whatevva II
(This is another recent thing that I luh. I watched this TLC special on cataplexy/narcolepsy, and I found it so TERRIFYING that I really wanted to write about it. I can see how serious it is, but I also saw a good basis for hilarity. Ha. So that’s what I started here. This is one of the many things that really really interests me – weird medical science.
It’s too bad I never finish anything.)
I can still hear the movie playing somewhere above my head. Of course, I know the screen is somewhere above me, but the sound is pulsing onto me from all directions, and it’s too distracting. I can barely think. To be honest, I don’t know if I still should be thinking.
I’m here alone. Nobody noticed me, slithering to the ground like a sack of flour. How could anyone notice someone who looks so single and desperate? It’s not as if I need romance to survive. That’s not the reason I always end up bawling too hard, sighing too hard, hoping too hard and laughing too hard. It’s not like I can feel icy claws of lonesome longing crush my heart at every plot twist. It’s not like I look around at all the patrons surrounding me, all couples or great groups of giggling girl friends, and long for that kind of contact. I’m not lonely, after all these years of being plainly and utterly alone. I don’t need that sort of affectionate contact.
I suppose I’m just a little… nostalgic.
I haven’t had a boyfriend in ten years. I think about that one sentence all the time, let it shadow my thoughts like soggy lettuce. It doesn’t bother me, I can assure you, but it doesn’t seem normal for a woman as thin (enough) and charismatic (enough) as myself. As I lie here and wait for an autopsy team to take me away (cause of death: a broken heart. No other physical ailment detected), listening to the happy giggles of actors and moviegoers, I think this must be what death is like.
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