Dear Self Control,
What the fuck man? We were doing so well. As recently as 10:00 last night I was singing your praises over the phone, and I truly believed we were cool now. You know, Self Control, I really thought we were gonna be BFFs, I thought you were gonna be there for me when I said to myself and to anyone that would listen, "no way am I going to hook up with that asshole ever again."
And I kept saying it, all through the night, even as it became increasingly clear that it was nonsense. I was counting on you to be there for me, Self Control. I was so sure that you had my back (along with all my friends that promised not to leave as long as he was here) that I neglected to check myself or monitor my behavior in the slightest. I thought you, and my friends, were around watching out for me and suddenly you were all gone! And I think you took Rational Thought with you too.
The fact that I was drunk enought to usurp the title of Sloppy Scientist might have had a deleterious effect on you, poor Self Control, but that is no excuse. I need more from you. Simply repeating "Oh there's no way I'm hooking up with that douchebag ever again" while my clothes come off is not remotely helpful.
I was actually very amused by your ineffectual late arrival in the morning. No longer drunk, almost awake, peering through the haze of my hangover, I thought I saw you, Self Control, and you made some attempt to stop me from doing whatever we were in the middle of doing. I couldn't handle the change in directions (seriously where the fuck were you before I got started?) so I got a little lost.
My ambivalence came out thusly- instead of deciding what to do (stop? kick him out? keep going?), I went back and forth between pulling him on top of me and pushing him off, wrapping my legs around him and pushing his hands away from me, etc. And then I realized that it was not you, Self Control. In you place you had decided to send in your semiretarded cousin, Bat Shit Crazy. I should have know Bat Shit Crazy would make an appearance.
Step up your game, Self Control.
-Sarah
And I kept saying it, all through the night, even as it became increasingly clear that it was nonsense. I was counting on you to be there for me, Self Control. I was so sure that you had my back (along with all my friends that promised not to leave as long as he was here) that I neglected to check myself or monitor my behavior in the slightest. I thought you, and my friends, were around watching out for me and suddenly you were all gone! And I think you took Rational Thought with you too.
The fact that I was drunk enought to usurp the title of Sloppy Scientist might have had a deleterious effect on you, poor Self Control, but that is no excuse. I need more from you. Simply repeating "Oh there's no way I'm hooking up with that douchebag ever again" while my clothes come off is not remotely helpful.
I was actually very amused by your ineffectual late arrival in the morning. No longer drunk, almost awake, peering through the haze of my hangover, I thought I saw you, Self Control, and you made some attempt to stop me from doing whatever we were in the middle of doing. I couldn't handle the change in directions (seriously where the fuck were you before I got started?) so I got a little lost.
My ambivalence came out thusly- instead of deciding what to do (stop? kick him out? keep going?), I went back and forth between pulling him on top of me and pushing him off, wrapping my legs around him and pushing his hands away from me, etc. And then I realized that it was not you, Self Control. In you place you had decided to send in your semiretarded cousin, Bat Shit Crazy. I should have know Bat Shit Crazy would make an appearance.
Step up your game, Self Control.
-Sarah
Labels: bad decisions, booze, mindfuck, S
posted by Sarah at 3:39 PM
1 Comments:
This is great shit...
I've got to add you to my blog roll...
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