January 15, 2002
Fucksticks
I promise that I will not write two entries tomorrow.
Well, I promise that I will try not to write two entries tomorrow.
Kelsi made me feel about a hundred times better about my twelve-days-late scare when she laughed her ass off about it and my paranoia. Something about the fact that I'd rather have my heart cut out slowly with a spoon instead of being pregnant amuses her. That clearly seems like the lesser of two evils to me.
So that settles it. I simply have a chemical imbalance. If my body doesn't hurry the fuck up I am calling the doctor. I mean, I'm going to worry regardless about being pregnant. My body and my mind have been fueding for ages.
Mind: What the hell are you doing down there?
Body: Will you shut up? I am trying to watch X-Files. The Smoking Man is in this one.
Mind: Isn't it about that time? The X-Files is clearly in syndication. Take fucking five minutes out of your precious time and rag on.
Body: I'm too busy. In fact, we were both a bit busy some two odd weeks ago, if I recall correctly...
Mind: That was all you!
Body: Me? Me? I would've been doing something constuctive instead of wasting my time with that loser. That was my Buffy night.
Mind: I think he's cute.
Body: Yeah, well, what do you know.
Mind: I know that you're a fucking official psycho and there is no possible way I could be pregnant!
Body: That's what you think.
Mind: Kiss your own ass, you manipulative bitch.
So that settles it. My body is a fuckstick and I am worried despite.
It's a conspiracy against me, you realize.
astera at 11:01 p.m.