For Valentine's day, I bought Bridget a betta and I got a live plant to put in the bowl so that the little guy doesn't have to be so sad and spend all of his time sitting at the surface. I don't intend to explain the gift's symbolism.

Incidentally, the little fucker keeps slamming his head into the glass, trying to break through into the elusive elsewhere. Yet another reason why the fish metaphor works.

Perhaps this is sort of Chuang Tzu-esque what-is-reality? moment. Maybe I'm really a sad, little fish in a bowl, banging my head against the glass over and over and over again, only dreaming that I am living the life of a girl. If that's the case, this dream sucks.

People are really cruel because they lead you to believe that growing up is a really wonderful thing, and it's not. It's crap. And I don't just feel that way because there's no plant in my bowl. It's just one of those days and I just need to take some time to figure out what the fuck it is that I'm doing again. All this reevaluting is really wearing me out.

Oh fucking well

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