Thirty one. I’m feeling older than thirty one. I feel heavy, achy and tired. Perhaps this is just what life feels like. But if this is normal, wouldn’t we stop being aware of it? Surely you’d just adjust and begin to think you felt fine. Kind of like how if you visit Rotorua, it smells like old eggs and cabbage, but if you live there you don’t notice it. I’d really like a day where I wasn’t struggling to stay awake.
I think I felt good once a while back, but now I can’t be sure. It’s most likely the pill making me feel this way, but I’m reluctant to stop taking it because last time I did that there was acne eruptions of biblical proportions which has left me hideously disfigured. Plus, I’d rather rip my own uterus out than risk pregnancy again. I wonder if a doctor would agree to sterilise me at my age? I think that’s covered by my health insurance. I wonder if Ex is still paying my health insurance?
It might not be the pill of course. My immune system is pretty fucked up at the best of times. I’m constantly on the verge of colds and flus. I am going to have to put more effort into eating high nutrient foods and less empty calories.
I really need to get to a healthier weight. I’m sure I’d feel better then. I’m just worried that I won’t feel mentally okay if I lose weight. I look pretty awful as I am, but if I lose weight, I’m going to look like a empty flesh-bag. Perhaps I could get a job at Spookers as “Medical Waste Girl”. A Dr. Frankenstein type monster, stitched together from the leavings of the tummy tucks and upper-arm lifts of wealthy women. A wailing mess of quivering, hanging, wrinkled skin. I wouldn’t have to worry about pregnancy though, I’d be a walking, talking contraceptive. Hmm, career goals. Maybe I should write a proposal for Spookers…
Unplanned Detour 