Un.exploded.

GPOYW

I am COMPLETELY overstimulated. Posting this is requiring a Herculean amount of concentration.

The undeniable wisdom of Angela Chase.

GPOY Saturday Afternoon All-Dressed-Up-And-No-Place-To-Go-Except-The-Local-Cafe-That-Serves-Double-Irish-Coffee-And-Bloody-Marys Edition

Symptom Recital - Dorothy Parker 

I do not like my state of mind; 
I’m bitter, querulous, unkind. 
I hate my legs, I hate my hands, 
I do not yearn for lovelier lands. 
I dread the dawn’s recurrent light; 
I hate to go to bed at night. 
I snoot at simple, earnest folk. 
I cannot take the gentlest joke. 
I find no peace in paint or type. 
My world is but a lot of tripe. 
I’m disillusioned, empty-breasted. 
For what I think, I’d be arrested. 
I am not sick, I am not well. 
My quondam dreams are shot to hell. 
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore; 
I do not like me any more. 
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse. 
I ponder on the narrow house. 
I shudder at the thought of men…. 
I’m due to fall in love again.