Obviously, I’m losing my mind

I woke this lovely Saturday morning to the gentle sounds of a houseful of kids screaming out something that I think was possibly P!nk’s “Get the Party Started” but was hard to decipher over the howl of the chihuahua…and once I shook the AM fog off my brain, I realized I’d done two very un-Kat-like things in the past 48 hours.  These things are possibly a sign of the apocalypse, beware…

First, I admitted that something embarrassed me. WHOA! Stop the presses! Something embarrasses her Royal Katness?  Yep, pretty much only one thing on the planet makes me blush and gets me all nervous and self-conscious (note how I’m not even telling you what it is), and I admitted it.  From someone who admits nothing, this is borderline earth-shattering.

Second, I said that I missed someone.  OK, not out loud because that would be grounds for locking me up on the funny farm, but in email, and just what the hell is wrong with me?  I need to be slapped.  I am notorious for giving up nothing at all, and here I am all sharing with people and shit like I’m back at Warren Wilson College trippin’ in a tee-pee in the woods.   It’s got to be fatigue or vitamin deficiency or something.  Before you know it, I’ll be letting random people hug me at Earth Fare and little bluebirds will twitter on my shoulder so I’ve got to get this crazy train back on the tracks.  I can’t be all human and nice and vulnerable because the world is full of predators waiting to gnaw on my guts—I’m the predator, dammit, not the prey!

To correct this situation, I have a Saturday plan of action.  After the kids go back to their rightful owners and Minime goes off visiting elsewhere for fun and frolic, I’m going to get my mojo back, get back in touch with my inner Katness.  First, I have to drive somewhere (anywhere) ridiculously fast listening to the Sex Pistols while chugging Red Bull to get my head straight and smash this touchyfeely sharing niceness nonsense.  Then I’m going to follow that up with some time getting my newest tat worked on a bit more—a little pain that is also a pleasure should scare the bluebirds away from me, and there’s nothing like random tattoo parlor banter to enhance one’s inner bad ass.  Let’s top it all off with the essence of rock n roll: Ironside live at the titty bar on Leicester Highway tonight.

I can only hope that when I wake Sunday morning, I will be Kat again in her dark, cynical, bite-me glory.  I will be guarded and nasty and all will be right in the world again.  Let’s keep our fingers crossed…

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