Phrenectomy

Why is it that every time I go to the pharmacy, someone needs compression socks? This has happened three times since switching to my new pharmacy last year. And they’re always out of compression socks, meaning they sell a lot of them if they’re consistently out of stock. What does this mean? I don’t think it means anything. I think I’m looking for patterns again. I think I look for patterns a lot, not because I’m mentally ill, but because I crave routine and structure, I crave a stable life. ISO: Stability. Must be reliable, housebroken, and flexible. About me? A simple creature in search of a place to lay my eggs. 5’6 with a 5 ft wingspan, and a keen eye for beauty. Messy and full of love, always ready to party. There we go. That’s my dating profile for life. Wherever it shall take me, I trust that I will be okay. I hope it takes me to Denny’s. August and my usual Denny’s location is getting a makeover right now, and we haven’t been for months. I hope it doesn’t smell like sewage anymore when they’re done. That place is so classy. I hope our angry butch lesbian waitress is doing okay. I wonder if she misses us. Absolutely the fuck not, probably. But that’s alright, I miss people who don’t miss me all the time. I identify as a pest. I am always here buzzing around your head, landing in your hair, and laying my eggs in your food. You try to swat me away, but it just makes me want to harass you further. Don’t feed the strays, not even once, because that’s how you end up with pests. Unless you like pests. I think my house centipede, Larry, has passed on to a new physical body. I hope all the prayers I said for him made him a sacred cow. I am upset because I have a fruit fly problem without Larry around. I could always let Sophia, the brown recluse that lives inside my closed window in so she could take care of the problem, but I have traps that work just fine, and of all types of spiders to have in your house, a brown recluse is not my first choice. I think my first choice is those big, fat, hairy jumping spiders, the ones that live in your shower. Their faces are just so damn cute when you really look at one. You know what else is cute? Baby possums. And grown-up possums too. I’m a really big fan of their little hands. I like that spiders and possums carry their brood in a similar fashion. And they both eat ticks. Can’t get Lyme disease from either. Good creatures in my book. I wish I could be a Life Reviewer Influencer. I don’t think that’s real, but I’d like to rate certain finds and experiences, like my trip to the pharmacy. 4 stars. The cute pharmacist girl refilled my scripts early for me and it was extremely air-conditioned. Minus one star for the lady freaking out about their lack of compression socks. Her vibes were super off. Wisdom tooth removal? 5 stars! All the doctors were hot and the last thing I said before losing consciousness was “Damn, this is the good shit.” Then the first thing I said upon coming to was “I am the walrus, goo-goo g’joob”, I presume because the gauze sticking out of my mouth resembled tusks. Then they made me try to use my mom for help walking, and I showed those fuckers up with a little jig. I did a little jig to prove I was stable on my legs. Took a fantastic nap afterwards, too. 10/10, not sure why I was so scared. I was actually shitting with terror even though I’ve had 2 back surgeries that I went into with little to no anxiety. It’s probably due to the extreme oral trauma I went through as a kid. I had 2 utterly terrifying and horrible tooth pulling experiences before the age of 10, then I had braces for 5 years, which were often so painful I’d stay home from school. Similar to my period, I would get sick from the pain and stress. They have good shit for completely getting rid of your period, though. They have Invisalign these days, but even if they had it when I was a kid, I think my mouth was too fucked up for it. My apartment is “clean”, and I find it utterly baffling that I feel so okay and at ease when my apartment is its normal level of messy vs when it’s bad, yet I still have such a hard time cleaning. I have a hard time doing things that will make me feel better in general. And it’s not that I derive pleasure from things that don’t make me feel better, or make me feel worse. My reward system is just so extremely jacked that my brain doesn’t relay the info to the rest of my body that we will feel better if we just pick up the trash lying around or change my sheets or whatever. I would feel so baller if I just changed my sheets and straightened my pillows a bit. But I’m not allowed to, for whatever reason. Or I guess I’m allowed to, and logically I know these things about making myself feel better, but those things are easier said than done. Way easier. And the fact that I can’t pinpoint the reason for not being able to get up and do these things drives me absolutely batshit insane. Why? What’s so daunting and terrifying about making my bed? Ooooh, clean sheets. So scary. I ache and am exhausted afterwards, but that’s fine because I just made my bed, I am free to lie down and cease to exist. Okay, that’s enough.