Forever Unclean

We found a dead cockroach on the living room floor last week.

Little did we know, that was the best possible scenario for meeting a cockroach, for if you meet a cockroach and it’s NOT dead, it’s scrambling over your dishes in the pantry as you shout every profanity you know with Megan screaming and hopping from foot to foot across the room while you fling all of the boxed appliances out of the cabinet onto the floor and you stare that twitchy motherfucker in the eyeballs and it unleashes its secret roach speed and sprints for the crack between the cabinet and the wall where you know all its family and friends are waiting, breeding, building whole roach civilizations in YOUR FUCKING WALLS that YOU’RE paying money for therefore only YOU have the right to live and have sex in them, and you know that if this roach escapes he and all his roach buddies will be back, they will have won, so you start bludgeoning the general area the cockroach is darting around in with the tool in your hand, a cup –

Image

This cup.

– until you manage to come down on its ass with such force that the blunt lip of the tumbler severs the bug’s disgusting head from its disgusting body with a mighty crunch and spray of bug juice and you fall back on your heels, panting, swearing that you will not rest until all cockroaches are still and dead and cold in the ground by your hand and Megan stares at you because she’s never seen your murder face until now.

Then, when you think peace reigns again in the kitchen, everything gets much, much worse. The cockroach head starts flinging itself around by the antennae and the roach’s brethren stir in the walls audibly for you’ve unwittingly given them half a dead cockroach body to consume (Cockroaches are willing cannibals, you see, and can also survive on an endless loop of eating their own shit. The life cycle and habits of the American Cockroach prove, irrevocably, that there is no god.). I ask you, which is more horrifying: the sight of a disembodied head rocking itself in a wide, panicky circle, or the scritch-scritch sound of an unknown number of enemy bugs in your walls?

Wordlessly, Megan and I agree that now we are at war.

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Oh Lately It’s So Quiet

Have you noticed that? The post-New Year’s drought of words of wisdom from this quarter? It’s not that I’m not diligently typing away in the back rooms of this blog, it’s just that I’ve only been able to produce vitriolic attacks on everything from cotton candy unicorns to fiscal cliffs because, honestly, I’ve been extremely angry at everything for the last two weeks. So much uncontrollable rage, but why?

Oh my god it's so gross I WANT IT INSIDE OF ME

SO GROSS BUT I WANT IT INSIDE OF ME

I’m simply hungry. Really hungry, all the time. Wake up hungry, go to bed hungry, with very little respite from hunger in between. Hungry in the bread basket of America, where I’m constantly reminded of how available Jalapeno Turkey Burgers are at Carl’s Jr., or that there are donuts in the break room every goddamn day. (Shut UP, Steve, I know there are donuts here! I sense maple glaze like it’s a disturbance in the force!) This is the kind of hunger that makes me believe I know EXACTLY what it must have been like in a Soviet prison camp.

No disrespect, but I FEEL like I feel you, bros.

YES, we’ve established I’m an asshole, YES this is all my own fault so I can’t complain or tell Steve to stop telling me about the donuts during these hunger games. Readers: I knowingly and willingly committed to a 30 day cleanse. Forgive me my sins.

Sure, I COULD claim I’m doing this for the hippie-dippy benefits: Health! Oozing out toxins! If you could only flip me inside out and see how clean my internal organs are! Lies, mostly. Anyone who has ever hung out with me over a weekend knows I have only contempt for my organs and treat them like garbage. When one removes eating form their daily routine, one finds a lot of time on their hands to think about their motivations. And here’s the terrible truth: I’ve got a black, gooey, throbbing tumor of female body issues and I HATE IT. But I’m getting skinny as hell and I fucking LOVE THAT.

Whatever holes in me were previously occupied by toxins are now filled with shame. How could this have happened? How could I have worked so hard and projected such a badass exterior of not giving a shit about girly crap like ass size and STILL fall victim to just wanting to be thin?! How?! Why?! Because of course it’s only a projection and patriarchy is internalized etc etc unrealistic standards of female beauty blah blah blah. So here I am thinner, yet feeling ever so hypocritical (and yearning so strongly for a donut it’s creepy). Food lust aside, is there anything worse than having to face your own abject normalness? Me and the rest of the world, we all have the same broken parts. .

But will staring at this conundrum stop me from finishing the next two weeks of this cleanse?

Probably not.

Because, you know, all the health benefits.