Content Warning: This post contains excessive whining, Twilight level mopiness, and a dash of sarcasm.
I love Halloween. I plan on experimenting with my candy. Meaning, I intend to stack it, nuke it, and drizzle the resulting goo over a bowl of Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch™. I’ll save some of said goo to pour over some Ben and Jerry’s Half Baked ice cream. Twizzlers will be used as straws to suck up the delicious nectar that is Diet Mt. Dew, (the regular is too sugary for me… shuddup). These concoctions will be devoured while lounging in my recliner in front of the TV. Any and all ice cream headaches will result in my inventing new, and exciting swear word combinations. And I will watch Kiki’s Delivery Service, because that’s as scary as I’m up for tonight.
I hate that The Depression Monster is trying his best to sabotage me. But as outlined above, I’ve come prepared. I will drown his agony-inducing ass in sugar and fat. And when I feel like I can’t inhale another bite, I’m going for a run. Sometimes, I like running when I’m on a sugar high. Well, I like the part between warming up, and discovering what it feels like to be diabetic for 10 scary minutes. It’s not something I do often. Sugar buzzing is expensive. It’s illogical, unwise, unadvised, and I’m doing it anyway, because It’s Halloween, and the Depression Monster is riding my back. I know. It doesn’t make any sense. Perfect.
I’m a little ragey. I’m raging against the fact that I don’t have the words to express how I feel. I feel like screaming, but no sound comes out. It makes me tired.