Dear Body [brain included]:
Why are you fucking me over so hard? I’ve gone ovo-lacto vegetarian not only to take some poundage off of you but to improve my health. I did this because you so violently let me know about a month back that all of a sudden you didn’t like meat of any shape or form. And of course, you’re quite picky about the fruits and veggies you’ll accept. If you don’t like something, you’ll expel it out one end or the other, usually when I’m at work. Thankfully there’s a bathroom nearby.
I’ve tried not to take a bunch of pain medicine to keep you, LIVER, happy. But alas, when you’re in so much pain that hair touching your face makes you scream, I’d gladly eat an entire bottle of Oxycontin just to shut it up. As it is now, I hurt all over, every single fucking day.
And let’s not leave you out, BRAIN. You’ve coasted along happily for the past several years on the psych medicines you finally decided to settle down and like. Why all of a sudden do you pick and choose what day you don’t want to work, instead of working all the time like you have in the past? Have you decided it’s time to say “FUCK YOU” to the meds I’m taking, forcing me to go on yet another search for something that will work?
Crapcakes. You’re not funny.
No love,
Your owner