July 07, 2003 @ 1:09 a.m.
In which our heroine segues from talking about her pubic region to talking about her immediate family. As you do.

I've spent a great deal of the past week consumed by a nameless rage.

I didn't like being consumed by a nameles rage, so I called it Kingsley.

Kingsley is a total fucker. Seriously. I have been less a sparkling jewel than a big dirty fucking rock lately, and I feel I should apologise, but most of the people I've been an arse to don't read this page, and damned if I'm going to humble myself by doing it in person. And why is that? That, dear readers, is because I'm an arsehole. Pure and simple. Although in my defence, I think I'm an arsehole who can stand to be called on her shit, which is something. Well, I think it is. Fuck you if you disagree. Arsehole.

I've been terribly melodramatic of late. By which I mean, chucking wobblies left, right and centre. A little while ago, I threw one at the message board I've been a member of for four years (which happens to be populated by a bunch of denizens I care about as much as you can care about anyone you've never met - which is pretty fucking deeply, in this case). I've actually kind of thrown a Diaryland wobbly too, and thought about packing all this in. I a) refuse to tell you why and b) realise any "reasoning" I have for feeling like doing so is not only flawed, it's fictional. So never mind about that. I'm just being capricious, moreso than usual.

Unfortunately, none of this is limited to the online world: I've been a total bitch in real life too! Woohoo! The highlight of which has been Leah, who normally tolerates but also gently criticises my moods, shaking her head and saying "babe, that's just fucked up" to something I told her. I know I've got problems when this happens, because while she's always honest with me, she rather tactfully stops short of telling me I'm full of it. It's her nice way of letting me know I'm really going too far, and it's something I appreciate. Mostly because I know that if faced with the same situation, I'd be grabbing somone by the shoulders and shaking them while calling them a turdburger.

I can cut all this down to basics: earlier in the week, I hated everyone else. Seriously, if you've ever been a part of my life, even minorly, I hated you from Monday through to Thursday or Friday of last week (duration depending on your supposed crime against me). Right now, I just hate myself.

I don't think this is completely due to the fact that I'm due to start bleeding from my happyfun area any minute now, although I can't discount that factor entirely. Especially because I feel like setting fire to stuff. My usual premenstrual symptoms include pyromania, intense paranoia, really strong niccotine cravings (I've not been a smoker for close to two years now), and the urge to bite parts of other people's faces off and spit them back at them. I wish I just got cramps and pimples like normal girls.

And due to reasons of bleeding, I can't go and get my pubic hair ripped out this week, and I'm really due to get it done again. Admittedly I look 12 from the pubic bone down even when I'm at my most hirsute, but that isn't the point. The point is that my girlparts are currently not all smooth and hairless and nice, and consequently there's no longer an innocent reason for me to have my hands down my pants.

Apart from that, things are good. I had a startlingly sociable weekend; I think now I've got every right to revert back to my non-house-leaving, lotta-sex-having ways.

Among other, more alcohol-involving things, I saw most of the members of my immediate family, which I've not done for several months, and also saw my dad's purty new house. The downside was that my nephew didn't remember me or Stu and thus wouldn't come near either of us for most of the day. This is understandable, given that he's 20 months old and hasn't seen me for about five months, but it would have been nice to get a proper cuddle when I was leaving, rather than me picking him up and cuddling him and him screaming in terror and flailing frantically in my arms. I'm so sick of getting that reaction from members of the opposite sex. I will have to content myself with memories of him earlier that afternoon, smiling shyly at me while handing me lemons pilfered from my mother's tree.

Oh well. My sister's preggers with Spawn #2 at the moment, so if things don't improve with the nephew, I can always start fresh.

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