I'm simply at a loss as to what to think anymore...
I have done nothing for the past few hours except sit here and finish reading "Hairstyles of the Damned" because I feel as if I'm on some kind of fucking schedule, what with all the books people (aside from Stephanie - her shit has been outstanding 100% of the time, so far... She's the one who recommended "Hairstyles" in the first place) constantly tell me that, "Oh! You should so read this, it's so, so good! I loved this shit! Buy me! Buy me!", which I do, because apparently that's what I do. I buy shit. Food and gas, and other things I probably do need to get, fall by the wayside, as I'm distracted by tattoo and skateboarding magazines, and an endless succession of books, dvds, and cds, which are pointless to buy in any case, what with computers and downloading, and high speed internet, except for the fact that I'm an anal-retentive fucker who actually likes to get liner notes and prepackaged art with my music.
This is the time of the night when I start feeling really asshole-ish and could really care less about anything. It's not that I feel selfish, just more hateful in general. Directed at everything and nothing at all. Normally, I suppress everything, take the blame, don't speak up, keep it all to myself, don't want to bother anyone, I'm sure they have enough problems as it is... This one of those times that I just don't give a shit. It happens. You don't have to read it if you don't want to. I don't expect you to. I still have to get it off my chest, nonetheless.
I want to go outside and set myself on fire in the street, I want to feel white hot streaks of pain shoot down my neck and across my back from ignited gasoline, shoot myself in the face, if only to feel my cheekbones and eye sockets shatter into innumerable pieces, jump off a cliff (a la Bjork's "Hyperballad"), crash a race car directly into a tire wall... Not for any special reason, mind you... I'm just curious as to what it would feel like. I'm not masochistic in any way, I'm not into the whole pain thing at all. I don't like falling off my skateboard nor do I enjoy burning myself on the espresso machine's steam wand at work. That shit is no fun at all. It just plain sucks. I'm just curious as to what pain of that caliber, on such a sudden and grand scale would feel like. I don't think many people could imagine it. Then again, there's a lot of people out there who probably couldn't imagine a lot of things. I used to work at Blockbuster Video and apparently there's still people out there believing that demons can jump out of your television set and possess you, if you watch the Exorcist... A lot of people can be really fucking stupid a lot of the time.
I think it's hilarious that I recently found out that the spouse of someone I work with remembers me from my job at Blockbuster (which was more than 4 or 5 years ago), and has some sort of personal grudge against me, because I was supposedly rude to her at one point, way, way back in the day. Normally, I wouldn't care, but this... This is too funny to me.
But whatever. Fuck that stupid fucking individual.
I wish I could somehow find a job that pays a lot of money for something along the lines of breathing, or sleeping, or possibly just drinking water all day and supplying someone or something with a constant supply of urine. That would be outstanding. I could be in a little room, by myself all day, free to sleep and wake as I chose, and as long as I had a computer there, and some books (and preferably, a window... A view of the sky is nice, but not imperative) and music, I'd be good to go. Yes, I'm well aware of the fact that this can never happen. It's a stupid fucking fantasy, that would probably alienate everyone I know if I went around telling everyone about it.
Ooops. Too late.
Everyone's allowed to dream, though, aren't we? I'm sure the do-gooders of this city/county/state/country can remove their tongues from George Bush's asshole just long enough to let this happen... Haha. Laugh. It doesn't have to be funny, as long as it's true.
Alas, everything in my head, all the random thoughts and everything all jumbled together, I must turn it off now, cut off the lights, flip the switch, so that I can somehow go to sleep, only to wake up tomorrow, shower and put on my carefully crafted facade, and go get paid to act like I like people, just make it happen like putting on a Halloween mask, permanent scowls morphing into, "Hi, what can I get for you today? Would you like a Venti-sized beverage? How about something to eat with that? Do you have a Barnes & Noble Reader's Advantage Card? Thanks! Have a nice one..."
Fucking christ...
Bills will be bills though... What can you do? Ingest ever increasing amounts of alcohol? Sounds like a motherfucking plan. I wonder how many people have been slowly coaxed into mild (or not-so-mild) alcoholism because of having to deal with the public on a daily basis? I guess I would have to raise my hand first, but I'm too lazy to be bothered to make the effort. Pay me by the hour and I'll make it happen.
Sometimes I think I should probably talk to someone (mental health care professional) about something, but I don't think I'd be able to form a single word, a single coherent (relevant) sentence, assuming that scenario came to fruition...
Good night.
I have done nothing for the past few hours except sit here and finish reading "Hairstyles of the Damned" because I feel as if I'm on some kind of fucking schedule, what with all the books people (aside from Stephanie - her shit has been outstanding 100% of the time, so far... She's the one who recommended "Hairstyles" in the first place) constantly tell me that, "Oh! You should so read this, it's so, so good! I loved this shit! Buy me! Buy me!", which I do, because apparently that's what I do. I buy shit. Food and gas, and other things I probably do need to get, fall by the wayside, as I'm distracted by tattoo and skateboarding magazines, and an endless succession of books, dvds, and cds, which are pointless to buy in any case, what with computers and downloading, and high speed internet, except for the fact that I'm an anal-retentive fucker who actually likes to get liner notes and prepackaged art with my music.
This is the time of the night when I start feeling really asshole-ish and could really care less about anything. It's not that I feel selfish, just more hateful in general. Directed at everything and nothing at all. Normally, I suppress everything, take the blame, don't speak up, keep it all to myself, don't want to bother anyone, I'm sure they have enough problems as it is... This one of those times that I just don't give a shit. It happens. You don't have to read it if you don't want to. I don't expect you to. I still have to get it off my chest, nonetheless.
I want to go outside and set myself on fire in the street, I want to feel white hot streaks of pain shoot down my neck and across my back from ignited gasoline, shoot myself in the face, if only to feel my cheekbones and eye sockets shatter into innumerable pieces, jump off a cliff (a la Bjork's "Hyperballad"), crash a race car directly into a tire wall... Not for any special reason, mind you... I'm just curious as to what it would feel like. I'm not masochistic in any way, I'm not into the whole pain thing at all. I don't like falling off my skateboard nor do I enjoy burning myself on the espresso machine's steam wand at work. That shit is no fun at all. It just plain sucks. I'm just curious as to what pain of that caliber, on such a sudden and grand scale would feel like. I don't think many people could imagine it. Then again, there's a lot of people out there who probably couldn't imagine a lot of things. I used to work at Blockbuster Video and apparently there's still people out there believing that demons can jump out of your television set and possess you, if you watch the Exorcist... A lot of people can be really fucking stupid a lot of the time.
I think it's hilarious that I recently found out that the spouse of someone I work with remembers me from my job at Blockbuster (which was more than 4 or 5 years ago), and has some sort of personal grudge against me, because I was supposedly rude to her at one point, way, way back in the day. Normally, I wouldn't care, but this... This is too funny to me.
But whatever. Fuck that stupid fucking individual.
I wish I could somehow find a job that pays a lot of money for something along the lines of breathing, or sleeping, or possibly just drinking water all day and supplying someone or something with a constant supply of urine. That would be outstanding. I could be in a little room, by myself all day, free to sleep and wake as I chose, and as long as I had a computer there, and some books (and preferably, a window... A view of the sky is nice, but not imperative) and music, I'd be good to go. Yes, I'm well aware of the fact that this can never happen. It's a stupid fucking fantasy, that would probably alienate everyone I know if I went around telling everyone about it.
Ooops. Too late.
Everyone's allowed to dream, though, aren't we? I'm sure the do-gooders of this city/county/state/country can remove their tongues from George Bush's asshole just long enough to let this happen... Haha. Laugh. It doesn't have to be funny, as long as it's true.
Alas, everything in my head, all the random thoughts and everything all jumbled together, I must turn it off now, cut off the lights, flip the switch, so that I can somehow go to sleep, only to wake up tomorrow, shower and put on my carefully crafted facade, and go get paid to act like I like people, just make it happen like putting on a Halloween mask, permanent scowls morphing into, "Hi, what can I get for you today? Would you like a Venti-sized beverage? How about something to eat with that? Do you have a Barnes & Noble Reader's Advantage Card? Thanks! Have a nice one..."
Fucking christ...
Bills will be bills though... What can you do? Ingest ever increasing amounts of alcohol? Sounds like a motherfucking plan. I wonder how many people have been slowly coaxed into mild (or not-so-mild) alcoholism because of having to deal with the public on a daily basis? I guess I would have to raise my hand first, but I'm too lazy to be bothered to make the effort. Pay me by the hour and I'll make it happen.
Sometimes I think I should probably talk to someone (mental health care professional) about something, but I don't think I'd be able to form a single word, a single coherent (relevant) sentence, assuming that scenario came to fruition...
Good night.