The Cramps pt. 1

I like to pretend that everything I say is magical. I like to think that the entire universe has the guts and the will to stop and listen to my voice as it rises up my throat and past my lips and into the atmosphere. I like to think that with every syllable I bring forth new meaning to the concept of personality and grace. That may in the molecular structure of life, I am, as I think I am worthy. To everyone else though it seems that no matter what I say or type I am as plain as an New York apartment complex wall. Bland, plain, and a nut in a oval yellow M&M.

I’ve been sitting here for the last half hour rolling my small bottle of extra strength Tylenol on the computer stand with my palm. I will look inside once more and remind myself that I only have one 500mg capsule left. Not nearly enough to send me to the couch in sleep. Lucy sit’s by Mr. LuLu staring at the constant movement of the bottle. “What will 500 mg’s do?” I ask myself in a tone which is hardly my own. “What will it do?” I grab my glass and swallow.

I hate being a woman.