A bitch has been in a depressive funk. They happen and when they do I resent the hell out of them. Damned turbulent emotions!
Anyhoo, a bitch has been pondering a war on my depressive funk.
Shit, if America can be at war with terror this bitch can go to war with my depression. Come to think of it, my ass might declare war on all of my drama based emotions! This emotion-based war waging could turn into the new “it” therapy. Yeah! I could write a book…consult a bunch of experts…call it The Bitch-based Key and get rich as hell.
If only I could get out of this depressive funk.
I’m in a funk and when in a funk I’m pretty damned proud of myself for rising from my bed, bathing and eating daily. Each day whilst the funk hovers about me I go about my bitness hoping that nothing happens.
That’s right…nothing. Because it already feels as if the darkness is going to shallow a bitch whole. Lawd have mercy if one more negative thing happens and topples me into hospital!
So I spent the weekend hoping nothing would happen…yet it did. Hoping that no one would choose those two back to back days to want to talk or complain or critique or laugh or debate or discuss or be in my funkified presence.
But life continues even when we’re drowning in a sea of emotional drama.
The new dawg…the chores that are always there even when it takes twice as long to accomplish them because I’m moving through invisible mud…the bills…the social occasions that I no longer have the energy to prepare for.
Life just keeps coming...being…moving…pushing.
But hey, I woke up yesterday…bathed…got dressed…forced myself to eat…went to work.
Came home at lunch to check on the new hound.
Didn’t eat…wasn’t hungry…but went back to work.
Only to complete my day, walk outside and discover that some shameless motherfucker who is now officially cursed to the deepest level of Dante’s hell blew past Miss Sister Girl Cabrio and took out her other mirror.
Longtime readers will note that a bitch’s passenger side mirror was taken out by a driver for the pizza company that shall not be called by name but is also damned to a vengeful hell.
Now the car maintenance that this bitch has been avoiding is…well, unavoidable.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck followed by fuck!
I indulged in a fantabulous snot based cry…vicious tears, I tell you…hiccups were involved, for real!
And I emerged spent but not broken.
Still going on.
Yes, this bitch is at war with depression. I suppose fighting battles by getting up, bathing, dressing and going to work.
And if I find the motherfucker who took out my Cabrio’s other mirror I’m going to accomplish a serious mission on her or his fleeing the scene of a crash-esque incident ass!