Brain Blast!

I'm going to bounce around from subject to subject. I'll try and signal each change with an onomatopoeia. 

 

So. My brain exploded over the weekend. It exploded Thursday, I went to the hospital Friday, and proceeded to feel like a fucking golf club was protruding from my skull until Monday. For my iteration, today is Wednesday.

ZING!

Why am I finding it so goddamned impossible to have romantic feelings for a guy I should, by all rights, have romantic feelings for? Did Nick break everything the golf club missed? Surely I'm not THAT pathetic.

(I am that pathetic, and don't call me Shirley)

BAM!

I am watching young love blossom at work. It is beautiful and organic and other words that would make it more expensive if it were sold in a gentrified neighborhood. 

POW!

Why am I finding it so difficult?

ZAP!

Suppose it has to do with my lazy ovaries? 

 

BZZZZZZZZZZ...........

 

I really thought I was dying. My brain blast, I mean. I really thought my skull was some molten fractured surface - like pressing a ladle into a steaming hot peach cobbler. And there's the point of impact, and there's the fractures all around it. Every which way. Fire fingers gripping the back of my skull. 

Serves me right for trying to do something to help myself.

 

On the bright side, my probability for an Oops Baby goes back up and that's not a terrible thing. Have I explained the insanity of that urge very well? Remind me to.

 

I called Nick during it. 

I nearly called my best friend, but it seemed somehow less polite to do so. 

So I called Nick thinking his pink, puffy eyes might have some sort of calming answer.

 

 

BEEEEELLLLCCCCHHHHHH