I don’t work. Yes, you heard me right. I am a woman and a blogger and I don’t have a job. Let me tell you about that. It’s awesome. First of all, every day while you are getting ready for work, I am out jogging. I jog pretty much every morning. I literally have nothing else on my plate and it’s fabulous.
What isn’t so fabulous, however, is being a woman. I mean, yes, it’s great being a woman because my husband pays all my bills and I am a stay-at-home mommy blogger. Granted, there is that. But then there’s being a woman, which is scary, because men are pretty strong.
Running is meditative for me. It clears my mind. When I run, it’s like I don’t have a care in the world because I don’t. I am a stay-at-home mom with no job, and like, probably twice a day I drive 10 blocks to the school to pick up my child. My husband actually drives and comes to pick me up after I’m done running five miles. All this AND he pays my rent? Yes, I know I won the mommy-blogger lottery. Thank you, Christian Mingle dot com!
Now, here’s the thing about being a stay-at-home mom and blogger that a lot of people don’t know. I do a LOT of drugs. Every Wednesday, my son has a play date after school. I don’t see him until at least 4. I drop him off at school and start snorting Ritalin around 9AM. You see, poor Timmy has “ADHD.” I told the pediatrician he threatened me with a knife, and, well, them’s the magic words. “No, Timmy doesn’t want TIME RELEASE!” I told him. “Do I need to go to another doctor and leave you a bad review online?”
I’m new to running, and even five miles is still a struggle for me. Sometimes I smoke a little 420, sometimes I do a couple shots of Jameson. On this particular day, I really wanted to keep the high going. I don’t know, I was just in a mood or something, and plus, I had a little coke lying around. I was crushing and snorting these puppies like it was my job. I mean, it IS my job. My husband pays my rent. God, life is good.
So I went for a run wearing my normal running clothes from Sports Authority. Immediately, I started second-guessing myself. Was this green the latest color trend? Had I accidentally bought something from the sale rack? A woman should not have to feel unsafe while running or question her outfit.
I popped a couple more Ritalin and felt so guilty for even feeling guilty. The pharmacist is on to me.
That’s when I heard the ’copters. Those motherfuckers were following me.
Look, I don’t think I was actually in any real danger from the CIA, but I don’t really know. The NSA is spying on us, right? These things happen every day and the statistics are very real. The cops could kill my dog.
The point is, I should be able to wear whatever I want without people spying on me through the bugs they have planted in my bathroom wall.
The point is, THIS is what it feels like to be female while running while abusing prescription speed. And it shouldn’t be this way. There should be something to temper the edge on this shit.
I wanted to call my husband. I wanted to call 911. I wanted to take the battery and SIM card out of my cell phone so that the authorities couldn’t track me. I mean, it’s not enough to just shut it off.
By the time my husband got home, I had scratched the shit out of my left arm and was bleeding. I told him a man attacked me in the park. He told me to blog about it.
What I do is important. I have an important role in society. Really.