What Are Your Twenties, Anyway?

My last paycheck was for fifty dollars and I spent it on take out sushi. That was over a month ago. I’m addicted to Pinterest. I ended my Roth IRA because I needed to pay a medical bill. And I haven’t opened another one. I like hot weather. And always forget sunscreen. So, my nose is peeling. I don’t have a job. I don’t know how to get a job. It took me seven years to finish college. And my grades were so shitty I couldn’t transfer.

I don’t have kids. I don’t have a husband. I don’t have a boyfriend. I hate dating. I like meeting new people. And eating candy. I don’t know how to cook anything. Like, absolutely nothing. Today I burned a pre-cooked turkey burger in the microwave and then lathered it in Sweet Baby Ray’s.

My therapist is from New Mexico. She wears a lot of jewelry. And stares at my hands when I fidget. I’m worried my co-pay will run out. Pills are expensive. I have Medicaid. Because I’m poor.

I need to figure out my life. I need face wipes. I need a dog. I need my brother to go to therapy. I have three brothers. My family overwhelms me. I miss them every day. I miss being 17. I fucking hated being a teenager.

I should buy gushers in bulk. I should call my dad. He almost went to prison last month. It had me pissing pure cortisol.

I love Taco Bell. I’m scared to say I’m Catholic. I’m scared to be female. I’m scared that being female and Catholic seems harder than it is. I don’t remember how communion tastes.

I miss being funny. I miss my best friend because she lives in Oklahoma. I miss not knowing where Oklahoma is. Oklahoma is way too far from here. I wish I had someone to call. I wish time zones weren’t weird.

I need to get more sleep. I need my hair to stop fucking going gray. I need hair dye. I don’t want to pay for it. I need an agent. I need an agent who doesn’t want to sleep with me. I need to drink more water. I need to pee right now.

I want to resurrect my dog. I want Gucci flip flops. I want this one guy to text me back. He won’t because he sucks and I want myself to finally let it go. I want a crunchwrap supreme without sour cream and with extra, extra nacho cheese. I want to punch a window when my order comes out wrong. I want to be the type of person who complains when it does. I want things to not be so damn expensive. I want to stop wanting a baby without any stability. I want to sleep at a normal time. I want to be able to time travel.

I need men to leave me alone in public. I need a guy who will defend me from other guys, but not be jealous. I need a guy who thinks my boobs are great. I need a guy who is JUST FUCKING NICE to me.

I hate my hands being wet. I hate my hometown. I love it, too. But mostly hate it. I overthink everything. I overthought that sentence. And erased it twice. I like fuzzy socks. I don’t like fantasy. I think my libido died. I think part of my spirit went with it. Flying excites me. I’ll never get in a small plane.

I love laughing. I need to get healthy. I need to stop crying. I need 10 million dollars. I want to give half to my mom. I miss that bitch. She isn’t a bitch at all. Maybe sometimes. I learned it from her.

I want better. I want a bad boy. I want to go to the Super Bowl. I wish I never quit basketball. I miss playing soccer. I miss Capri Sun. I miss when social media didn’t exist. I feel bad for middle schoolers. I feel like I am a middle schooler.

What the fuck is a dating app? Was everyone invited but me? Am I annoying? Could they hear me rip that fart?

I need to go to bed. I need to write more. I need people to know that my life is crazy. Sometimes I hate being pretty.

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