I woke up about thirty minutes ago. It's relatively freezing in my room. Goddamn heat and goddamn heating bill. Why do I have to pay almost $200/2 mos. to keep our house at around 62 degrees? Because our landlord probably cares less about energy efficiency than being in "Hollaywood movies*." And yes--pronounce it like that because I don't give a fuck. It's freezing. And my blood sugar was 42. And I was alone. And why the hell did anything even wake me up? I would have been fine dying tonight. Colgate tied Cornell 1-1 at a hockey game. Highlight, I'm sure, of my life. And I'm also sick. From who, I don't know. I wish if I spent most of my time alone that could ensure that I would no longer get sick. But apparently I find enough time to slink around contagions. Goddamn. So now I'm eating refuse pizza like a past midnight carrion predator and drinking flat soda composed of natural sugar instead of that fake fructose shit which, yea, I can taste and yea, it's not as delicious. Who makes food out of things that aren't sugar? Why? Why does anyone do anything anymore? And why is everything so fucked up? I like my life. It's amusing. But there are some things I really wish I didn't have to interact with anymore. Cold viruses would be one of them. Damn black-and-white hockey referees would be another. The wise beyond it's rhyming scheme "I'm blind, I'm deaf, I wanna be a ref" chant was an apt descriptor of tonight's game--which I got drunk at. Yes, I drink a lot and yes, I'm okay with that. But I'm not okay with waking up in the middle of the night almost dying just because I spiked a twenty ounce bottle of corn syrupy coke with Tanqueray and because I didn't eat one full meal today. You can't escape corn syrup. And I can't escape Tanqueray. But I love it, I don't want to escape it. Snow drifts that pile up in your drive way so that taking cars anywhere becomes impossible. Two wheel drive. These are a noun and an adjective which I would happily avoid, but I can't. I just want to be able to drink socially, but when the wind chill is below 0, and I mean Fahrenheit, not that bitch ass Celsius crap the natural science department here at Colgate University has all but crumbled to, it's hard to find the means and the courage to walk downtown to one of four bars. My diabetes probably would have flared up about a block from my house**, and I would have been found, early Saturday morning, snow falling on my delicate features, which I don't currently possess, but I'm sure will find a way into my personal description at a funeral. People seem to like me. Not enough to be around me constantly so that I don't have to scavenge for food in the middle of the night, but enough to attend a funeral and say nice things about me. Yes. Basically my argument is I need someone to follow me around with sugar constantly, and not corn syrup, though that would technically save my life. So yes, this entire paragraph has been an argument for the implementation of a boyfriend, girlfriend, or indentured servant to constantly present me with candy. But I'm fairly positive that would only increase the frequency of my introduction to winter colds and I fucking hate being sick. I hate being sick more than I hate having to get food for myself so all in all, I guess I'll just stack natural cane sugar sodas next to my bed and forgo the whole indentured servant idea, maybe to be thought of again in five or more years when I want to get married. People suck. They carry disease and they do a bad job of officiating collegiate sporting events. They also can't be trusted to always provide sugar for you or make sure the house you're renting from them is energy efficient. But I suppose the alternative, that I am the only human being left alive on planet earth after a catastrophic apocalyptic*** type event renders everyone else dead and or zombified would not be nearly as fun as complaining about being lonely at 2:30 in the morning on a Friday night/Saturday morning. And then, heaven forbid, I would want a soda, because I'm not entirely sure I could handle making a carbonated beverage. And then, heaven forbid, I would want a Tanqueray, because getting that recipe right and building an actual distillery would probably be more difficult than avoiding getting munched on by my zombie neighbors... But at least I wouldn't get sick.
*He is a J-list movay stah.
**That is not how diabetes works and I'm sorry if I've confused you.
***Redundant?
1 comment:
So your basically saying you need a sugar momma? eh?
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