Unsurprising Self-Pity

The tears, they are plenty.

Let me count the ways:
1. I miss my mom.

2. I miss my best friend.

3. I am having a stumble with rollerderby in the form of a few bad practices and more than a few series bruises and a Type-A attitude in a punk rock ethos. These two things don't jive.

4. Hell's Angels? WTF? No. That's totally not fair. I asked for edge, not drugs, guns, and actual danger. While I have touched on the very edges of drugs, innocently but affectionately in college, I can't deal with guns being mixed with my fond memories of drugs. Guns are for hunting and We Don't Hunt People. Grrrr. This one is expanding and I'm really in he mood to explore it. Suffice it to say, I could dig it on a whole bunch'a levels but there's this catch that I don't know if I am medicated enough to chill out and get around. See, I don't care if you've read all the same beatniks I've read, if you have a great degree and a good job and Jason Lee just told me about a month ago that a dude like you would be my dreamboat. I don't know how to be myself all the time and you? You would require that and I? I would resent it or at least disappoint you sometimes by having a self that is not opposed to bending toward appropriateness for family, work, and dinner parties.

5. I miss my dad.

6. I am tired of being snapped at by people who I am helping. You know what? This actually IS your responsibility and you actually DO owe the money. I can make it all make sense for you so at least your reaction is tempered by obvious logic OR you can keep yelling at me and we can see how things roll from there.
But please stop putting me in uncomfortable situations with unreasonable deadlines.

7. If, at some point, I am able to NOT say "Once that is paid off then I can..."; if that day would ever come, I would indeed praise the Lord, openly and unabashedly.

8. Why isn't there any pulled pork BBQ in this town?

9. What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to give up sugar with my neighbor, Carrie. Idiot. I am salivating for candy now. Like, Sour Skittles and Nerd's Rope and Sprite sucked through Red Vines.
What was I thinking?
Candy Jones is laughing at me and I can't turn off her cackle in my head!
Leave me alone Candy!
I don't care about your needs. Your "needs" are fucking with my sports performance and with my skin, A-hole. Get your fucking "needs" from an goddamn orange, okay?
"Sarah loves cooo-kies, Sarah loves macca-roooons"
Yes, yes I do.
But Sarah officially knows how to body check a bitch, so Candy, I would back off if I were you. Things. Have. Changed.

You know... isn't 9 enough already? Is 10 like some magic number that is required when someone is making up any kind of list?
9 is what I have, okay?
So drop it.
I am fighting off the sad, sad fact that sugar is leaving my body and leaving me all alone in the world so cut me some slack, man.
It's very loney out here without Kit Kats.

Wait. I found a Number 10. John the Hot Baptist.

You are a such mother-fucker and you must be all messed up on speed. Because you hate yourself so much and so passionately, that's what you want to hear, isn't it? That you're dumb and fucked up?
See, I know you really, really well. You might be right about a few things that I needed to hear just now but then you go and you blow it by asking me if I would like your cock to be in my face.
I really don't want that.
I want to feed you and clean you up like I did a hundred times in Illy when you were so wasted you didn't even know what day it was but I don't want your cock to be in my face.

You're so fucked up and THAT is my number 10 reason for the teary day. YOU are SO LOST, man.

arizonasarah at 9:34 a.m.

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