July 02, 2002 | 9:41 AM

My days consist of

Thick pea soup fog fatigue and rolling nausea.

Nightmares.

Strawberry ice cream melting faster than I can eat it.

Being ignored.

Hot afternoons waiting by the Reflecting Pool, reading Dorothy Parker and Lester Bangs.

The Who�s Greatest Hits.

A frayed string of bad hair moments

Running into people I don�t want to see.

The sweet sounds of Mozart and Bach while I dial away on the phone from 6-9 PM

Mornings spent perusing ebay for that one perfect household item that will make my new apartment a home.

Bursting into tears at inopportune moments�on the bus, in my office, at lunch.

Fireworks going off behind my eyes. So much rage that I cannot express. The rage turns to helplessness. The helplessness to despair. Despair turns to resolve. Resolve begets rage and so on and so on.

Seemingly stuck for hours on the putt-putt green line trolley, telling myself over and over again, �I will not throw up until I get off the train.�

Endlessly confronted by happy pregnant women and the their ripe swollen bellies, women who are loved and supported by the men who want to be with them and want to have children.

How can something so beautiful fill me with such animosity.

I never ever ever ever want to love anyone ever again.