I have been a little remiss in showing up for life lately. I am not sure what happened.
I have examined my belly with the windchimes in the trees, scented candles aflame, oming and examining my bellybutton. Maybe I don't really understand what I am supposed to be looking for. Do other people's belly buttons do something special? Mine just lies there.
I have to confess I might have caused the whole funk. I have been using shower gel outside the shower. I ran out of soap. That probably means I could die … or that I am some kind of a psychopath. You know how they have those checklists like:
wet the bed X
Tortured or killed small animals or birds X
started fires X
Family members have mysteriously disappeared X
used shower gel for hand soap X
I could end up on one of those deep expose shows into the mind of a serial killer.
I guess I should probably get busy deciding who I am going to kill and where to bury the bodies. I am not big on gardening. I like gardens … but only the end part. You know, the flowers and the pretty. I am not a big fan of the dirt, and the bugs, and the repeatedly bending over. I think I get that from having a brother. No wait, that is not right either, there wasn't any part of having a brother that I liked. I think my mind went there because we were talking psychopath and burying bodies.
Do you think it is possible to catch psychopathy by sharing clothes? I never actually participated in sharing my clothes with him and I know none of my clothes went willingly but he did kidnap them often. I don't think he liked my sense of fashion or anything but he had limited choices. Grandma's clothes were like wayyyy too big and were always sensible and sensible is NOT a fashion style. It is a crime against fashion. I think this is wrong, someone should make sensible sexy. Having an uncooperative, aging body should not be held against you. Older ladies with errant bits that flap a little deserve to be able to prance and pout and compete for the best dressed, like everyone else.
Next, my brother had the maid and she was Welsh. Her clothes consisted of strange prints and while it was the 70's there was strange as in cool and strange. Her strange was you look like a middle-aged woman from Wales strange. Then there was me. His younger, beautiful, incredibly cool sister. He could complain all he wanted but I was famous for my school clothes. I was way ahead of my time and flannel never ever touched my body … not even my jammies. So, he can bite me.
No, wait, . . . I am not comfortable with giving him any suggestions. I think Hannibal is one of his heroes.
Anyway, I like the end product of things. Like chicken. I prefer it dead, and defeathered, and degutted. Does that make me weird? I used to have to participate in the big chicken kill every year at my aunt's place. Nothing scars and haunts your dreams like headless chickens racing around the yard, spewing blood everywhere. I must admit, growing up and finding out that other little girls had tea parties and wore pretty dresses and ran through fields of flowers made me a tad bitter.
I got bitter. My brother . . . well . . . at least he never used shower gel out of the shower. I still think I caught my psychopathy from my him. I remember a strange rash and then a fever … no-one had any idea what it was.
Perhaps I should make more of an effort of showing up for life. Too much time alone does sort of feed into the mind going strange places. Everyone knows I am never strange like this normally.
Are any of you available to testify for me in court? The police are here. They are digging in my garden. Evidently, my brother is missing….
MESH BODY: Maitreya Mesh Body - Lara
MESH HEAD: CATWA HEAD Jessica
APPLIER HEAD: Glam Affair - Giusy
EYES: LOTUS. Emotivi Eyes
HAIR: Magika - Honey Whiskey
TOP: KITJA - Yasmin Top WHITE