Damaged Mind

I don’t know if it’s possible or just fanciful. But, since having the trunk of my car bonk my head the other day I have been not quite all together here. I’ve also been melancholy. When it first slammed into my head I cried all the way into the house. It was silly but I couldn’t help it.

Anyway, my head is sore and I can’t seem to snap out of this mood. Maybe if I actually go to bed before dawn… It’s not that I’m not tired. I just got involved with things and even though most of me wants to go to bed… here I am.

I am tired, I can feel it all through my body. That almost 40 year old tired thing. One day I will be a really old lady with those whiskery hairs on my chin. You know the kind you can see a block away. It’s so unfair. I’m not really this old. I think I got put into the wrong body shell, as if someone traded without asking my permission or explaining in full all the downsides to taking this body. It just can’t be mine. I’m sure my real body is still twenty something and out dancing, wearing something fire engine red and tormenting all the poor young bastards who will grow up to be poor old bastards.

Men generally just suck. I know it’s not nice to say so. It’s not politically correct, it’s not fair and it’s not even something I’d usually say out loud or in print. But, come on… it seems they are all looking for a replacement Mommy with boobs they are allowed to suck on even though they are long past the age of bottles and diapers. If there are any good ones they have long ago been taken and we are left with the dross of male humanity. Whine and bitch at me if you want… you’ll only proove my point.

Surely there must be the odd man left… somewhere. Not a Prince Charming phoooey deal but a man. Just a man. That simple and that complex. One who can spell enough to keep from appearing uneducated. One who not only has a job and does his own laundry and cooking (not microwaveable goo). One who likes conversation. A man who actually wants another person in his life. Not an unpaid maid, sex worker or psychiatrist – a woman with all her faults, warts and goodies.

No, I don’t have warts. Smart ass. I knew you’d have to ask, GK. GK is code, she knows who she is.

Well, good night. I think my head is falling off. I’m going to rest my ear on the pillow.

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