23rd
mars needs women.
I’m going to find whichever goddamn fairy that came into my room last night and sprinkled me with whatever dust it is you sprinkle someone with when you want their lungs to hate, you know, air, and I’m going to do horrible things to it. The fairy. Okay?
Ow.
Plus, you know, I’m already bizarrely sick, so doing the whole sick + ALLERGIC TO ACTIVITY REQUIRED TO KEEP ME ALIVE (breathing) is absolutely a joy. But I’m a go getter.
Of course, this also requires me to go actually walk around Target to try and find like five pounds of Claritin to imbibe. Plus every homeopathic remedy that’s ever been waved in front of my nose.
All I did was get out of bed this morning (and just barely). I did not plan for my body to become the main battleground of Eastern Vs. Western medicine. No I did not.
What else is funny about this is that nobody invited my actual fucking immune system to the party.
But that’s okay, because my nose is running and my decision making process has been turned over to my great grandmother Carmella. She’s doing a better job than I ever could and she’s been dead since 1985.
And that’s how I end up at Target, shivering for no good reason and sniffling while trying to count money so I can buy my damn Claritin.
Of course, to everyone else I just look like some fuck who’s crying to the underage girl at check-stand 8.
Happy Monday.
nathaniel j. laney