It’s just another Friday night where I am sitting alone in the bath, drinking another bottle of wine, scrolling through Tinder after I’ve redownloaded it for the fifth time after completely deleting my account. I’m bored, dissatisfied. I need something new…
I have to channel her: my inner Fleabag.
Fleabag, my Lord and Saviouress. It’s my turn to be the detriment of society, because I don’t give a damn about happy endings. I want to be the storm to everyone’s day. I want to be the person that everyone turns their head and stares at when she walks into a room because they’re like, “Oh my god, not her again,” but like, in the best way possible–I am the most beloved pessimistic protagonist of the plot.
Every night is a wine night. I think I’ve tried about five different wines, (within the past week) and attempted to make my own. I recently found that I am a classy Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon lady, with a side of cigarettes and chocolate, of course. Midnights are my afternoons (just like the song). I’m normalizing hookups because, let’s face it, it’s hard to find people that are the “perfect person” for you. Everyone is selfish and knows what they want. If I made a list of my dream person, the list would be far too long and the bar too high. My sense of humor is beyond understanding, and I need to fall in love with a priest for some reason, even though I’m an atheist (leaning towards nihilism).
My cheeks are hot and red now as I take another swig of my wine. I am that bitch. I deserve my Fleabag era. Messy hair, French music, dancing with my cat as I hold a glass of the driest wine I can find. I am the killer queen, with caviar and cigarettes. I welcome all the power I need to push down the person right in front of me–even if it is a child. I don’t care anymore!
Honestly, I just really love that classic feeling when everyone hates you, even when you did nothing wrong. Personally, I just think everyone is jealous of me because I am living life without regrets–I am irresistible! Every man is now bowing down to me and placing me on their altar candles. I am Marie Antoinette saying, “Let them eat cake!”
Really, I don’t want to be in love. I simply do not believe in it. Love is awful and painful, and all of the things you laughed at and said you would never do–you did. Love makes you insane, and I’ve already reached that level while not being in love. I want to rob everyone who is in love. I pity them because I know it will never last–AND THE PDA? Literally get the fuck out.
And anyway, how does one realize that they are in love? That is a question that no one can ever answer because all feelings are different, and all feelings fade. What are you supposed to do once you get married? Have kids? Do you just live a dull life cycle that eventually ends in a costly divorce? Too many questions and not enough time.
I plan to be the anti-hero–I need people to tell me that I will end up in hell because if religion is accurate, then they are right. I choose to be the most fanciable and chaotic woman on earth–
Oh, goddamit, I just ran out of matches, and now my wine bottle is empty… time to get out of the bath.