I do no know what to say, but I know that I have to say something. I had the day off today. I did absolutely nothing, and it was great. Sort of. I woke up and read a book (another 25 cent book or so, Contraband, by a guy called Cleve Adams). Nothing amazing, but who cares.
I temporarily toyed with the idea of cleaning my room, but obviously decided against it.
I also decided that I have to take all my DVD's and organize them somehow, probably in milk crates because I have so many of them. It would help my room a lot.
I walked around the house, farting all day. I don't know why. I picked the scabs on my fingers that will hopefully go away soon so I don't have to pick at them anymore. I picked at the scab on my arm that I got the other day from I don't know what but it was deep. I was at work and I noticed my arm bleeding, so I duct taped it and pretended like I was Rob Halford because it looked like a cuff on my arm.
It was probably much funnier then.
I have the next few days off from work, apparently, though I did not ask for them. The head chef did the schedule this week, and he apparently has it out for me, though I don't know why... so I'm not working until Thursday. I am debating calling in for the rest of the week.
To hell with cutting off my nose to spite my face. It's not busy there now, so they can eat shit. Besides, I got 60 hours in last week so I will live. Fuck them. The sous chef will be quitting soon and then what will they do if they continue to give me a fucked up schedule?
But I don't care about work. I hope.
I care about eggplant sandwiches and stealing milk crates and paying my quite outstanding phone/DSL bill.
I care about the fact that I'm inebriated and have been probably the last five nights out of seven. And I just ate an Ambien.
I'm starting to drink too much. I spend more money on beer every week than I do on food.
(I do work in a restaurant, but still, that is pretty bad.)
I need to re-analyze my life, and soon. I would like to take a road trip this summer. I would like to get the hell out of Fuck You, NH (Ashland, for those of you who care) and never come back. Well hell, for that matter I'd like to be independently wealth and have a girlfriend...
But none of these things are ever going to happen, are they?
I just wish that I was not bored, hopeless, and fucking drunk.
It's like Bang The Drums Slowly, except the drums are chicks.
What else would it be from but The Family Guy?
I temporarily toyed with the idea of cleaning my room, but obviously decided against it.
I also decided that I have to take all my DVD's and organize them somehow, probably in milk crates because I have so many of them. It would help my room a lot.
I walked around the house, farting all day. I don't know why. I picked the scabs on my fingers that will hopefully go away soon so I don't have to pick at them anymore. I picked at the scab on my arm that I got the other day from I don't know what but it was deep. I was at work and I noticed my arm bleeding, so I duct taped it and pretended like I was Rob Halford because it looked like a cuff on my arm.
It was probably much funnier then.
I have the next few days off from work, apparently, though I did not ask for them. The head chef did the schedule this week, and he apparently has it out for me, though I don't know why... so I'm not working until Thursday. I am debating calling in for the rest of the week.
To hell with cutting off my nose to spite my face. It's not busy there now, so they can eat shit. Besides, I got 60 hours in last week so I will live. Fuck them. The sous chef will be quitting soon and then what will they do if they continue to give me a fucked up schedule?
But I don't care about work. I hope.
I care about eggplant sandwiches and stealing milk crates and paying my quite outstanding phone/DSL bill.
I care about the fact that I'm inebriated and have been probably the last five nights out of seven. And I just ate an Ambien.
I'm starting to drink too much. I spend more money on beer every week than I do on food.
(I do work in a restaurant, but still, that is pretty bad.)
I need to re-analyze my life, and soon. I would like to take a road trip this summer. I would like to get the hell out of Fuck You, NH (Ashland, for those of you who care) and never come back. Well hell, for that matter I'd like to be independently wealth and have a girlfriend...
But none of these things are ever going to happen, are they?
I just wish that I was not bored, hopeless, and fucking drunk.
It's like Bang The Drums Slowly, except the drums are chicks.
What else would it be from but The Family Guy?
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Love,
Some dude
YEAH FOR BUBBA HO-TEP!