On furiours uterus and declined debit cards.
-I’m sorry, the transaction was not authorized. There’s not enough money on the account.
The embarrassingly large handful of change taken out form my wallet luckily summed up to those 2 fucking ponds. I took my coffee and sat down on a comfy chair. The Universe wouldn’t stop punishing me for leaving my bed.
Getting up too early yesterday was bad enough, then unexpected journey on a rail replacement bus instead of a train made me late for shooting my own movie, which eventually didn’t happen, because the actor didn’t turn up.
Oh, have mentioned that I’m on my period? You see, normally your body punishes you for not getting pregnant each month with a bloody flood and the pain. I’m off the pill now and my furious uterus had chosen to prove the point – it’s not ok for me to be free from fertilization possibility for two years. It’s like a little Hitler jumping around inside of you and getting sickly turned on by every little “ow!” he causes.
And the heels. All day in heels. Walking everywhere in heels. Standing in heels. I was even considering burning my bra like a proper first wave feminist for a moment. Running around in flats would suit my post-Game of thrones lady bush.
And I couldn’t even pay for my fucking coffee!
Crying in public can be officially joined to the list of my hobbies.
I’m not saying that nothing good happened yesterday, but those things look like hungry-eyed runway models next to American MacDonald’s inhabitants.
But an attempt to stay positive when life wouldn’t stop kicking your ass is simply dishonest. Because getting moody once in a while makes us human. Without being human there’s no emotion. Without emotion there’s no art.
To all Burritos of Sadness or Blanket-People out there: I’m joining you. Because it’s ok to watch The Sopranos (or any other HBO show for that matter) and pig out on 20p spaghetti in the middle of the night.
Amen.
The embarrassingly large handful of change taken out form my wallet luckily summed up to those 2 fucking ponds. I took my coffee and sat down on a comfy chair. The Universe wouldn’t stop punishing me for leaving my bed.
Getting up too early yesterday was bad enough, then unexpected journey on a rail replacement bus instead of a train made me late for shooting my own movie, which eventually didn’t happen, because the actor didn’t turn up.
Oh, have mentioned that I’m on my period? You see, normally your body punishes you for not getting pregnant each month with a bloody flood and the pain. I’m off the pill now and my furious uterus had chosen to prove the point – it’s not ok for me to be free from fertilization possibility for two years. It’s like a little Hitler jumping around inside of you and getting sickly turned on by every little “ow!” he causes.
And the heels. All day in heels. Walking everywhere in heels. Standing in heels. I was even considering burning my bra like a proper first wave feminist for a moment. Running around in flats would suit my post-Game of thrones lady bush.
And I couldn’t even pay for my fucking coffee!
Crying in public can be officially joined to the list of my hobbies.
I’m not saying that nothing good happened yesterday, but those things look like hungry-eyed runway models next to American MacDonald’s inhabitants.
But an attempt to stay positive when life wouldn’t stop kicking your ass is simply dishonest. Because getting moody once in a while makes us human. Without being human there’s no emotion. Without emotion there’s no art.
To all Burritos of Sadness or Blanket-People out there: I’m joining you. Because it’s ok to watch The Sopranos (or any other HBO show for that matter) and pig out on 20p spaghetti in the middle of the night.
Amen.
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