Medusa used to think she has a disposition irreconcilable to unhappiness, she used to believe she is ontologically happy. and if everything else fails, retail therapy will always work.
but then, this naive superhero had not foreseen a day when there will not be any money to spend and PMS will raise its monstrous head, and despite her feminist objections against the discursive formation known as PMS, she will have nowhere to go.
this evening, therefore, Medusa sat down and rethought her ontological dispensation amid some free flowing tears. she was so depressed about being depressed, about nothing in her life, and in the lives of those around and connected to her, being right, or even left, that she just could not stop crying. and she hated herself for being depressed, for giving in to PMS.
bu then, something happened. there was new friend, with all the affection of the world who held medusa while she sobbed, and got her out of the gloom.
how anticlimactic no?
and in consequnce medusa hated herself even more for having to resort to outside help to sort out her messy head. adn a result, it is still messy.