It's occurred to me that this whole thing where the world gives me a big hug and plays Foreigner on repeat is just a distraction from the inevitable Badness teetering on the edge of the future.
I guess what I'm saying is, there is no way I'm running around provoking men with hard-ons and knives this weekend. Obviously that's not habitual behavior, but I'm really not known for caution, and bad shit happens around Valentines Day.
I don't want to end up in a hospital bed, like last year, even if it is for something as small as an abscess, or at a funeral like the year before. I don't want to hold anyone's hand after their abortion. If anyone is thinking of breaking up with one of my friends right now, male or female, I swear to fucking god I will shank you.
I can't ever feel it coming. It's like, you know, one day it's Tuesday, and I exist. I'm laughing, joking around with someone, and then my phone rings and someone says words that change the tint of everything. Life is dry and tiresome, and there's just too much salt. Where did all that salt come from? Why does everyone smell like copper? Put that thing away, it's wrinkling me, stop scraping with your eyes.
That's what the Badness feels like.
I had a dream where I carried around a Pomeranian in a purse. And everyone, like my sixty "closest friends," accompanied me to a theme park where the greatest carousel ever established was opening. Grandly. So we waited, excited, and watched the giant white blanket slip off the carousel, and gasped when we realized that it was full of live exotic beasts impaled on poles, and they were screaming. Everyone was so excited, and they ran up to the carousel and climbed on top of the animal of their choice, and me and my fucking Pomeranian sat on the pygmy elephant, and I cried.
It was scary as fuck.
The week surrounding Valentines Day is horrible. Always crying and pain, and it has nothing to do with romance whatsoever. It's hard on my friends, it's hard on me, and it's hard to watch all those fucking commercials with satin pillows and jewelry and bullshit, not because I want those things, but because they breathe for other people and who breathes for me?
I have decided, officially, that I have earned the right to be selfish and spiteful.
No positive connotations with this week. On any level.
Maybe a small level. Sometimes I like red things. Like apples. And Sharpies. And wine.