Among the many attributes of being me is my incredible ability to not learn from experience. I'm the kind of gal who staples her hand to a wall, extracts the staple and tries again in case the first time might have been a fluke. So it is with most things, I am sitting in a blue funk, light itself bearing down on me like a Klingon bird of prey and my head sounding like someone's gone off and hired the Kodo Drummers to use it for practice. If there is a god, which I very well doubt, it is an unforgiving one who imparts some of his/her children wisdom and others an unerring ability to fuck up.
So how will I spend my Sunday....wandering between my bed and the bathroom, avoiding Yates' watchful eyes and Yvonne's reproachful ones, avoiding the company of mortal beings - especially those in whose company I brought myself to this pitiful state of being last night and a cannister of coffee that never empties.
Ah woe is me is the refrain of the self-pitying douche. Mine is more like 'Ah you stupid bitch, you deserve every last iota of pain and misery that the universe is meting upon you and some'. Now my question is - will I do a repeat performance? Of course, goddammit!