Down Under

I've got some great ideas for a time-share plan!

I moved to Bottom of the World today. I’ve been contemplating doing this for some time now. You know, the brochures were nice, and I’ve been looking for a place with some curb appeal. Besides, it’s kind of crowded at the Top of the World and I didn’t really feel like I fit in there anyway.

My neighbors all threw me a pity party, which is almost like a house-warming but sorta not quite. The whole neighborhood came, which actually kind of sucked, cuz now my refrigerator’s empty and my carpet already needs shampooing. My cat’s acting a little weird too. But a party’s a party, right?

Pity parties are really cool! You tell everyone the saddest stuff in your life, they pat you on the back, or hug you, and then they try to think of something sadder in theirs to outdo you. It’s almost like a contest. Gosh, if it were, I wonder what kind of prizes would be handed out. …a month’s supply of Kleenex tissues maybe? Hmm, that’s a lot of tissue. Whatever. I didn’t really want to be outdone. Dammit, it was my party.

My psychiatrist calls these party favors.

I did get some nice gifts. Several people brought wine. It’s gone already, but on the plus side, I have a nice start to a cork collection. Sari brought me the latest Chicken Soup with earmarks and all the important passages highlighted for me! The Hurts brought me a bubble bath gift basket with a Bottom of the World coupon booklet that still has some coupons left. Mona gave me a diary that only had about 2o pages written in it. I’m a little curious who wrote them, cuz it doesn’t seem to be her.

My next-door-neighbor is a very interesting guy named Waylon. I think we’re going to hit it off. Waylon considers himself to be the ultimate loser because he failed at suicide. I decided not to tell him I’ve cut my wrists, jumped off a 20 story building, and hung myself, and somehow survived all three. I probably should have. It really was my party after all, but he’s just the pathetic kind of loser who might actually ask me out someday.

Going out with Waylon is not an option, of course. It’s all about my comfort zone. He’s a perfect excuse to run crying to my pillow. Plus, I can feel guilty for at least a week knowing he doesn’t understand why I slammed my door in his face.

I love – LOVE – my new house! It’s perfect for me. It only has one room I call the crying room. Crying is what I do best, especially when it’s over nothing. About once a month or so I even cry over not having anything to cry about, which had a lot to do with why the brochures for Bottom of the World looked so nice. Anyway, no matter what I’m doing, whether it’s whipping up some more Top Ramen, or smashing an empty gin bottle in anger because Sober Annie did away with all the sharp instruments again, I can just stop right where I am and cry!

Oh no! Not chicken soup for the soul AGAIN!

People say I’m very creative and I think it’s true. I’m better than anyone I know at creating false expectations. I actually got my degree in that. I got horribly depressed when I discovered that all the jobs in that field were taken. But I just know Bottom of the World is going to be different. With my credentials I can probably teach at BWU!

I’m as excited as I’ve ever been! Coming to Bottom of the world is the best decision I’ve ever made. My future was never brighter until I surrounded myself with the bleak. Now I can relax in comfortable surroundings while I enjoy all the floods, plagues, pestilences and constant misery I read about in the brochures. Oh and please come and see me okay? You can sleep in the crying room.

© 2011 Anne Schilde

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