I don't know her name. She told me it, but I forgot, and I do not wish to ask again. At any rate, I have named her: Nemesis. The name takes on a decidedly feminine flavour now that I can hang it on a body. The body, in this situation, belongs to a young woman of average height, brown and blonde hair, and designer clothes.
My Nemesis has apparently decided on what kind of individual i am without speaking to me. This appears to not be a very pleasant image, though by all accounts it is much more exciting than the life I usually lead, which has left me feeling somewhat confused, because I've always thought that drowning kittens in a bag would be a fine way to spend my Friday night, but thought it was socially unacceptable.
I first became aware of this image one week ago, when I was informed that disliking the Rice Crisp Chips were unacceptable. Apparently, not finding enjoyment in a water cracker flavoured with salt and vinegar implies that you (or in this case, I) enjoy slaughtering babies and burning of puppies. My Nemesis, with a cheerful, Revlon smile, informed me that she now had, "An entire image of what your life is like. It's like there, right there."
Afterwards, I went and purchased a large knife, and began scarring myself.
When I see my Nemesis next, I am going to tell her about the dreams I have, where I am stuffing cottons buds soaked with cocaine into the mouths of disabled children. I will make sure to carry a bag of cotton buds with me.
