Good Night Nobody

I cannot decide which loss is more difficult to bear: the loss of my immediate family or missing my youth. I cannot believe my son is now the same age as I was when my parents split apart.  I was  forced to spend my weekends out of town with my unstable father.  Fantasizing about suicide, but then regaining my my more even demeanor by looking at all of my Espirit shirts hanging in my closet.  Even today, over twenty years later, I remember sitting on the carpeting of my father's rented house.  And I remember one Espirit shirt in particular, it's coolness large in my thirteen year old's mind--its ragged white and maize colored, college lined strips, soothing me.  Sometimes I consider writing about them, my family.  I would rewrite some of it, to fit them into my mind in a more loving way.

If any of you, my family,  were to ever read this, I am talking to you as I was back then:

I love you.  I am mean because I hate myself, and the little one is not as sweet as she seems.  I need your help, please help me.  I cannot ask you because I did not realize I would need to, and because I do not trust you.

But I miss:

The hill in our back yard

Mom's melon baller

The tupperware contained mom makes chocolate milk in

I miss the university the shirts you two both had, the grey ones with maroon lettering.  You two made me think that silly, low brow, overly average college was a kingdom of coolness, an epic academic environment.

I miss dad throwing the pasta outta the strainer so it'd bounce offa the cabinet and on to the counter, just to make me laugh.

If I had known it was all so fleeting, that once we left that place, that'd be it, I would have held onto you with everything I had.

I canot believe it ended, all of us. I thought it was a forever thing.  I never stopped loving you.

We watch so much gd TV, so much that we simply cannot write a sentence...

The Shows for fall of 2011, New and Continued from Last Year…

It is this bad.  This is how poorly my mind is able to even hold sentences together.  My son, Mr. Z and I are writing bad, half wittish television reviews.  It is true.

NEW SHOWS:

Up all Night: already on (stupid)… It amazes me how Will Arnette performs in supporting roles with such perfection, but when it comes time for him to shine, he is completely useless.  Yes, he is disappointing, but the show is beyond disappointing.  It is ridiculously painful.  The only people who might want to see this series are leftover Christina Applegate fans, boob men who were teens in the late eighties.

What we think as of 10/14: Mr. Z says this show suks.  I find it watchable.  It is not my favorite.  I like the friend, and I like watching Will Arnette just cuz he is adorable to me.  Mr. Z says that Mr. Arnette always plays the same character: "rich without deserving it."

New Girl: The Zooey show—not perfect, but definitely worth watching.  I was very relieved and almost proud that I had forced my fifty-two-year-old boyfriend to sit through an hour-and-a-half of Dirty Dancing earlier this summer.  It is for this reason that he cold have been able to happily sing along with the Zoey character during this series’ pilot production. Not that he did this.  At all.   It is my belief that you will, indeed, have the time of your life watching this new show. 

What we think as of now:   This show is on hiatus b/c of baseball. Mr Z says it is great.  I am not sure how great it is, but I do love Zooey Dashel. (sp.)

Revenge: 9/21—looking forward to it.  I have not seen this dark-haired beauty that is Madeline Stowe in much of anything for the past ten years.  The last time this actress struck me as perfectly talented was during her performance of 12 Monkeys, which I watched at least six times.  She was amazing in Short Cuts, too.

10/14: I completely fucking love this show.  

Pan Am: 9/25—Christina Ricci is the only part of this series that I am interested in, at all.  As it is a certain Mad Men copy, I do not hold onto much hope that it will deliver me from an iota of me real life anxiety, boredom.  What truly interests me here is scrutinizing how Christina Ricci has aged.  And I am wondering what her weight it right now.  As a former skinny turned pudgy, the opposite type girl fascinate me, a lot.

10/14: Fucking stoopid.  Cancelled already.  

Broke Girls: 9/21—This series looks funny to me, and it looks as though much of the setting will take place in a restaurant of a sort of low caliber, my most favorite type of place to eat.

10/14: Could hardly watch it, that bad.  

American Horror Story: 10/5—This series looks good, as the Friday Night Lights mom is in this.  It looks as though this mimics the early nineties, David Lynch directed, Twin Peaks.

10/14: Adore this.  

Enlightened: 10/10—This show features a fresh rehab graduate.  The star of the show is Laura Dern.  I am hoping that HBO “gets” that 12 step ideology is dbagcity, and my assumption is that they—in more ways than none—*do* understand this.  Laura Dern appears in trailers as a tra-la-la singer of all that is puppies and unicorns one moment, only to reappear as a borderline mascara-streamed faced lunatic the next.  I look forward to laughing my ass off.

10/14:  So fucking hard to watch, as Dern's character is so pathetic and clueless.  But the show is very true to the recovery personality type.  I think this show is a success thus far.  

Once Upon a Time: 10/23—This looks a bit stupid, but definitely looks watchable.  The young wife, Ginnifer Goodwin, from Big Love is on this.

10/14:  Still have not seen.  Premiers this Sunday, I think.  

Ringer: 9/13—This is the new “twin” show, think Buffy times 2.  I think I might actually pass on this.

10/14:  Have not seen it yet.  I might Amazon it when I get a chance.  

Suburgatory:  9/28—This show, featuring a teen girl with subversive, adorable qualities, looks freakin’ hilarious.  I am so looking forward to this.

10/14:  This is Mr. Z"s favorite thus far.  I think it is watchable.  LArry David's wife is freaking amazing.  But it is not my favorite.   

Hereafter: HBO –I am unsure about this new series, but something in the trailer has compelled me to try it …

10/14:  Not sure yet. 

Person of Interest: Show where Ben from Lost is the star.  Hmm? 9/22

10/14: I have watched this twice, maybe three times.  And all those times I was hardly paying attention, as I was this bored.  

Circle show: where the teens are witches--  And what a surprise, this show taking place in Washington, which is prolly filmed in Canada--Vancouver. I cannot help myself, I think I might have found a fave.  

10/14:  Utterly cheesy, but I really like it.  

OLD SHOWS:

Modern Family: 9/21—Funny, a lot of repeated jokes (example): the Dunphy family trying to fix their staircase.

The Office : 9/22 A great show, but they’ve lost star.                        

Parks and Rec: 9/22: We cannot wait.

Grey’ Anatomy: Do we really need to say a thing here, hm?

Parenthood: 9/13: Perfect—though decidedly trite—in almost every, possible way.             

Hung: 10/2—Cannot wait to see Miss Heche and her new antics, if any. 

Louie:  Louie Louie Louie Louie.  Need I say more? 

Blah...

My son is becoming too old; it is literally tearing my into pieces.

I feel claustrophobic right now living in this little, sports obsessed  town.  If had blond hair, big boobs, and a dumber mentality, I would be OK, but this is not the case.

I am obsessed with this blog, though the writer no longer writes it.  I have always wanted to be a carny.  According to the writer of this blog, and I believe him, I never woulda made it.  I am too much of a princess and I have a super hard time taking shit.  Anyway...here is the blog: http://diary-of-a-carny.blogspot.com/

Went to a corn maze today with my family.  I am having a hard time recognizing it is autumn.  I am sick on kettle corn.  The boy is playing his new football video game.  The old man just went in for a nap.  I need to get more serious about my writing.  But there is so much else to do, too.

Night Blogland.

Reading in 2011

This is an ongoing list that I try to edit at least once a week.  I should try to date what I 've read, when I have read it.  I should also be working to keep some sort of reading journal.  I need to read like a writer and write like a reader.  This is something I told those fifth graders.  How Ralph Fletcher o me. It is raining today (Oct. 2, 2011) and I am writing, reading, and watching Mr. Z (my middle school aged son) and the old man watch the games.  They are watching, snoozing on the island coach pillows bed n the middle of the floor while I have the coach. Our cat, our adorable Miss Meow Meow is walking back and forth, trudging, on the wicker sofa, now stripped of its cushions, as they are serving to pillow, to snuggle the men.   I have to pee.  I am lazy.  I have clothes rotting with mildew at my house.  I have a borderline rapid landlord right now who I am ignoring.  I have not looked at my email in nearly a week now.  I am falling down into a silly tangent, a spiral of boringness.  Back to my list.  The world is peaceful.  Here is a singular, beautiful idea, and it is a notion that allows me to survive in this world:  

There is always something else to read.  

Here's what I've read, online books, Internet blogs, magazines, newspapers, etc. aside.  Well, this is what I can remember.  Usually, I have read twice as much.  I need to get offline and get back into the literary world, as I feel like I am wasting my life.  But maybe this is a good thing.  Perhaps reading what I want to read is better than reading at books, forcing myself through classics like I did in my twenties.  Life is way too short to read dull fucking Willa Cather, and Sarah fucking Orne Jewett for fuck sake's.   I do need to go to the library to see what I actually checked out this year.  I just have a horrible memory in this way, I truly cannot remember what I've read.  I need to become a less passive reader, as it is really all *slippping* a way..

Jennifer Weiner books of 2011:
(I cannot help myself; I recognize that she is the epitome of silly chick lit.  And--yes, yes!--I also       realize that women are not marshmallow peeps!)
Fly Away Home
Goodnight Nobody
The Came You
The Guy Not Taken (1/3 of the book, had to put it down.. Was she serious with this shit?  Wow. )
(3)


Jennifer Egan books, all of them:
The Invisible Circus
The Keep (Oct. 2011)
Emerald City
A Visit from the Goon Squad (Spring, 2011)
Look at Me (Sept. 2011)
(5)


The Two Fucking Amazing Books by Elissa Schappell:
Use Me (Oct. 2011)
Blueprints for Better Girls (Oct. 2011)
(2)


Maybe the best book I've read thus far:
Let the Great World Spin, Colum McCann (Spring 2011)
(1)

Alice Hoffman, whatever she wrote this year...
The Red Garden (Spring 2011)
(1)


And here are the rest:

• Sarah's Key, Tatianna (?) Idiotfuck (So fucking lame.) (Summer)
• Bossypants, Tina Fey (Tina, You're funny almost all the time, but when you're not, yuck!) (Summer)
• Olive Kitteridge, Elizabeth Strout (Spring, 2011)
• Tiger, Tiger, Margaux Fragoso (Summer 2011)
• Gossip of the Starlings, Nina De Gramont
• Family History, Dani Shapiro (Winter, maybe February?)
• Freedom, Franzen (Jan. 2011)
• Her Last Death, Suasan
• Year of Wonders, Geraldine Brooks
• Falling in Love with Natassia, Anna Monardo
• The Help, Katheryn Stockett (July 2011)
• Down and Out in Murder Mile, Tony O'Neill (Winter 2011, January, February or March))
• A Life Gone... , Wayne from the Internet (memoir-y book by rehab surviver...)
• The Bitch Posse, Martha O'Connor (10/11)
• The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins (10/11)
• Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins(10/11)
• Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins (Plan to read tomorrow!) I actually have not read this yet (10/11)
• The Sisters Brothers, Patrick DeWitt (Fall 2011) (almost all read)
• Swim Back to Me, Ann Packer (October, 2011)
• Josie and Jack, Kelly Braffet (October, 2011)

(20)

(Oct. 8, 2011: 32 total)

October 8, 2011: I am reading Catching Fire and The Sisters Brothers this weekend, but I am not sure that I will finish both.  I have to have the latter read by the end of next week... Bt I am so much more compelled to read the first, as that series is even more amazing than ppl say it is.  I am blown away that those adorable, little fifth graders were reading it!  No wonder they were whipping through all their work to get to the other said... The side of freedom, when you can read what you want!  At this point it looks as though I am reading 2.7 books a month.  My goal is four books a month.  I think my time spent online, reading blogs, short stories and the like dips into my time a great deal. Of course, if I am reading, then, this should be great, it means I am still reading, right?  Bu tI like the idea of reading full novels. And I generally read literary fiction, um, Jennifer Weiner aside (though Amazon begs to differ from me on this... I dunno, depends on how liberal I am feeling about judging literature...) O get to me goal, I need o get up to forty books by the end of this month.  This means I need to read thirteen books in the next three weeks and two days; this is twenty-three days.  Almost one book per two days.  I want to enjoy what I am reading, and I want to read less passively.  Fuck, I think I might be getting  migraine.  i wonder if it is light, chocolate, yelling at Mike, being irritated with Mr. Z my adorable, but spoiled little dude.  Fuck if I know. Maybe it is the television? 

• I am in the middle of my old undergrad professor's book about teaching writing, the one that focusses on digression and even discusses The Catcher in the Rye (Note: the old man and Mr. Z are planning on reading the latter together)

What I Abandoned:
The Gary Paulsen, Alaska Book (Whatever it was fucking called, Winterdance or some shit...)

Black and White, Dani Shapiro (I hate her writing voice and feel that if I met her, she'd own Talbots clothing and treat me like I was poor white trash.  She irritates me.  Whatever.)


What I Started and Think I May Return To:
Crazy Town: Money, Marriage, Meth
The Leftovers, Tom Perotta
Twilight of the Superheroes, D. Eisenberg
The Collected Short Stories of Deborah Eisenberg
The Psychopath Test: A Journey Through...
Gone with the Wind
Tender is the Night

Miss Peregrine's Home for...


I also read countless short stories that are the free samples from acclaimed literary magazines, like Tin House.  Sometimes I read not so acclaimed lit mags, some of which are online only, like that silly noir shit that I do not even like, it just interests me for some reason.  This time seems wasted, as it is only a way to deaden my senses; it is not a way to actively figure the world out in any way.

Here is what is in "the pile":
Wonderstruck, Brian Selznick
The Sisters Brothers, Patrick DeWitt
That Was Then, This is Now, S.E Hinton
The Outsiders, S.E. Hinton
The Room, Emma Donahue  Abandoned.
The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Aimee Bender  Abandoned, boring...
Peyton Place and A Return to Peyton Place, Grace Metalious (check spelling)


What I am looking forward to...

• The Marriage Plot, Jeffrey Eugines
• The New Alice Hoffman novel
• The new book of short stories (9/11) by Melanie Rae Thon--On second though, she is almost too lyrical for my current taste.

I feel like I read constantly, as in: all. the. time.  It is weird then, that I seem to be averaging less than three books monthly.  Part of this is that I watch way, way too much television.  Also, I read many , many short stories that are soon forgotten.  I need to start tracking these, too. Perhaps I should just list them by author, as I often read several by the same author and then get stuffed with tht author.  My list would look like: SHORT STORIES BY AUTHOR: Eagan, Schappell, Boggs,m whoever, yep, her him, etc. I dunno.  How do I account for the articles, too? For example, I am trying to find everything that Elissa Scappell has written, and some of her stuff is true; it is an essay or article.  This would not count.  I should track it all, right?  Again, dunno.

Here we go.  Here are the short stories found online:

• Boggs chick who teaches English at the fancy (?) private school
• Find the many, many others, like the story written by the amateur about h e TA who disappears
• The Alaskan writer, Melinda Moustakis (found in the Alaskan Quarterly and in Storyglossia)

Also, I should try to include an entry on each piece that has affected me.  For example, for the Egan novel, the Goon book, I should include the letter/email I never sent to my stepfather.  Maybe I should include the letter Mom sent me after ignoring me for weeks about how she identified with the shame memories.  However, the shame memories, what she said, that could have been from just reading the reviews.  My mother is too stupid to really read anything unless it is for her book group, filled with teachers who are the anti intellectual, or a western or some fucking thing.  I read so many more books before the Internet.  But I will say this:  I read a lot of stupid books back then, too.   Now that I get my stupid fix from the Internet, maybe the quality of book I read is better?  I dunno.  Really, who am I kidding?  I read amazing stuff in college, Bahktin, Rabelais (well, I pretended to read Rabelais, whatever. I read lit fiction now, but nothing that is too challenging.  I should challenge myself more, read more Virginia Woolf or read at least one thing by F. Scott Fitzgerald.  I have never, ever read a fucking thing by him.  What does that even say about me?

Remainder of the Ramble

It is basically impossible to write this evening, as I am completely emotionally exhausted by what happened today on the Stinkin Thinkin blog.  The Stinkin Thinkin blog is a blog that’s main purpose is to support the ever so normal questioning of AA.  Many members of this group are ex AA-ers who have been hurt by the program at its decided belief that Alcoholics, Addicts, and the like are powerless.  We have a disease from which there is no cure, except for more AA meetings.  I have loathed AA for quite some time.  Sadly though, I went for years, believing that I was fucked up in many ways because I could not wrap my head around these AA principals.  I know now that I was incorrect.  This blog, and many of its members have helped me to do this.  I do not want to discuss the blog any more.  It is hard for me to stop thinking about it.  My bf has told me that he will put blocks on our computers, if I need them.  The blog, I am embarrassed to say, has become another addiction.  I need to move on.

Here is what I do need to focus on:

Trying to find a job, in education or at the local paper

Deal with the cohabitation situation, whether this means moving or making more space

Make the middle school transition

Pass second scary test

Figure out what is going on in the Master’s program, should I do it, can I do it, etc.  Only four more classes to go

Start looking into local private schools

Start another blog, without this freaking Violet identity.  I cannot obviously talk about who I am on every level on my blog, as I often discuss addiction and cuss like a sailor.  But Violet is prolly a bit more caustic than I am in real life. 

Pick an idea for a story and stick to it.  I do not want to write the story on the blog.  The blog is for my rambles.  Not sure why I even have this blog.  I was inspired by GO GO and Gunther to write this blog, initially.  I wish G2K still had his blog.  I wish this a lot.  I miss Gunther.  It is interesting that the three of us have all at one point taken issue with the blog.  I do not think any of us took issue with the blog’s friendlier moderator. 

I am not sure how much writing in this overly general way about the blog and my feelings toward it help.  At all. 

Return from the Ramble

From the other day...digging it outta hiding... 


I have spent countless hours thinking about my addiction, AA, Alanon, sometimes GFD Coda (yeah, I went their outta decided loneliness in my early twenties, pathetic, much?), and the like.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I think I need to fix my thinking elsewhere.  Plus, I have been spending much of my time on a blog--that used to be linked here.  I am really creeped out by its some of its members right now and one of it s moderators.  -http://stinkin-thinkin.com/.  


This blog is a place for ppl to meet up to discuss the dangers and stupidity of the 12 step ideology.  A few weeks ago I was pretty frustrated with several community members over there, one in particular.  I decided to leave the blog, but then went back in a sort of obsessive, without my own permission kind of way.  


My other irritation over at ST was this: an obviously mentally ill woman was on there trying to get some suport.  She seemed kinda borderline, nuts really.  But I could relate to being in that state.  I felt like some women over on the blog were kinda shitty about it.  And then she got kicked off the blog.  Though I love ftg I do not always agree with her and her inability to undermine the rigidity of the other moderator.

I do think spending my energy there takes up energy.  I need my energy to parent, find a teaching job, and deal with the mess that is my life.  And I want to get back to writing.  All I am doing now is commenting on blogs, FBing like a moron, and writing these stoopid stream of consciousness journal type entries.  Snoozefest.  But I do not wanna put myself down too much here.  Right now I still have to pass a teaching test.  Then I need to present my work to the dean of my college.  Fuck.  I just wanna curl up in a ball and read the books I want to read.  I am very low functioning right now.  And also, to make things super fucking stressful, my relationship is so on the rocks that i feel like I am having PTSD panic episodes all the time.  

Also, my son is now in middle school.  I have not truly melted down over this as of yet; however, I feel struck.  I feel like a deer in the headlights.  Heartbroken.  Like it is a sort of crisis.  The world is moving by, passing me by, too quickly.  I feel like everything will end soon.  I feel like if I ignore my life and do not strive for joy, I will also not feel the pain that is inevitable.  The raising is hard, but the letting go is impossible.  I feel like mothering has been the most astounding thing I will ever do.  It is why I am here.  But I also feel like it is the hardest thing.  And I feel like it is one hell of a lonely job.  Moms often compete, we same to rarely cooperate or support.  I was told by the mother of some chubby kids this week to give my son a protein shake.  As I write this, the anger is returning.  Man, who did she think she was doing this? I do not wanna get into what I said, but man, it threw me.  I know my kid is perfect; I was not worried about that.  But I was concerned  I was putting out a vibe that ppl can treat me like shit.  And this woman is so fucking ridiculously housebound in her overly controlled relationship.  She has a permanent, metaphoric, ugly as fuck diaper bag slug over her shoulder.  I would rather not talk to anyone right now, anyone that is in the tiny, boring as fuck , little town.  I hate its conservatism, its reliance on football for entertainment, and its general nit-wit-ism.  I hate the Lands End way ppl dress.  And mostly, fuckitall, And the mom community, well fuck... I am so sick of it, as this mentioned aspect of the mom community where I live seems so rampant with this diaper bag douche baggedness.  

To My Fat Aunt DB, Stop Emailing Me

 I just found this old post. As I do not believe that I have any readers, I might as well post it. Post all of it. There is so much gd crap in my head, I need to weed it out. And I need to weed it out so that finally--and yeah, I am prolly dreaming--I can create a concise short story that is poetic in its images and outstanding in its message...

So, here was the crazy rant at a poor, pathetic old woman. Yep, I suck on several levels. It is true and at least I can admit it, right? Trigger Warning: This was written in a decided rage and is graphic and just awful. You will better off not having read it.

Dear Aunt DB, stop, Violet. Ok. Ummm. Ok, I need to back up here a little.

I got screwed in terms of family. I have one amazing son, and well, this is it. I do have a crazy ex husband who is right now my boyfriend. Yep, sometimes I lump him into the mess that is my family. On other days, I include him on the shelf that contains the gem that is my son. How is this for awkward, forced writing that bores even its writer. ???? Yeah, I told you *not* to read this. My fat Aunt DB--my lard assed DB aunt, OK, no, my obese jackfuck aunt, DB fucktwat aunt keeps emailing me. She ostensibly wants to know why I am cut off from everyone in our douche of a family.

Really? She is not concerned, do not let her fool you. I am sure you may be fooled, as she is a fat, hideous unemployable former fourth grade teacher with cancer. And she has low status in our family; her own son does not want her over for Christmas, it's true. I am coming to this conclusion: I suck for being mean. And you prolly think so , too, right? Yet I continue in the same vein, as I am prolly have tourette syndrome on top of everything else, emotional tourette. But to continue about my aunt, and my mean little depiction of her, her personality, and her sad little life: she is this annoying. Her needy emails are really a pathetic attempt to connect to a human being. And I get this. I've been lonely, too. But her lack of awareness in terms of her motives grates on my very last nerve. But mostly, her attempts at connection are based--almost solely--on her desire to dig for gossip, about me. For this gossip, I know, will at least be a conversation piece at say...my grandmother's for her little pathetic winter visit. Or, maybe, at my father's house for a super, duper, toxic Thanksgiving.

Here is an example of my writing while in a rage... I wrote this in a draft I found about the db, DB Aunt...and really, I have zero idea what it says or even means:

"Violet says this, i's really so sad. Her poor boy did this. Really. They will tak about us, compare my son's fucking reading scores with my annoyingly spoiled probably mentally ill little brother. Sorry, I have better things to do. Um, like blocking your lame as fuck emails from my yahoo account."

Does this above paragraph even make sense? Not so much; however, it is a pretty good example of the way I write when I am batshit angry, more or less. This in some way refers to her going on and on about my brother's alarmingly high scores in reading. But the idea that my family would go on at such length about someone's reading scores, the scores of a third grader, is profoundly nuts, it really is.

So here was a draft of an actual email I wanted to send, but smartly thought better of at the last moment:

Dear Aunt DB (my aunt is not really named DB--or douche bag, umm),

You tell me in these emails that I must be sad to be divorced, to be on my own, to have lost my house. Here is a thought for you lardfuck ugly (and you really *are* a lardfuck): you never even owned a house, apartment dweller lowlife that you are. And, well, yeah, my ex is a big bag of douche most often, but, see, here is the thing: he loves our son. It is true. My ex has done a litany of shitty things to me. I could go on at length. But he pays for everything in addition to child support. Plus, he adores Z. Z is like the moon to this man. Your ex did not even really visit your kids, right? You lose. You, you shitty triple decker inhabiter, you with those ugly kids, your huge, hungry hippo whole derriere lameas-orlameass--fuck existence, you...

I do not like you. Leave me the fuck alone. You smell like my grandmother, too, while I am on a roll of telling you how I feel. The two of you, you smell fat, like a real live fat woman. Gross. The two of you--not weird sisters, but bland unattractive, creepyasfuck lame sisters,--have this persistent diarriah smell of a fat woman who has never seen a day of thin in her entire life. It is the smell of gluttony, of never being wanted, of never being fucked becuase you were hot or even cute. I have been fucked in this way, you, Stupid. I do not care where you've gone on vacation, you boring ugly, as your trip to Europe is less intense than the way I attracted men. Certainly, I was never a beauty, but I was damn cute. And you , again, I will tell you this, never saw this sort of life, not even for a nanosecond. You are the woman a man closes his first to put his dick into. [Note to self or to my lone reader: what does that man? I do not know. Another crazy description created in an overly, crazy irate mind, I guess.] That,the weird fist closing reference in relation to fat chick fucking, my fat loquatious aunt, that is you. Nobody, expect maybe your doctor, has ever even seen your fat lady twat. I lathe you. I have never enjoyed your company. Everyone in our shitty, narcissistic or borderline-y family hates you and finds you ridiculously odious. Please stop trying to insert your fatness into my life.

Stop fucking emailing me. Now.

Never Yours,

Violet