfire! Can you imagine, having to blow the trumpet on your own occasion (as you realize the fanfare has died down to nothing) to receive a mere, "Isn’t that your half-birthday or something?"
"NO! God I wish I’d never started that," he admitted. That’s too funny. I not only give myself Birthday Month but there is the entire season of Autumn which I have convinced myself is in celebration of the Great Dame. And Nick can’t even get his damn birthday recognized.
But back to self-loathing. For the past two days I’ve really just shut off. I ran like a machine during the day and then came home and vegged out, neglecting the mail, contacts, responsibilities, etc. It was just two days but it added up. And I still don’t want to do a damn thing. It’s hard to get moving. A feeling of sleepiness seems to cloud my head all afternoon long. Hating this.
It’s my season, yo. I should be awake and shit. Celebrating. Or is it that I celebrated too hard for the past two nights? After all, by "vegging out", I mean to say that I went out and spent money I barely had to get loaded and lose myself in temporary euphoria.
"I don’t know," Guy tried to steer the ship, "we did just go out, last night."
But he is not the captain.
Trying to stay clean. Trying to focus. But I keep pulling Courtney Loves. I show up at work and my lipstick is all smeared, and I’m wearing some weird, satin nighty for a shirt.
In my head.
My lipstick is all smeared, in my head. And my nails are mentally dirty from having climbed out of hell with a bad song.