Inside a Girl

Dear Miss Doe,

I'm drowning ladybugs in a half-empty Ale8 bottle. I just thought you should know. I'm not normally violent but these little fuckers are kamikaze diving, 280 miles per hour, landing in my hair, on my keyboard. They deserve to die slow, quiet deaths. So one by one I'm plunking them into a stale, wet grave. I'm amused & satisfied & quickly becoming bored. I expected it to last longer, the satisfaction, the power. It amazes me how long they squirm. But enough already, accept it, die like the little evil bastards you are.

Sheesh.

It's 1:12 am. I should be asleep but Word Mojo Gold & eBay have overtaken my brain. I watch items come & go, some for far less than they're worth, many for far more than I'm willing to pay & it induces a panic. What if I never find this item again? Can I live without it? If I wait until I'm settled, with a home, a place to lay out everything I own & look at it, will I have to pay $100 for a primitive bowl that I can buy now for $40? Too much, too much. It's all so fucking complicated.

Spam mail is eerily enlightening.

"You make the best products you can, and you grow as fast as you deserve to. The most important of my discoveries has been suggested to me by my failures.

The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.

My ground is the Bible. Yeah, I'm a Bible-bigot. I follow it in all things, both great and small. No man's error becomes his own law nor obliges him to persist in it.

My country, always wrong.

There's no substitute for guts. We tend to get what we expect."

I wonder why I read it in the first place. Weird, familiar subject line. Somehow, strangely poetic & profound.

My lip's swelling. Karma. Boredom. The beginning of a fever blister.

If I don't wake up tomorrow, take these ladybugs hostage.
And leave positive feedback when both my packages arrive.

Sincerely, i