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i’m obsessed with myself. i hate being so self aware, well at least i hate admitting to it. i read all of my march entries and its clear that i’m genius on the verge of sunshine. no surprise today that incognito, my dirty bastard of a supervisor, didn’t show up again. my frustration for him is unequaled in anything else i feel, except for that of my weight watchers leader. i haven’t stayed for the meeting in three weeks which basically means i’m paying 12 dollars for the supreme humiliation of getting weighed and leaving without making prolonged eye contact
its mellolo like jellelo.
the supervisor i had in early march went on the scram, when he didn’t come back somebody checked thier messages to find a voicemail resignation. some people are just born evil, thats what a volunteer at lunch told me, that baptism’s or christening’s remove the evil off of a baby, obviosly my supervisor never de-evilized. that said i was never religiously washed of my sins so in the volunteers eye i’m evil too. i don’t care, i don’t understand organized religion and some people get really pissy when you ask them about thier beliefs. god damnit
the pieces of my bed finally arrived, emphasis on finally because sleeping with the mattress on the floor gives the cat close range assault on any body part not covered by blanket or sock. the bed is a glorious masterpiece of swedish mind fuck, the directions had no words! i’m sleeping beauty now.
i’ve used the word exhaustion before much like i’ve used the expression “i’m starved” when i don’t have an understanding of what its like to be hungry (proof in my weight watchers membership). this week i’ve stepped a little farther into the zen of understanding, i’m tired
the cat threw up twice today, it was really sick, she started off licking her lips which i mistook as a good sign then her back started to spazz and she barfed this orange stuff all over the carpet. the good news is she stopped after the second time. the double good news is that i cleared up the whole prayer chain situation with my answering machine and don’t expect to get any more “pass it on” messages when i actually talked to one of the prayer offenders who didn’t even apologize. the nerve of some of those churchies, god
theater pubs are wonderful. we saw adaptation and drank some ruby ale. adaptation was a rad movie. its not about who loves you but who you love. is that true? i wish i believed that, because there are so many people i love, lust, day dream about on the bus, go to sleep to, watch on tv, read about in magazines, see on the street, that don’t even know, clueless to whats going on in my mind. thats important, whats going on in my mind. i’d like to think that was true, then. when is it important who you love?
as i purge myself of the beginning of april i begin to slowly drown in its middle ages. the spring sting of familiarity is a stifling existence and i beckon to the greater destinies beyond to remove my unseen locks and chains and allow me to break free from this bordello of boredom. the television, only days ago my closest allie has become a festering wound in my daily routine, the books i enjoyed with sweet imagination now rot in garbage piles across my floor. the shower gets colder as the mirror fogs and i can hardly wait until bedtime
is it negative to call my work a tapestry, or just a creative tool to embellish the fact its lame and although idealistic remains fruitless and undoing. hopelessly bemused by my mid-life crisis du jour, the same time aware that if this is a mid life crisis im only living till 48 and better get busy. and getting busy is all i seem to think about these days, probably because its spring and the pheremones are buzzing around like flys to shit. if i wasn’t so entangled in my own fierce mind, maybe i’d be getting busy with someone else’s
im scamming on you right now, don’t be mad. i had quit writing these diaries of a worn coat because last week i was caught in my own self mutilation of tears and long distance phone calls. i’m back now in full affect, this being my second rebirth in the month of april alone clearly represents my inability to stick to my “guns”. i hate guns, i think we should melt all guns down into pretty jewlery and donate profits to schools. or make it free for me to get my masters degree and hire me a designer and hairstylist.
there are times, and i willingly admit to this, that i love my job. a contradictory to my almost hourly “i hate this fucking job” bitch fest i have with myself, but it’s true. i am an influence, an educator, supporting and resourcing and positvley interacting with the world. ever since my bryan adams looking eyebrow plucking supervisor took the hershey highway out of my life, work honestly hasn’t been as bad. experience is experience and when i finally close the chapter on this bullet on my resume, i will be able to look back with adoration, tears and smiles.
for some reason my mind won’t focus when it comes to books. i’ll sit down to read something that doesn’t have to do with casual sex, british girlfriends or nicknaming your bedmates and my mind wanders into the threshold of obscurity. but when i lazily peruse the columns of people magazine or the latest pink covered novel i got at the supermarket i’m like a buddhist zen master, i can watch tv, prepare dinner, talk on the phone, paint my nails and read an entire book in the span of “peoples court”. its a symptom of my 21st century blues.
a friend called to let me know they’d just seen the movie i really liked as a kid, Ski School. she claimed i told her long ago the movie was my all time favorite because i thought the guys were cute and the skiing was cool. she then accused me of watching soft core porn as a child because she had seen the movie and it was clear it included lots of boob shots and instead of skiing the guys just hang around getting drunk and pulling bikinis off. i let her know i liked Aspen Extreme, not Ski School.
i’m on my way, i think i am at least, i think i’ve convinced myself to spring a leak in this flotation device and swim ashore. its scary to really think about it, to move away from things that have become so natural to my existence. to find happiness instead of mediocrity. to experience new environments and engage with my posse of homegirls that influence my very personality. i’m excited to entertain the reality of moving to southern california, where the sun is character in my absolution. to start something new cradeled in the friendship of my bestest of closest.
today was the day, i can’t decide if being recognized so brilliantly is really the gold to this rainbow. at first i wanted to be the superstar of my own imagination, then i wanted to share it with the neighborhood and now i want to keep it like a warm nougat inside my bra. either way i’ve finally caught up with my trustee spidey compass and can continue in truth and testimony. i’ve been day dreaming about what people will say to me on my last day at work, much like at my funeral, i’m sure they’ll all be crying.
monday is a bitter custody battle between the lazy slut of a weekend and harsh tucked in shirt of the week. as snoop says i work so hard till my hair turns gray. top that scurvy bitch with the fact i “owe” the government money for working. numbers don’t make sense . i think next year i’m going to willy nelson it. but the cherry was attending weight watchers tonight. is it possible for people to get more mercifully pathetic? myself included who is moaning and whaling over the broken mirrors that were those .8th of a pound i gained. tragedy.
i’ve seen some crazy shows on tv this week. i caught the “praise the lord” channels presentation of the bible in claymation. claymation is so cool, the entire bible factor had nothing to do with my enjoyment but watching the movements and when the clay jesus would blink his eyes, it was cool. then i saw this really stupid show in nickelodeon where this obvious puppet goes to school at a regular school and all the kids interact with him without identifying the fact that he’s a puppet. way different than sesame street because he’s the only puppet. love tv
sometimes i wish i had bigger metaphoric balls. when someone is really disrespectfully rude to me, or someone else when i’m there, that i could (without overemotionalizing)tell them honestly how hurtful what they said was. that i could have an arguement with another person, besides myself as i desperatley try to fall asleep sunday nights, and be able to communicate effectivley using i statements instead of fuck you statements. that i could take a stand against the slippery hypocrits and loud mouthed personal offenders who infest my workplace like SARS to people traveling in asia. saying for yourself is important
whats that duran duran song, hungry like the wolf, i’m going to officially make that my theme song for finding a job. i’ve finished reconstructive surgery on my resume just like plastic surgery there are some fake boobs under my work experience, started with real boobs, i gave myself an enhancement and people have noticed. the term “burned out” is such a pathetic legacy to follow but as each day begins i mentally rehearse my resignation speech. that said, when i make my move do i want to stay in the same hellish profession i tailored myself to in college?
jelly beans, beer, tater tots, chips and salsa. i’m confessing my sins to the great weight watchers god in the sky. this beer at the pub by my work tastes like grapefruit juice gone wild. the part in half baked where bob saget stands up and says “have you ever sucked dick for weed?”, the movie Just One of The Boys, prom next weekend just like the real one: i’m going with friends but this time i’m planning on a tiara, cotton eye joe, lady in red, michael jackson circa jackson five singing “oh baby give my one more chance”
cramps due to menstruation are medically known as dysmsphorea or something but at my house we call them devils own. canceled easter plans to visit mi familia due to devils own and a sudden onslaught of soar throat, runny nose. spent entire day, until just now 10:13pm, watching tv rubbing fruitlessly at devil’s own. received email from prospective job to inform them what credits i had . checked my college transcript only to be reminded of the academic probation i barely survived freshman year then the terrible effect such poor grades had on my overall GPA. what a fucking downer
easter and 4/20 on the same day. good thing i’m not celebrating either this year or i’d be so confused filling the bong with jellybeans and trying to light that plastic green grass that usually fills my easter basket. instead i tried to wax my upper lip in the tradition i follow of removing unwanted facial hair on holidays celebrating jesus. the waxing went terribly wrong when i applied the “moisturizing” lotion afterwards that actually numbed my upper lip giving me that fresh from the dentist feeling. i’ll dedicate the rest of the day to staying in bed chanting spells
the website was unavailable all weekend and now, as i enter my past few days 100 words i am reminded of what a lameoid i am rereading the incarnations of my meaningless days. tempted to rewrite from the 15th on, but i can’t clean slate it AGAIn, seeing as that would be my third time this month. monday has come and gone without any up or down, just constant hum of flourescent bulb of same. decided to quit job and collect agates on the beach to sell at saturday market. mom thinks i should try st john wart, sounds gross.
dentist called to remind me of biyearly death by plaque scraper. either near sighted or astigmatic, eyes are fucked to the max. bought dress for “prom” but really need to buy some sort of supportive underwear to keep from jiggiling baby and no shoes situation has lead me to consider making a statement by lack of shoe. listening to coldplay is like a numbing hangover, just want to stay in bed and drink from a straw. listening to a tribe called quest is like a early friday afternoon with plans. could be homeless in santa barbara, sleep on the beach.
its been ten years since i was 14. 14 was the shit, right before everything fell into the collaboration of an adolecents lifetime. now on this gloriously blue sky evening in the springest of all april i am celebrating my freedom from 14 to 24. not that everything, details and all can be considered a complete failure, academically yes, sexually most positively but socially, analytically considering i’ve been surviving in the silver lining. hallelujah to st johns wort, see herbal enlightenment can be legal. as the breeze blows through my curly locks of feminine wile i smile at my reflection
granted i can be a cheese bomb. see last entry, i‘d just finished dinner. letting you in on a secret secretion i’ve been harboring fugitivily. coventionally rules have been established as to how often and to what extent this experience is realized. me, being a self proclaimed anti establishmentette feel like rules are for suckas. well, last month i was all over the rules, writing dreamily every day detailing my weight watchers and such. infact i followed true blue earlier this month but now its time to come clean. i’ve sensored my own masturbation monologue to produce this trivial pursuit
somtimes when things happen and there is no recourse, like say my computer erased the last of my entries before i had a chance to save them and there now in the decomposition of my mind, i just chalk it up to ‘meant to be’. that said, i had some really wonderful prose, some beautiful wisdom. had i not been downloading KRS-1’s “sound of da police” maybe my computer wouldn’t have crashed. the true blame is not on that hypnotically fantastic song, but on me for not simply saving. alas i have decided to rebuild my emprire from today on.
the cat stalks my feet every night. i should file a restraining order, she waits in the dark abyss of my closet, her back legs filling with adrenaline of the hunt. eyes big and shiny like two ghost quarters hanging in the sky. the pounce is viscious and aggressive, hungrily clawing at my toes and ankles. her hair is everywhere, even more than mine. break out my lunch at work: there’s her hair, wipe the dust off the cd player in my car: there’s her hair, its a calculated move to get me even when she can’t harm my feet.
dreams lately have been weird. two nights in a row i had a dream starring my mom’s ex-boyfriend, in one of them he was trying to hurt me and in the other one i had to use this heavy gun to shoot him. i’ve also been having my gum dreams again. in the gum dreams my mouth is full of gum and the more gum i pull out of my mouth the more there is. and i won’t be able to breath or talk because of all this gum. i’ve been having reoccurring dreams like that for a long time.
their thier. even though i write all the time, i spell words wrong all the time. i never spell tommorrow right, or frustruated, i always spell diarhea wrong, sometimes three of four different ways in one document. now why would i be spelling diahrea so many times? because the case notes i write are basically detailed accounts of diaper changes, my job is less than zen. it really peeves my pet when people use stupid abbreviations, like C U later, or Y not, those people should die. also when supermarkets or drug stores mispell thier names Dari Mart, Rite Aid.
this month was all about the diet root beer and a tribe called quest. i’ve really been a shitty member of this caucus, i should have followed the rules, set myself some limits and followed through with my goals. bullshit. i should have kissed more boys and seen more live music. i should have worn flip flops to work and gotten high before i went in. i should have changed the cat box more often, sorry baby. i should have cleaned my apartment . i should have, could have, didn’t damnit. regrets are for the monumentals, i’m a pragmatic misanthrope.
try as you might to define me, its an impossible task to take on.
I’m a merriad of masquerades i’m a milli vanilli song .
a rose that grows in the harsh winter snow.
a silly rabbit sniffing blow.
i’m a terrible poet, a premarital sax..
is my sharona sang by the knacks ?.
no i thinks its peter frampton.
christy brinkly sucks dick in the hamptons.
seriously though, i’m complex incomplete.
marred by the winninghamm, shared by the meek. .
touche the french miser teases.
his oldest son cums when he sneezes.
april may june july .
life is a fragile lullallbye..
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