As per usual, I\’m much better at taking care of other people\’s problems than my own. I should be a counselor; my life is a disaster, which makes me seemingly perfectly suited to fix everyone else\’s bullshit. Why do we operate like this? What the hell?
I work damn well under pressure, and that\’s the problem. Without the pressure I just don\’t bother. Will can\’t handle pressure at all, and so we are always butting heads. When everything is going to shit, I am loving it. When everyone else is going nuts over one thing or another, I\’m the one who ends up pulling it together. Goddammit.
I had my biopsy today. It\’s funny, because the test itself didn\’t hurt. What hurt, as usual, was the extraction of the speculum. My body tenses so hard around the damn thing, that despite never remembering to do my Kegel\’s, my cunt simply refuses to give up anything that is stuck into it. That\’s partially why I spent a good deal of the car ride home cat calling at Will that the cancer in my cunt is going to get tired of being poked at and will eventually just consume his prick. For some reason, he doesn\’t find all these cancer jokes to be the least bit funny. Personally, I think they\’re FUCKING hilarious. Fucking, ha ha, get it? Yah, pretty lame. But that\’s okay because the upside of cancer is three fold: I\’ll get a free hysterectomy and won\’t have to worry about accidental pregnancy anymore, my cervix will be surgically removed so I won\’t have to worry about painful sex when a big phallus crashes against my cervical wall anymore, and of course — and here\’s the best — everyone knows that when you have cancer you look like shit, which gives you the excuse to wear tons of gaudy make up and have an outlandish wig collection. I miss wearing wigs and dark purple eye make-up to the grocery store. Little old ladies have it good. So do cancer patients. I have decided this, and nothing anyone can say will dissuade me.
In all seriousness, though, my test results come back in a week. I get to call long distance from Brisvegas to find out the dilly. Whatever the outcome, much revelling will need to be done. And in all honesty, my cooch hurts like fucking hell right now, and I\’m bleeding iodine and coffee grounds. MMMMMMMMM. That\’s some munchalicious breakfast right there.
I\’m looking at classes for spring semester II. I know I\’m a humanities fag, beyond that, I can\’t fucking figure out what to study anymore. I don\’t know what to do anymore. I have grand visions of throwing a bunch of underwear, some tshirts, and soap into my backpack and hitting the road with the cliched five dollars, a notebook, and a pencil. I miss being 15, eh, Jam? All that youthful determination to do it all has melted away into a staunch determination to just get by and try to not fuck anyone over or fall apart in the process. Still seems like a lofty goal on some days. Some days I can\’t even figure out how to get my waterproof mascara off without pulling out all my eyelashes. If competence is out there, I am sure to continue to allude it for awhile longer.
At some point I\’m going to talk about love but I\’m not ready yet.