I am fucking around

I started my day off at around 6am reading an article that has stuck with me since, and consequently resulted in my saying fuck in my head and outloud more than I thought possible – even for me. The point of it was about measuring your preferences and focus by number of “fucks given” and how what you give a fuck about says about you and your real direction, maturity etc. It highlighted for me that I don’t give a fuck about what I should, and give a few fucks about things I probably shouldn’t. Also, that I’m giving less fucks in general all the time.

What do I give a fuck about? Getting fat. I’m getting fat. After being in surgical menopause I’m on hormone replacement shit and it’s bad. Whoever the fuck said this would be easy? No one. Ever.

I give a fuck about the weird scar and swelling I have in my pelvic region now after the abscess and infection. Its fucking weird looking and not attractive. I give a fuck about not being attractive. I hate that.

I give a fuck about the fucking car I drive, and won’t drive a piece of shit Chevy, motherfuckers. I will drive a Subaru, even if it’s got 200,000 miles and is a rust hole. I don’t know what that even is, but I’d drive the shit out of it anyway. No. Fucking. Chevy’s. Bitches.

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Why isn’t everyone crazy?

Apparently I’m losing my mind, wits, marbles – whatever.  I lost things, let’s put it that way.  And I can’t seem to find them.   To be quite honest, I’m not sure where to look and I’ve procrastinated a bit.  Okay, I haven’t looked.

My brain isn’t working, I cannot make myself do things I don’t like and I much prefer altered states of consciousness.  Not conducive to my life and it’s not working out well.  I seem to recently have these new rules for myself that are quite limiting.  For example, I’m not allowed to leave the house after dark on a weeknight.  It’s bad.  This restricts movie watching at a theatre.  And I must have the option of being in bed by 9:30, never mind the fact that rarely happens.  No phone conversations after work.  Or at work.  They’re exhausting.  Absolutely no doing anything different.  Nope, not me.  I will do the same goddamn things until my tracks are so ingrained I can’t see out of them.  Ask me why?  I have no idea.  I know better, and chose less.  Maybe removing body parts will make things different.  Maybe they’ll find my wits in there, and they’ve just been hiding in my uterus.  I wouldn’t blame them, it’s nice, dark and warm.

Oh god, it’s only 4:25.