occupy the woods

I love the woods. I love trees. I am grateful every day that I live in a little patch of woods ensconced amidst this neon suburban wasteland. (harsh words? You didn’t drive through it all the 90-degree afternoon.)

You know who else loves the woods? Maybe more than me? Mosquitos. They love the woods. It’s their favorite place. Shady oaks and cool evening breezes and my exposed flesh standing bright whitely against the green just waiting, innocent, for their yucky icky bloodsucking selves to soundlessly DESTROY me…

More harsh words? You don’t know what it’s like, having some kind of mosquito attractant in your skin and being enticed outside every evening by your paradise of a woodland yard with the low-hanging sun filtering through tall tall trees, and your giant lovely deck with the tiki torches… and your… hot tub…

Yeah, OK, really I’m just in a complaining mood. I was yesterday, too, that’s why I didn’t write anything. I was totally lying about the homemaking stuff, I’m tired of sewing and baking and my parents don’t need my help with dishes and errands, I’m mad at the world that my summer job applications didn’t pan out and this one guy is keeping me on hold about another job, I’m frustrated and lonely and purposeless.

And, you know, sometimes you tell yourself to stop being a brat and then you can’t. I’m not really expecting you to sympathize with me, internet, I just told myself I’d write every day. I was on my porch trying to tell some mosquitos how I felt, but I got the feeling they weren’t really listening. Nothing like a fake listener to make you feel worse.

So while you’re dreaming of having weeks of free time, I’ll be here crying in my baked goods and new dresses. Watching TV, reading books, eating nacho cheese and regretting my decision to turn down that one extremely stressful (18-hour-a-day) job I was offered. Reading the Bible. Exercising. All those things you wish you had time for.

I’m such a jerk.

[hey, no, really, do you need help with anything? anything at all. I will seriously do it for you. do I sound desperate? I’m completely desperate. I can’t keep being a blob. Which reminds me…]


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1 Comment

  1. Jacqueline in Atlanta

     /  June 19, 2012

    You know if you wrote blobbie songs, you might get more hits.


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