making the divine human

Parent’s Magazine told me that I hate children because they disorder the ordered life that I’ve built for myself.  I’m inclined to disagree, but who am I to contradict such well thought out journalism?  Broad generalizations are the basis for our comfort, so tra la la la la just ignore it and it might go away.

Nothing’s worth fighting for.

Because none of them will ever listen to me.  But then, how do I know I’m right?  Question everything.  Why?

I read that humans almost always overestimate their intelligence and their sense of humor.  Other people seem to think I’m both smart and funny, but I’ve never trusted them.  Now I can’t even trust myself.  Thank you, Psychology Today, for that bit of insight.

NewScientist says I’ll get cancer because of the ratio of the length of my index and ring fingers on my right hand.  Maybe that’s not quite what they said, but these generalizations are KEY.

I used to think in poetry but every day killed that for me.  These words mean nothing, anyway, just shapes for sounds for symbols.  Who cares?

I am a portrait of America, tortured middle class, weak weak weak weak weak.  Second X chromosome dominates, senseless female senselessness.  Standing on four legs, you’d think it would balance better, but no.  Women in history didn’t exist, my self-esteem isn’t this fragile.  Don’t mock me, you bastard.

Now you cannot ever be free.  Curse you!

Reader’s Digest told me that drug use is particularly high among people in health professions.  And I lied to myself and said I had other motives.  It’s so sad, not even an addict but a wannabe, pathetic like everything else, everyone else who ever lived.  Pathetique or pathetic, who really cares?

Someday, when this is over, I hope someone reads this and turns me into the next American artist.  All the best works are published post-mortem.