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| . | . | just fucking charming | . |
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I was just thinking about this damn cankersore that I've had for the last week that was so bad in the beginning that it made the right side of my face swell and that still hurts like a son of a bitch. And then I was thinking about how I'm really fucking tired even though I spent all afternoon laying around watching tv and taking short naps. And then I came to the conclusion that I probably had cancer. What the fuck? Nevermind that I've been getting cankersores ever since I could remember or that I only got three hours of sleep last night-- it's clearly cancer. Earlier when I was taking my trash, I was struck with a lightning flash fear of the possibility that I would find a body laying in the dumpster when I opened the lid. These anxieties are much along the line of my recurrent thoughts of tripping and busting all of my teeth out every time I step out onto the concrete platform outside the library or the way I envision myself falling over the edge of the stairs to fall four stories to the bottom. It's also much like the time I was laying on the couch with a pair of scissors by my feet and I had to get up and move because all I could think about was this damn pair of scissors tearing my vagina apart. I'm also coming off of a week of borderline insomniac sleep issues. I always feel a little crazy, but lately it's been more than a little. | . |