Misery Loves Company

But you just love my misery.

A list of things that makes my life difficult, and your life easier or more enjoyable:

1. Grumpiness. Regardless of what you tend to believe, being grumpy is hard work. Those rants, those raves...they take thought and effort to come up with. Today I yelled at the DVD player because it didn't skip past the FBI notice fast enough. Amanda laughed. I was really mad about the whole thing. Bad jokes too. The whole bit. It's killing me. Know what? that just means more grumpiness--lucky you.
2. Sociology essays about the application of Symbolic Interactionism to Automotive Management. You think it's easy to decide to compare the two? You think it's not downright painful to think in such demented ways? My liver thanks you though, it's been looking for a speedy way to go out with a bang--26er for my efforts sounds like the miracle cure.
3. My thesis. It contributes to both my grumpiness, which you find so charming, and my desire to write random papers for those who are depressed because they live in Barrie.
4. London. There's a Marble Slab here. That should make you happy. I spend the majority of my time in London staring at a computer screen and trying to think of synonyms for words like "symbol" and "history" and "identity". Wondering how this place could possibly look more depressing when it's melting than when I'm waist deep in snow. Well fuck.
5. The story I'm going to write. Young girl, at her wits end because everything that usually cheers her up has failed to uncrease the worry line on her forehead. "Ice cream," she thinks. "Ice cream...with baileys." She goes to the fridge only to discover that her bottle of mint-chocolate Bailey's is empty. The bottle smashes on the floor. She runs to the balcony and flings herself off of it. Barely hurt, certainly not dead, she lies in the melting snow imagining that this is how it feels to be dead. She loses her mind completely when she realizes that if this is what it is like to be dead, she'll be lying in her grave wondering whether the maggots and worms enjoy the taste of her heart.

The End.