SuperGurl

It all started a week or so ago, and oddly enough, intersected exactly at the onset of the plague that has currently befallen me. I think it’s an allergy, but I have had a severe headache everyday now since Wednesday. Which makes sense, everything is in bloom down here and absolutely beautiful. I’m allergic to beauty.

So one night, after I’d exceeded the daily dosage of nearly every over-the-counter pain remedy I own, I found myself in my chair shutting down in front of the tube, when like a nightmare I heard the words ring out, “one in every five adults has genital herpes.” Um, the hell you say?

And I have no idea why this commercial hurt me so bad at the time, but it did (maybe the fever?). I stewed in my chair, as I was in no mood for wandering elsewhere. I was as thankful as I could be for my herpes free state. I should have filed it under useless information and incinerated it immediately but the whole thought process was dark and cruel and it stuck with me for days. Look, I couldn’t get laid if I hid gold up my cooch right now. Just ain’t going to happen. But knowing that every fifth person has freaking genital herpes? Sheesh, I don’t want to know that. Seriously. Imagine how uncomfortable any gathering will be from here on out? With ratios like that, I don’t want leave the house.

And it was during the same general confluence of personal tragedies that my workwife, the frothing middle-aged sorority queen, Red, approached me with shock and awe one day and said, “Whoa! What happened? You look so….feminine.” Thank goodness I was so dehydrated from all the daylong drugging or I might have cried. Instead, I shot her my glazen evil eye and asked, “Was that supposed to be a compliment?” knowing full well that it was.

I do have some standards left despite my newly engaged defeatist attitude. I refuse to defile my children here, even though during this five day rough patch they have served up a principal-teacher conference, an in-car puke, and a repulsive yet typically obnoxious outbreak in front of one of my clients. Yep. One of those “Oh, why can’t I be stricken dead now in this moment rather than persist in this shameful state” affairs. I nearly cooked my brain alive with all the blushing. Humiliation is hot like that. Kids are fun.

But persisting in a humiliated state is kind of becoming my schtick. After all, I put the severe in persevere. It hurts to go on. This world is cold comfort to a forlorn and forgotton superhero. You have some pain in your world, friend? Well, don’t hold it in. By all means, let me have it. I was made for this shit.

This entry was posted on Monday, April 28th, 2008 at 5:40 pm and is filed under SuperGurl's Wurld, Villainy, Why I fly?. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.