I have a horrible case of the kittens.
I am having technical difficulties.
By technical, I mean emotional, and by difficulties, I mean MY INSIDES ARE ALL FUCKED UP.
I do my best to keep my emotional bullshit to myself, as my problems are pretty retarded and really don’t deserve the amount of energy I give them. They’re nothing but silly, solvable, mundane aggravations that are so trivial and stupid compared to, oh I don’t know, GETTING YOUR HOUSE RAVAGED BY A FUCKING TORNADO, or being kidnapped and tortured in a lunatic’s basement for a decade, or any of the other horrible things that happen in real life according to the news. My problems are an adorable basket of kittens compared to that shit, yet I’m drowning in my bullshit all because I cannot manage my kittens.
I’m not going to get into the furry little details to what’s devouring my insides, but I will say that I’m fully aware that I am in control of these four-legged little bastards. Yet despite knowing this fact, I still feel overwhelmed and frustrated and everything smells terrible. Seriously, these metaphorical little sonsofbitches shit so damn much that I feel like I’m spending a majority of my free time chasing them around with a shit scooper, and I’M TIRED OF SCOOPING SHIT* Sick and fuckin’ tired, you guys.
*this is all metaphorically speaking, but also literally, as we’ve gone from two cats to six in the past three months and they shit a lot. Long story.
I just need to set the basket down. Or, maybe a good, thorough, violent sob session might be just the thing to blow out my kittens. That’s something we lady-folk need from time to time, right? Just a good ‘ol face to the floor wailing fully loaded with intermittent banshee-like howls, fist pounding, floor kicking, hair pulling, snot-smeared emotional vomiting, just to get all them bastard kittens out of your fucking heart and soul, followed by a bowl of ice cream and a vigorous diddle, AMIRIGHT, LADIES?? That’s some cheap, balls-deep-in-your-soul-therapy right there. I’ve tried real hard to cry, but I think my cry-feature might be malfunctioning, as I’ve only managed to shed empty little impostors here and there with a few chest-heaves for added effect. It’s more me going through the motions and not really expelling the awful troll that’s squatting in the center of my chest, hoarding all of my tears and filling them into a big pool that has a lot small children wading around with their little arm floaties, laughing, splashing, peeing freely as though my heart-pool were a giant fucking toilet.
What say you, readers? What’s your favorite way to deal with stress? Do you take walks? Meditate? Mainline heroin into your eyeball? Even better, HOW DO YOU CRY?
(I know this may open the door for suggestions to get a prescription for daily kitten management, but I don’t think this is the answer at this point. I’ve had severe clinical depression in the past, and this is not quite that bad. Just enough to ruin my day and give me some mild chest pressure).
And now, here is a video clip of a fuck-ton of cats that are really excited for their kitty-kibble. THE END.
This entry was posted on June 10, 2013 by bananastick3rs. It was filed under Deep Thoughts, Life and was tagged with adorable kittens that eat souls, being a grown up is dumb, boo hoo, crying, so sorry for whining at you, tornadoes are assholes.