Fragile Fuckface
Hey Fuckface,
Yeah, I feel a little fragile this week, Fuckface. I am edging ABSOLUTELY LOSING IT every day, but in the end I get up, drink a pint of Metamucil, do a nasal rinse, work my job and come home and then somehow get so exhausted I fall asleep, like nothing is wrong, and wake up feeling the same almost over the edge feeling, over and over again. I like to think the nasal rinse and fibre supplement are what’s keeping me alive (and maybe they are) but I think they’re a kick start to the day that gives me just enough juice to move out the door.
I’m currently not big on routines, in that I am desperate for a break from doing nearly the same thing every day. I wish it brought me some sense of peace or stability to engage in it, but I’m worried I won’t have enough money for rent and food and debt payments despite working every day so it’s hard to see the routine as anything but a fucking trick. An illusion that things are progressing smoothly. They’re not! At all! Routine, you magician of fuckery!
When other people have regular weekly commitments to things that aren’t work I’m like, HOW and WHY?! Work is enough of a regular routine for me. The second I leave I wander in the world hoping for a happenstance, a situation, a strange interaction. Let a car almost hit me so I can punch it or scream at the driver and then talk to the passersby about what happened and we can commiserate and for a brief moment become united in our hatred of that driver and bond in a way that makes my remember I have a whole heart beating in my body. This is why I love talking to strangers like an absolute creepy stereotype of a middle-aged white woman. It’s stimulating!
All I want is to be shaken up. To feel something that isn’t mundanity. These days doing the same thing makes my skin crawl. Let something weird (but not BAD) happen, please! I will walk down a new alley just to feel something and search the sides of buildings for a little bit of graffiti I’ve never seen before. In the few hours I have that I am not tied to my job I feel horrified by the idea of engaging in any other regular activity. That’s sick, man!
My desire for attention (and pathetically a mild degree of fame) makes me daydream about “being discovered” at the ripe old age of almost 46. Like, somehow my work speaks to someone of influence and power and a carrier pigeon drops a cheque for more money that I’ll ever need on my windowsill. Something has to happen that is exciting and good for me and also unexpected. To daydream is to be open to anything, to be surprised is to feel adrenaline, to achieve something out of nowhere is literally the best possible thing my brain can come up with.
If you don’t have to get up and go to work five days a week maybe routines are cool for you. Maybe if you make your own schedule (which I am VERY GOOD AT BTW) you need “structure” (ew) in your life.
Fragile and fretting in my forties, soon to be forgotten, Fuckface. That’s the vibe I’m feeling and probably also giving off!
So if you run into me, do something weird! Please. Shake things up. My brain can’t handle any more bad and boring shit.
xoxo
A Fuckface