My Little Golden Book of Phobias

Because I am mad flattened with love sickness, my car has had ANOTHER flat tire. No more am I going to try to appease the car gods. Fuck the car gods. I'm gonna go over to Brenda and Pete's house, eat chips and salsa and watch purloined Dexter, my darling avenging angel.

It SNOWED in my yard. The cats came in sparkling with flakes on their fur.

Speaking of cats, my three (count 'em) love bundles ate through a bag of cat food I foolishly left out. They then drank all the water in the house, toilets, yard etc. and their bellies were huge balloon-y fur pockets. Serves them right. I have no sympathy. I feed them precise amounts of very expensive food and this is how they repay me. They act like such...animals sometimes. It's appalling.

Meanwhile, I'm unsafe at any speed. I can't walk or think or pay bills. My brain is bathed in oxytocin and endorphins and I'm stoopid. I don't care that my house is a mess or my hair or the food in the fridge is growing organisms. My thoughts are x-rated. Actually, I have no thoughts. None. I think all my brain cells have exploded. Now my head is a super nova.