I forgot that in the motherland, when it's hot, there are cockroaches. Like, lots of them. I think I've killed more roaches in the last two days than I have over the last year. It has nothing to do with whether your house is dirty or not, they just like the warm weather and scuttle about all over the place, creeping everyone out. Some of them are ginormous. I smushed one this morning that was bigger than my goddam thumb.
Hey, but imagine what life would be like if your thumb was REALLY a cockroach. How would you explain that to people?
For a while there, I wondered if a vampire could adopt some kids and raise them up normal-like. They would have to pretend they had some kind of sun-allergy and severe anxiety about eating around others. They would also have to have a nanny, to take the kids to school and such. I got stuck on whether or not they would tell the kids, and also whether they might one day get really mad at the kids...or the nanny, I suppose...and eat them.
Yeah, when I'm staring off into space looking wistful, THIS is what's rattling around in my brain.
I looked at college websites today. It did not go well. I ended up crying a lot and cramming a lump of rocky road into my face. It didn't help.
Reading about anxiety disorders didn't help either. Mental health websites always assume that you have the money, insurance, and time to seek professional assistance. They don't tell you that once you take an anti-depressant, you'll never be approved for affordable health insurance again. They also don't tell you that all those anti-depressants and anti-anxiety drugs can have nasty-ass side effects that can fuck up your life even more. That's if you can afford to buy them in the first place. They don't tell you that most therapy sessions are upwards of a hundred bucks for fifty minutes, either. No wonder it's only rich people that get better from going crazy. The poor ones don't go crazy in the first place, or they kill themselves sooner, or end up in jail, or hanging out on Michigan Ave, hustling tourists for change.
It's a good thing no one reads this blog. That last poorly-articulated thought would have incited some very cranky comments. I almost want to yell at myself.
Is it bad that sometimes I think that it would be OK if some guy wanted to marry me, let me be a stay-at-home mum, and tell me not to worry my pretty little head about things like money and a career? As long as he didn't abuse me or the kids, and kept us relatively comfortable, I can think of worse things. He could even cheat on me a whole lot, as long as the kids never knew about it. I should put an ad on craigslist. If I worked out a little more, got a chemical peel, stayed on top of the whole hair situation, and stopped wearing those ugly army pants, I'd be an awesome trophy wife.
Dear God. This is what happens when I spend the entire day by myself. Somebody slap me.
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