Deep Unyielding Depression.
I do.
All your sadness is in your lungs.
I wish I was Miranda July.
Certain skin creams produce a freshening effect upon
application. Produce or procure. I googled
“freshening effect” and everteen vaginal tightening gel natural
intimate wash
came up. In Montreal, it’s raining really hard.
Half Shit, Half Magnificent. This was the title of the poem Simon begged me to write. Simon didn’t like it very much. It’s true the poem was pretty terrible, but better than the one he wrote about my phosphorescent ass cheeks.
Yes.
I love this phrase, especially the word, Unyielding. As a
second selling point, its acronym spells, DUD. How deep is your DUD?
My loving and thorough parents started sending me to therapy
when I was eleven. Because of this and other theatrical tendencies, I believe I
have the tendency to transform every un-exuberant moment into something
unyielding and pathological.
And it has been awhile since we heard from Simon, my dead
ex-boyfriend who jumped off a building on January 4th, 2016. What does Simon say
this time?
Simon says: I wonder
what I’d be like if, like you, I’d been sent to psychologists from the age of
eleven. If a bunch of people had played around in my head the way children play
in the bathtub-I think that by now I would have died ten times already. I’ve
already died ten times anyways.
Ten times, or at least once. I’m not sure the bathtub
analogy works in English. Simon and I used to fight extensively about
translation.
Since I got back from India, I’ve been busy translating
exciting phrases about soothing and luxurious skin creams and foams. My
favourite is the foaming and emollient shower gel. You can use it in the
bathtub or the shower.
Last week’s Catchphrase:
Do you want to be
emollient and foaming?I do.
This Week’s Catchphrase:
Deep Unyielding Depression.
So far the low-grade DUD has lasted 1.5 days. I think that
the act of paying taxes has triggered Delayed Reverse Culture Shock. (DRCS.)
Taxes, and a birthday party filled with babies. Everyone knows I don’t want
babies. I don’t hate babies either. And yet, a great abundance of babies can make me
feel lonely and empty, as though my life is unimportant and shallow.
Now is probably an excellent time to start making my own
yogurt. Yogurt, or no-knead bread. Bacteria and/or yeast.All your sadness is in your lungs.
I wish I was Miranda July.
Erica says to Simon: Aren't
excessively self-indulgent, self-deprecating people irritating?
Simon says: Yes.
Erica: I hate people like me.
Simon says:
Me too, but you’re not only self-deprecating.
You also believe in yourself immensely. I have a theory on how this happens.
Here it is: so one parent loves and cherishes their kid, but the other doesn’t
believe she can do anything. You end up with a kid who turns into a half-shit,
half-magnificent adult. Over time, one half swallows the other. Which half
swallows what is yet to be determined.
Both of my parents thought I was magnificent.
There must be something clever to say about
swallowing. Me and My Sister, Being Magnificent. I am not sure what is going on with the brown shit-like speckles. Emollient foaming gels were not in the budget. |
Half Shit, Half Magnificent. This was the title of the poem Simon begged me to write. Simon didn’t like it very much. It’s true the poem was pretty terrible, but better than the one he wrote about my phosphorescent ass cheeks.
Hungry Halves. Contact
Dermatitis. Another word I like is Unrelenting. Also, Unrivalled.
Are you seeking unrivalled comfort?Yes.
I wish to be captured within a meticulous
formula.
What they mean by everteen, this only just occurred
to me. Everteen and the Intimate Wash. Gross, and rather upsetting.
My eye contours feel uncomfortable on a daily
basis. Not everyone is as happy as they look on the Internet.
The End.
Me and my uncomfortable eye contours. Follow us on Twitter: @mypelvicfloor Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook Self-Help Book: I Let Go My name is Erica. I love coffee. Hip Replacements and No-Knead Bread versus Chapped Nipples and Low Sex Drive What a Beautiful Face. The Erica Museum Why I am Different from Margaret Atwood, and What I Don't Gain from Humping Duvets |
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