Sorry not to keep you more closely apprised of my activities over the past week, but you haven’t missed much as they have mostly consisted of NOTHING. Big fat NOTHING, with NOTHING on top and a side of NOTHING. SiC has been out having crazy drinking fun with the strange denizens of Kilburn and he probably has some wacky stories to tell, but this is my blog and not his, so you get to hear about NOTHING! Enjoy.
Life in the suburbs is a nightmare. I fear I am consigned for all eternity to rot in this inescapable Dantean underworld, surrounded by tortured shades doomed to endlessly mow the lawn or carpool shrieking hordes of demons to soccer practice. Oh woe!
But, ever the optimist (ha ha ha! Ha ha! Best joke EVER), I have determined to keep occupied, as the Devil finds work for idle hands. Like masturbating! So I engage myself daily in the following strict roster of activities:
1. Masturbating. (Oops!)
2. Moping.
3. Sulking.
4. Brooding.
5. Watching TV.
6. Hating TV. Enjoying very much, though, the French movie channel listings: Chez Big Momma II! Nounou McPhee! Heh.
7. Experimenting with my mother’s fancy salon face creams.
8. Breaking out.
9. Watching my leg hair grow. I am a married woman now and I can let myself go.
10. Reading Dickens like the Dickens. Nine hundred pages of fine print in less than a week! (“Dear Chuck – can I call you Chuck? You have a great many descriptive words in your vocabulary. Very, VERY many! Oh, ever so many! But here’s one you might want to think of adding to your lexicon: lugubrious. Think about it. Love, Robin!”)
11. Reading the entire archives of Go Fug Yourself. God bless those girls.
12. Working on my hypochondria. So far I have diagnosed myself with a fatal heart condition and an ouchy knee. And also I think I may be cursed? Or possibly possessed? (Voodoo hypochondria! Papa Gris-Gris thinks to himself, “Oh bother! Here come dat woman again. Always tinking she got da Evil Eye on her or sometin’. A waste of perfectly good chicken blood, she be.”)
13. Crying. Mostly to kill time, and also because laughing, if one is sitting alone in a room in a basement, makes one appear to be plotting.
14. Not sleeping. Why sleep when you can stare into the darkness and fret for eight hours? Much more productive!
15. Not eating. I’m working on a Romantic consumptive look. What’s a little misery, loneliness and anguish in exchange for visible hipbones? A small price to pay, that’s what!
So you see how I am industrious and also very brave in the face of adversity? I think this whole ordeal will be very character-building for me. Much more of it will build my character right into a fucking straitjacket.
Cheerio!