Josefine Petersén's Must clean poop off panties

Life’s blurry. Then I shit myself (only a little). Nothing a few beers won’t take care of, color me intrigued. What’s the holdup? Sign me up, fool!

(The world is other for a while.)

A storyline is evading me. I might be searching for it, that or a punchline. Then I fell and hit my head. I see cockroaches (note to self: WTF). It’s all good, bitch! I’m cool! Honestly, it did hurt a little. And by a little, I mean FUCK. Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. Nothing a few beers won’t take care of, let’s do this!

-Must clean cake of dry blood off sore skull
Cleaning makes me hungry. I want to eat the whole world! Blood cakes are a delicacy in some places. Then I cut my finger, real deep this one. Fuck eating! Have another beer! Beer is kind of like food. I think I read that somewhere.

-Must clean puddle of finger blood off floor
Cleaning lady over here, yo! Only self-inflicted shit tho! Hit me up, bro! A slogan? Oh, I think so. Business ideas are born, wheels are turning. I could pay me, weekly (biweekly?) checks. Extra income would be welcome and this could potentially be very lucrative, business does appear to be booming. A half full beer bottle excitedly goes jumping off the table in agreement (one can only assume).

-Must clean beer and broken glass off floor and walls
I wish I wrote this song! Repeat. Louder. A decade sounds like forever. Ten years make ten years ago seem like an illusion. Drinking twenty(ish) beers is a more tangible form of continuum. Then I run to the toilet. Or crawl. Style of movement is not important, intent more so. My goal is to get there. Should business hours be 24/7? I’ll name it Space-time Cleaners.

-Must clean puke off toilet

-Must write business proposal
Hand me a beer. Let’s get creative, motherfucker!

(The world is perfect someday.)

Josefine Petersén is an original Swede, the daughter of an artist and a drummer. She currently ponders the meaning of heat in the City of Angels, alongside her cat Weeza. IKEA feels like home, when home seems far away (is something Josefine would never admit to). She’s fond of Thai food and clean underwear.

More of her writings can be found on this blog: