There’s not a term for post-menstrual syndrome

But whatever it was, I was all kinds of out of sorts today. I was moody and loopy and my feet hurt. Damn shoes. They wouldn’t have hurt so bad except that I had forgotten my comfy tennies in my office, and so the image of the velvet converse kicks sitting there, empty, haunted me and somehow made my toes pinch even more. What also made my toes pinch was walkign back and forth to the bus stop, becuase it was one of those days. Perhaps explains my mood.

I am uber-sensitive about all thigns car related and you would be too, if everytime you fixed one thing (by you, i mean my husband) another thing went wrong. Its just plain embarassing. at least its predicatble, ill give it that. Also i have learned a lot about diagnostic noises and smells by driving pieces of shit (by this i am not making a humorous scatological reference. I am using the word ’shit’ to notate that this vehicle is less than par).

I used to have a van that I adoringlly called the ’bomber’ van--no exhaust, dented and scratched to high heaven, the whole bit. It had character, pizazz...above and beyond everything else, I was nineteen and I had a car. Now I try to wear a business suit and that suit, albeit a monkey suit, was expensive and now has rust stains on it from brushing up against the jimmy.

in other news, i was gettin gmyself very worked up about the state of my car, my house, my life and finding myself thinking things that i have heard come out of my mother’s mouth my entire life, things that always made me cringe, but never so much as when i understood them today. she would say very bitter, negative things and frankly, i always thought--blow things otu of proportion. by this i mean, for example, we never had people over growing up, becuase she was so preoccupied with the state of the house. i am often embarassed by my house, my car, my life, but I would like to welcome people in, [ir]regardless. if its uncomfortable for you, leave, and tell your neighbors what a filthy car, house and life i have.

fuck you betterhomesandgardens.

but the ending is happy, becuase my sister called, and we both had that deflated tone of voice that we get when we realize that we are being just like our mother (in the negative sense, bc theres lots of admireable qualities about the lady). transmetropolitan areas we were inthe same rut,and i think we got eachother out of it. well, i know htat i felt better when i got off of the phone.
dorothy wordsworth’s got nothing on Mrs. Scarlet.