And a cat I cannot pick up anymore! Or my kidneys will go "flop" and fall off and just roll on the floor before coming to a stop.
I have also missed the most important thing! Connection with the funny train I wanted to ride in order to be writing here! I caught a connection to an ordinary train and now all I can see around me is boring people and old ladies with hairs coming out of their chins. Which reminds of the fact I have a mustache I ought to be doing something about. I think I am the only person who sees this mustache. However, it is not an imaginary mustache, I swear, and it has all the appropriate conditions for taking over the world. Or the rest of my upper lip. An uncaring owner and lots of space, as well as the hormones of a body that's past thirty and not getting any younger.
Goddammit, I am sure I will wake up one day and it will have developed into a fully blooming gentleman's goatee during my beauty sleep. Perhaps it will go even further, it will cover me whole and I will transform into a female yeti! Yikes!!!
Perhaps I should add fertilizer to it then. I am not getting laid anyway, whether I am male, female or genderless. Perhaps I am hiding something interesting in my pants and don't even know it myself. I am not looking much down there, to be honest. Not much to see. Darkness, spiders, mold. It sounds like a cellar. Not a lady's lower region.
It's interesting to have undiscovered areas on one's own body, isn't? I am falling apart anyway, soon I will have detachable arms and legs on top of everything else. And as I was telling to my best friend, a detachable vagina would also be handy. I would leave it at inconspicuous places, then walk away indifferently as to avoid suspicion.
Someone might even find it and fuck it. Imagine that.
Freedom to vaginas everywhere. Donate them to people who will be nice to them. Put them up for adoption if you cannot fulfill their purpose and fill them. Perhaps someone else will do a better job than I. It's the head's problem, you see. No matter what my vagina dictates, my head refuses. So the poor thing just sings indecent songs to itself during the wee hours of the night. I think it calls out to penises in the vain hope at least one will appear. Whenever one appears, the owner is a dick too, so I just shoo them away and then the vagina complains to me like a child that has been promised ice-cream and I have not delivered.
One of these days it will rebel against me, I know. I will be trying to wash it with nice lukewarm water and gentle liquid soap and it will bite off my fingers, then jump off and run away together with my kidneys. And I won't say a word, I swear. The poor thing will have every right. I have earned it.
I think this is the right train after all. :-)))
