Rampage as defined by Shelby Mai, facilitated by a couple glasses of champagne at 2 pm on a Saturday

I wrote this over the summer when I still lived in the pink apartment and I was on the precipice of something

I will spend the day condemned in a prison of my own isolation. I will grow more tense and pensive as the day goes on, but it’s okay because my pink robe keeps me blanketed in softness no matter what crosses my mind. I will draw my blinds and drink a couple glasses of champagne and wash my hair and listen to songs with sexy guitar solos as if to deceive myself into thinking it is a lavish and divaesque — a hedonistic separation from the world rather than feeling I am not of this world entirely and I will soon be shown why. Sometimes I imagine some kind of nonearth being in my window at night who takes me from my bed and returns me to the world I came from.

then after I have watched a couple of movies (Princess Bride and High Fidelity) and I’ve felt my heart beat a little bit faster (during the commercials) over the idea of reaching out to to a couple of men I’ve been slightly entangled with at some point or another. And then I will go to bed at 9 o’clock because I am a reasonable and logical gal and I don’t get swept away by emotional impulses. I lay my head down and return to the world of the exciting and absurd and the comfortable in my dreams between my purple sheets.

But when I ask my pals if I should go on a rampage I’m hoping they will say yes, go burn down a house, you deserve it. I hope they say yes, go get arrested and call that defense attorney to bail you out and then go elope in Vegas, why the hell not. I hope they say yes, you should absolutely go be swept away by your most heinous emotional desires.

in the end to rampage must simply mean to speak more than usual.