Saturday, August 21, 2004

Swimming With Anvils

I dread people.
I abhor their foibles
I feel forced to labor under their misconceptions of me
I count seconds while they're talking
I am repelled by their aspirations

Being popular or the life of the party would be a sentence unendurable

There is no measure by which I can express my preference for a wagging dog's tail over the embrace of a stranger

People frequently interrupt my happiest moments to observe that I'm sulking

Chipper hosteses who take me by the hand to "do the rounds" make me feel like Frankenstein in a tuxedo

Oh, and if I have to listen to one more story about your trip to Bolivia with an empty drink in my hand I'm going to eat five pounds of baking soda and take a vinigar enema.

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