The Self-Careness of Denial

I have decided my new leggings blend, it’s okay to have an expired sticker, ice cream is fine as long as it’s got fruit, and careness is a word. Also there’s no i in denial

But at three in the morning I know that these jazzy fucking leggings will sooner or later induce seizures, that my expired sticker will stay expired until I do something about it, and that strawberry ice cream is a lie just like banana splits.

But with the light of the morning and the schnapps in my coffee, things look brighter

You can’t see my moustache, for instance, and my profile is fine in glimpses, looking startled all the time is just a phase, and that macrame book from Lee Valley will be worth it because I understand knots especially the stomach kind and I have woven a couple of pretty tangled webs in my day also, let me tell you.

And speaking of, did you know that writing a novel or any kind of longish fiction is like telling one big continuous compound mutated lie for like years sometimes, and it’s a fucking epic job keeping everybody’s shit together including your own and you gotta make absolutely certain that you remember what everybody’s up to so you will speak of and for them in an authentic way because there’s nothing so jarring as a character acting out of character.

Unless it’s those sideways glances at your reflection because they can be jarring enough so you have to go lie down

Also I am in denial about my roller-skates which I really don’t want to talk about but might make a nice Christmas present if you know any risky fuckers, my winter boots that I got on sale last year and that I have to go barefoot in so they fit and fyi spellcheck is being an idiot and changing bare to bear as in bearfoot which is true I guess but whatev, I am a tall person and my feet are almost perfectly proportioned to my body except for the width, mostly.

Also in denial that the kettle weights (got the set!) were an impulse buy and that fruit flies are even a thing when the weather cools down which is a sort of double denial because if they are here it’s due to the fruit and veg I buy in ridiculous abundance in order to curb my ice cream bent which doesn’t work as evidenced by said jarring profile which is similar, in a fetching way I hope, to Leonardo’s, if you’re in the know.

Jesus H. You still with me?

I mean denial is a kind of optimism, and it’s a noble alternative to giving up, especially if it makes you work harder to achieve your dreams or scrape by.

It is wishful thinking, but manic, sort of like the past tense of hope

Also if you want something done do it yourself and then call an expert to fix it and flat-out bullshit to said expert that it wasn’t you who fucked it up in the first place. Like I went to the hairdresser once and I hate the hairdresser so much it’s like getting into an electric chair. I go once every couple of years, you know, like most people, but this visit must have been after an extended period because she said omg who cut your hair and of course it was me during a bout of self-loathing but I told her the name of an imaginary salon and then when she tried to google it I told her it was in Minden and she let it go.

I think there’s sideways gravity in Minden

Anyway, motherfuckers, I love you all. Have a great weekend. Go Joe!

These are little denial leftovers that didn’t make the cut but wtf here they are anyway:

I can see fine my glasses are fine is that you?
Daisy’s lumps are fatty tissue
My sunglasses are only misplaced
That single fold in my earlobes will unfold
I am a good tennis player
Spiders are fine

Also on a mostly unrelated topic, I think I sprained my womb playing tennis