I weighed myself just now and I want a recount
Also my age. This counting must stop immediately
And while you’re all county (thank you spellcheck that would have been uncomfortable) please reconsider the following 10 points:
1. My bank imbalance
2. Calories in wine (also ice cream)
3. Effervescence in general
4. The number of decades between now and January 20
5. Failed punchlines
6. Clouds
7. Duration of love
8. My Brilliant Friend, episodes further to
9. Profanity-crutch, frequency of
And please just stop fucking with these counts (again, very gracious of you spellcheck):
13. Overdue things
1. Bingeing
4. Watching multiple episodes of a show
Stumped moments
3. Ailing cacti
So my right arm is like Popeye these day and the rest of me is a squishy mix between Olive Oil and Sweet Pea
That’s right, motherfuckers, I’ve got tennis dysmorphia, and please don’t try setting up a tennis date with me because I don’t need a partner, I have a wall, high, and it’s a good thing too because that ball would be gone forever the way I fucking whack it like there’s no tomorrow which is what Trump might be hoping right now. In fact just last night I hit that sucker (the ball) way over the top and when I scooted round to fetch it I didn’t see it, the vast lawn was just green, so I ran up to the fence in front of the street and there happened to be somebody walking right there on the other side and I said did you see a tennis ball and he looked baffled at first, I mean it was nearly dark and November 4th, but he spotted it across the road and waited for a gap and graciously went and got it for me. He threw it and I missed just like I knew I would and I think we need to stop counting that shit too. But it’s weird. When I try too hard I can’t do things. Is this a human thing, you know, as in you too? Even when I’m hitting the ball against the wall I can’t try too much because then the ball thunks off a part of the racket that’s not, you know, the hitting area and sometimes when this happens I try harder so it keeps happening and I get embarrassed because of my imaginary audience but when I just sort of let myself go and stop giving shits I can hit the same spot on that wall like fucking Elvis whatever that means. Same with writing.
If I get all proper and spelly and punctuation-fuckey, I can’t
Which is why all the run-ons.
Also wondering… is mind-dysmorphia a thing?
Asking for a fiend, of course, but that would make a pretty good blog title so watch for it on a blog near you probably sooner than you’d like.
