Tag Archives: existentialism


Oh, what’s with all the existentialism? I have got it so bad. It comes and goes, but this year it started in July. I tried to cure myself via routes including drinking, listening to music really loud (esp. the Arcade Fire album), rolling on the floor, and not showering. Then I remembered I had this video game wherein these cavemen kill other cavemen, and that was so good for a while. But eventually I gave in and went to an existential therapist. I told him about the French-talking dog, and the baby that eats everything, and the torture, and the apostrophe problems. He said “we are all complicit, and we are so fucked.” And I got a prescription for nihilism, and found out I have slightly elevated cholesterol, despite not eating anything.

I am not sure nihilism is the right course of treatment. I am starting to think staying safely above the treeline is the answer. See, I went out in public, to the store, and it was such a trial. First at the Target, and people were so squat and vile. Misshapen like very trolls you might find under a river bridge. Then I had to go to the grocery store on another day, and I like to push the cart around, but damn, the products are arranged just so, and all the colors pop out, and I hate the other people. They are so ugly! IN MY WAY! And don’t they realize there is food all around them, and that is what their problem is? I am not about to tell them though, they are on their own. I have done my share of public service, back when I was a Starbucks worker giving all the fat people skim lattes instead of the half-and-half or whatever it is they ordered. Anyway, so I say “debit exact” nice as you please and I get out of there. I like to punch my PIN in with two fingers, like I am really typing.

That is about it, except last night Mr. H did the funniest damn old thing. His mother has this habbit of bending at the waist and sticking her butt out when she is looking for something in the bottom shelves in her kitchen, so he hunkered down and made a rump and yelled “WHERE IS MY FRANKENBERRY?” while appearing to reach for something, and I almost died. I made him do it again, with Cookie Crisp. We went through so many different cereals.

Finally, go nominate us in the Most Inspirational Blog category. Or Best Weight Loss, we aren’t picky.

A sweet romantic place

Hey America! How’s it going? I have so much to tell you. Well, not really anything interesting. Have you ever wondered what it’s like in my head, America? My inner monologue goes something like “Oh hey, that is one fat squirrel, look that guy is feeding him, do I smell bagels, oh no he did not button the “never” button, oh he did, my feet are cold, isn’t it weird that advocados are in season now, that person would not be so fat if they did not get the chips with their sandwich.” My inner monologue cares not for punctuation.

And somehow I still walk around and deposit checks in the bank and drive a car and have a husband and friends and pay bills and pick out thoughtful Christmas presents. I would love to know how this all works. Does everyone walk around with a head full of TV static, or is it just me? I’m not saying I mind, it’s just a marvel.

Oh, and I had a bout of existentialism while shopping for shoes. It was brutal, and for a few tenuous moments, it did not matter which pair of black boots I purchased. Luckily, it turned out to be low blood sugar, and I went with the black ones. I should start carrying an emergency pie.

Last night, Mr. Helen and I ordered pizza from the internet, pretty much just because we could. The only wrinkle in this plan is that the end product is delivered by a human and not ASIMO. Still, the pizza tasted of progress, and we even had a coupon for progress. Good deal, America.