This is an email I sent to poeticgrin a while back. Forgive my language.



  • would like to knock the shit of the Wii versions of clueless dumbass and herself.
  • wants to rage against the machine but something within her is preventing her, forcing pressure to well up, and that’s never a good fucking thing.
  • is more than miffed.
  • is angry.
  • should let it go, but does not seem to have any knowledge of how to do that.
  • maladaptively wishes she had an ambien/benadryl cocktail. (She’s not creating another such cocktail with Lunesta.)
  • is tired of her goddamn knee aching.
  • is tired of her goddamn being aching.
  • is tired of being tired and so fucking goddammed disappointed.
  • would like to say fuck it to one and all and would most noteably enjoy saying that to her own self.
  • is sighing.
  • is mad that he sounded confused when she is the one confused, goddammit, and is offended that he then said in the course of the fucking conversation that he was trying to go back to where he came from early. Insult, injury, hurt feelings. Even though I was so close to not caring.
  • is embarrassed that in the span of an evening, she has been reduced back down to zero. And for that, she is unforgiving.