An open Letter to my BAD INFLUENCE, please help

I’ve been writing all this crap lately. Barely able to formulate anything even remotely grammatically correct, I realize I need to do something else for a little while:

Dear Miss Candy,

I have a problem that I think you need to know.

Yes, Miss Candy, I do have to remove myself from the activities which continue to disable my current mental capability. The brown men are filling my head with crazy ideas, and I end up a comatose wreck after all the brain dancing is done.

I used to be a simple girl from the Midwest with bigger dreams of conquering the world. Drugs were never in my vocabulary back then, and I never foresaw the evil future I now live and breathe in as any kind of common occurrence. Once, twice, three times a week we have smoked the pot. And what has happened to my brain as a result? My writing is horrendous, I get horny watching sub actors fucking on TV, and I am still ten steps behind actually doing anything at all with my life.

Where I have never been a big drinker, and knowing my family has zero incidents of addiction in my past, I must tell you, Miss Candy, that this little hey-hey day of ours has to end.

I need to get back to my simpler roots, where nail polish colors and who was kissing who in what bar are the seeds of growth to all of my communication. I need to get back to my self-obsessed arrogant ME who has no idea what is going on in the world outside the realms of my own breath. I need to degenerate and degrade all sense of growth from my life by CONSTANTLY punishing the world with my fluid lines of continuous fecal release.

Yes, Miss Candy. I do have a problem. And I need you to help me commence the process to solving it. Help me stop wishing people be magically thrown into traffic when they bump into me and curse. Help me stop cursing trains, trying to make it personal, for being late, and hoping that old frigid republicans choke on their toast when they scowl at me through restaurant windows.

But most of all, Miss Candy, just stop tying me down and forcing me to inhale. You wish me bad luck with your wiley Frisco games. But enough is enough.

My healer told me to stop smoking and start drinking my own pee.

How’s that for advice?

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