I'm getting really tired of your bullshit. I try to be good to you, and nothing is ever sufficient. First of all, making me run to the kitchen the moment I wake up to shove anything remotely edible down my throat just to avoid pain and shaky weakness? Fuck you. This "FEED ME THIS INSTANT, BITCH!" mentality of yours has got to stop. NOW.
Also, it used to be that waking up with an upset stomach meant you were displeased at my being awake before any human being has any right to be awake, back when my morning shift job meant I had to wake up before the sun even had to rise. For a nocturnal person, this was not good. But nowadays I get plenty of sleep, and rarely wake up before noon. So I don't understand why you've been upset so often upon my waking. Again, I say FUCK YOU.
I thought maybe it was diet. I've tried everything. You didn't like being a vegetarian, so I started eating meat again. I feed you a high carb diet, you complain. LOW carb diet, you complain. Vegetables, you complain. Fruit, you complain. Balanced meals, you complain. No matter what I feed you, regardless of the portion sizes and number, you always find something to complain about, and it seems I have to get up every hour or two to once again find something small to shut you up with. If large meals would help shut you up, I'd do that, but I've already tried that without success.
As if constant morning upset wasn't bad enough, Pepto Bismol seems to have no effect one way or another on you. And the upset tummy thing wouldn't be so bad if not for two other things: 1. You lack clarity in your communications with me to the point where I can't tell half the time if what you're saying is "FEED ME NOW GODDAMNIT!" or "FUCK I AM SO FUCKED UP RIGHT NOW!" 2. You actually complain LOUDER, LONGER, and more painfully if I DON'T feed you when you're upset.
And, too, the frequent heartburn regardless of what I eat or what medicine I take is such a constant part of my life now, and I've gotten so used to it, that I almost forgot to mention it. I am so fucking tired of your bullshit, Stomach, if I could trade you in for a newer model, I would.
Just tell me what the fuck you want! I'm tired of guessing, and being wrong no matter what I try. Fucking hell, at least people who are married can get divorced if things get bad enough. I'd divorce you, Stomach, if I wasn't afraid of you taking one of the lungs, a kidney, and half my blood with you. What happened to the tummy I fell in love with? What happened to the good relationship we used to have? Please just tell me what you want!
Gods... at least my bowel movements have been normal these last few weeks. Though now I've said that, I would not be surprised if I'm shooting jets of brown water out of my ass that feel like jalapeño oil, by the end of the day.
THINK OF THE CHILDREN!
Love, your annoyed brain,