Fight Club

I wish there was a fight club for women. I would join. I would get my ass kicked but at least I would feel something.

I am not unhappy, I am not sad, I am simply bored. I need to fall off the deep end. I need to get into a bar fight. I need to jump off a cliff. I want to feel scared, I want to feel pain. I want to feel something – good or bad.

The only thrill that I find lately is driving too fast with music turned up loud. Sometimes I can actually feel the sound waves bouncing off my ear lobes. I can feel the waves vibrating off my forearms giving me goosebumps. Sometimes I just wish I would crash. Why? Why, do I feel this way? I used to be such a good girl.

It’s like I caught some disease. An infection of eeevil. It has attacked my heart first. It turned it to stone. Now it’s spreading through my body, numbing me north, south, east, and west. This would be a good time to get a tattoo. I probably wouldn’t feel a thing.

I now understand why men get into fights. I understand the feeling of boredom and numbness that comes with the burden of living a privileged life (ha!). I have everything I need and I am content, complacent, and bored out of my fucking mind.