Well well wellington. I bet you didn’t think I’d find a way back into this account, did you??? Did you?!
crap i’m mad now. I hate when people distract me mid-rant. I know there is a solution to this problem called “do not disturb mode” but that’s for losers and people who buy expensive cheese. Which is not me because everyone knows cheddar is actually elite and I’m sick of pretending otherwise.
Whomst among us knows what kind of genius was waiting, dripping from the tip of my fingers ready to spill onto the keyboard like golden honey nectar of the gods. Sometimes you just have to be like: why is this happening. You know? It’s not even a question it is a statement. Well, it is a question in statement form. WHY is this happening. WHY. How did we get here?
I’m sorry that you have the personality of a wheat thin but I really don’t think you need to be taking that out on ME. I’m sorry that I’m too fabulous and outrageously gorgeous talented youngest girl in America vibes. Soooo sorry!!!!!
Imagine if, for once in my life, I made sense.
One of these days I’ll proofread these …. what do we call them. Essays? Diatribes on madness? Journal entries? Unhinged cries for help from a sickly crouton? That’s me. A sickly crouton.
Ugh, maybe if I put on my new Carhartt beanie I can cosplay as a cool girl who has long hair and knows how to cut up a fig and never ever gets mad that she double texted a boy who wouldn’t care if she fell off the face of the earth! Maybe??? What do you think ?
Imagine if this made sense and was well written. It might be, dare I say, genius??? It might be very Dave Eggers stream of consciousness except from the women’s perspective with the added charm of being just sooooo modern. I’m just *so* of the times. People!
Sometimes people ask me if I re-read these things I write and sometimes I do years later and wonder why I signed off 23 emails as “the ghost of Mark Twain” but most often I don’t re-read them I just write them in a rage that can only be compared to… to what?
I look at my dog. Are you ever in a rage? Of course not. Why is she never in a rage? Why is she depriving me of a perfectly good metaphor opportunity? If my dog was in a rage I’d be the next great american novelist. But unfortunately for everyone she is calm, cool, and collected — ew gross. I hate using commas correctly.
I had an idea the other day and it went like this: every rodent is basically a mouse. Hamsters are mice without tails and rats are mice that have been to prison.
“Maybe this will become, like, a cool thing. Living with your parents.” — George Costanza.
stay frosty, chillinois. (<my radio dj sign off, if the opportunity ever presents itself.)
Next time it will be better. There will be a picture even! Well there’s a picture here but it’s unrelated to anything and I haven’t even acknowledged it until just now, in the second to last line of the whole thing.
Hannah Zahn (pre-ghost)