Grace Notes @ Snarkattack

I haven’t been sleeping very well the last few days and thought that if I schedule an appointment early in the day it will force me to get up.

In my infinite wisdom, I thought that perhaps making myself look better, I’ll start to feel better. Sleeping for most of the day isn’t conducive to uplifting one’s mood. I was thinking that self-harm or self-injury often does an excellent job of stimulating the production of endorphins. How to achieve deuglification and potentially stimulate endorphins simultaneously?

Go to the beautician and get a Brazilian bikini wax.

Most people would probably look at you oddly if you told them you’re into bondage and discipline. Tell them that you’re going bald in your nether regions because your boyfriend likes it, and people will nod sympathetically.

I should make it clear that the only person I was getting a Brazilian wax for was myself. I hate pubic hair. It looks silly and it grows all over the place. Even if it makes the belly look fuller, it’s great to not have to worry about stupid sprouts of hair sticking from all sorts of directions.

I’d forgotten how much these damn waxing jobs hurt - that is until it was time for the torture to begin. My anti-depressants have this really embarrassing side effect that heightens the ’startle’ response, or that whole ‘fight or flight’ thing. This is because the brain is forced to produce more nor-adrenaline. In plain language, that means when I’m nervous, I get jumpy - really jumpy.

My body was shaking to brace against the pain. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would - I only uttered an expletive once - but I did find myself thinking: what the hell am I doing here? I’m paying someone to do this?

Well, it’s done. I can wear skimpy bikinis now (haha, as if!) to my heart’s content. As for the endorphin stimulation theory? Well, it woke me up (I was very sleepy beforehand) but no endorphins. I’m still very much downcast even after one of my favourite Indian vegetarian dishes and sweets.

I guess this is the last day of NaBloPoMo. That also means that tomorrow I’ll have 2 of my poems up on another website. It’s not the same as being published in print but still…and if you’re reading this Z, I really am sorry about the name thing. I’m just made of more naive stuff than people from your…circle.

Moral of the story people: don’t write poems for people. They’ll end up hating you for it and you’ll end up hating yourself.