Alphabetically Sad

Ivy is…

Authoring a novel which has yet to procure a plot of any kind.
Banging her head against her keyboard, wishing she knew what her novel was about, and wondering why she is trying to write a novel in the first place when no one will read it and it will inevitably become a symbol for all of her failures in life, in book-bound form.
Creating alphabetical blog postings to avoid working on her annoying novel.
Drowning in a pit of sorrow that is slowly filling with her own sweat, blood, and miserable tears of despair.
Eventually distracting herself by consuming half a tub of delicious Mediterranean yogurt.
Feeling slightly nauseous after discovering her yogurt contains no less than twelve times the daily recommended maximum for cholesterol and saturated fat.
Gazing sadly at her growing belly with deep concern.
Hoping that she will not enter a diabetic coma in the very near future, as this would likely impede the progress of her plotless novel.
Inevitably comforting herself by eating the remainder of the delicious, Mediterranean yogurt.
Justifying this action in the name of mental health, which apparently requires that one consume their own body weight in cholesterol and fat in order to make it through the day.
Keeping the empty yogurt container on her desk, within her line of site, partially to encourage better nutrition via guilt, but mostly because she is far too lazy to walk outside to the recycling bin, approximately fifty feet away.
Lamenting her failure at life.
Making her small puppy lick her nose in order to feel slightly better about the current state of the world.
Noting that her puppies’ water dish is empty.
Oscillating between feelings of failure, guilt, and laziness in debating whether or not to get out of her seat and go get the puppies' fresh water.
Procuring water, and then food, for her pets, but not without lecturing them over the inconvenience their existence is causing.
Quietly apologizing to the puppies, thanking them for their existence, and noting that their mustaches are looking especially lovely today.
Resolving to be more loving to the puppies in the future.
Shortly thereafter, stepping in a large puddle of urine left by the adorable puppies as a thank-you for the ongoing love, concern, and gifts of fresh water.
Trying not to yell at the puppies, taking off the wet sock, and realizing that her failure to do laundry all week has left her entirely sockless and, thus, very sad.
Understanding, sadly, that it is not the puppies, or the laundry, or the wet sock that she is angry at, but at God himself, and his omnipotent powers of making life ever-so-slightly more inconvenient for sad individuals who only want to eat their yogurt and write their novels in peace.
Vehemently hating God, organized religion, and Pope Benedict XVI, and protesting these figureheads of oppression via thinking very unkind, nasty thoughts about them in her head.
Wishing that she had thinking-based powers which might actually make a difference, like telekinesis, or possibly the ability to fly, as that would be cool.
Xylophone.
Yielding, eventually, to societal pressure to brush her teeth, put on clothes, and exit the warm cocoon of her room and home.
Zombie-like exiting her house to face a cruel, uncaring city amidst a desolate, isolating world...of doom.

The end.