Home Sweet Home...
I HAVE INTERNET BACK!
At long last, I can surf the web in the comfort of my own home at my own leisure on my own schedule. And I can finally look up porn again! Oh, happy day...
Digital cable is here to, with neat channels and tvr. We still don't have a phone though. They can't install that until the 5th of next month. Internet was my only concern anyhow.
I have not the energy to do any real updating on my life right now. Not to mention I need to get to bed. I've already screwed myself over. I haven't been sleeping good at all the past week or so. Even this past weekend, the most I slept at one time was four hours. I took a hour and a half nap tonight though... so hopefully that will help.
As for how miserable work is... I've typed a bitching about, like I promised about 2 weeks ago. I ranted on and on and on... more than 5 pages worth... I'm telling you now, it's not pretty. Welcome to my daily Hell. Welcome to everything ugly in me. Please don't worry about me. Somewhere in all of that... I am ok. I must be because... here I sit, typing to you.
EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE!!!
Oh, curse you, alarm clock. No… you’re just doing your job, I shouldn’t assault the messenger. Curse you, Father Time. Such determination, such persistence… Take a fucking break and… just…… sleep……………
EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE!!!
Uggghhh… I thought the snooze button held out longer than that. No wonder I never bother to use it.
Yes, my father, I’m awake and working on dragging myself from my warm and inviting bed-couch… and from the equally warm and inviting imaginary lady that I was just cuddling with. She thinks I should just stay in bed today…
Twenty minutes until we need to depart for our day of enslavement to the corporate system.
I’m in desperate need of a shower. It’s been at least all weekend since I’ve been properly cleaned. Between staying up late into the nights conquering medieval Japan with my vast armies of samurai and warrior monks and further staying up into the faded light of the early mornings with my fantasy lovers, there was simply no time…
Twenty minutes later I pull my still stiff and fatigued body from the shower. I only just stepped into the shower but a few minutes ago it seemed, how the hell did that happen? *sigh* How does it ever? Damn time warps…
Ten minutes later and I’m walking out the door, feeling like I’m forgetting something. Phone, cd player, bag of distractions… keys and water, both of which I rarely ever touch… No I have everything. This must just be one of those psychological scars that high school has scraped unto my mind.
Hardly thirty minutes into the drive and the sun is creeping upon me. Meh. The sun hurts me eyes. I love the dark. I wish the night would last forever…
At long last - yet most certainly not long enough - here I am at work. Why does earning my keep and maintaining some level of self-worth and respect feel so… unrewarding? Hell, it’s hardly satisfying anymore.
Hello, time clock. 8:04am. I’ve been up for two and a half hours already… all basically wasted because I just have to work four cities away from my beloved nest. I should just now be waking up. That’d be nice…
Rivet, rivet, rivet. That’s my day. My unrewarding, backbreaking, dull-as-fuck day. Even the machine says the word “rivet” it seems in it’s own mechanical tongue like a big metallic frog. “rivet… rivet… rivet…”
Ouch… damnit. I hate it when the parts jump up at you out of nowhere and bite you like that… Oh my, it really took a little chunk out of my hand. No blood though. I wonder why I’m disappointed. Oh wait… there it is. A little twinge of happiness just jiggled inside me. Something else to wonder about…
I watch as the rivet counter measures out how badly I’m wasting my time and my life here, counting up to a higher number than I’d like to think about…
46, 47, 48…
Hmmm, my wrist is so itchy. I’m trying to play coy with myself but I can’t deny that I know exactly what it is. It’s my sick itch for blood…for a blade…
It’s been a while since I gave into that itch. It must be going on about four months now since I could no longer hold those inner, biting demons at bay and let them mutilate me and go back to sleep. I’ve been fighting them again ever since they grew hungry and awoke nearly two weeks ago. I wonder how much longer I can hold out…
I need some distraction. Where’s that new guy? Surely he would hold out longer than two days… Perhaps he had brains and was like, “Psshh, fuck this place.” And quit. Meanwhile I’m left here, in my scarecrow clothes, left singing to myself the words, “If I only had a brain…”
123, 124, 125…
I can’t stop thinking about cutting. I wonder why I even bother to fight it. Time has proven that, in the end, I’ll just end up giving in. Even if just to make it go away. Temptation through addiction… such a funny thing. “I want to because I have to.” I imagine this must be, if even just very mildly, a glimpse into what it must be like for heroine addicts…
I wish Dennis didn’t get here almost two hours after me… Some good ol’ tales of Dennis-lore is just what I need.
Jesus-fuck my back hurts like a bitch. I’m SO tired of these people telling me that it’s normal, that I’ll just get used to it, that it’s my own fault and need to strengthen my back muscles. Yeah right… you all have it easy. YOU grow up with oversized bazoomas and live with them from age 13 and have them fuck with your posture all this time… then get smacked around by a truck speeding at 60+mph, sending the vehicle you’re minding your own business in spinning through the intersection traffic and have your head smash through a window and crack the dashboard… THEN you fucking tell me that this pain is nothing, that it will pass… You can’t even fathom that kind of pain. Let me help you… seven hours of setting your very spine aflame with the hottest flame known to man… toss in some menstrual-equivalent cramps and Charlie horses in your spine, neck, and joints… then you maybe have 50% of my pain… bitches…
367, 368, 369…
Fuck this place.
Why am I even here? To help out the household with some extra finances and being able to support myself? Is that worth being in constant pain, risking permanent damage to my already frail body, the aggravation of the people here, or being quite unhappy? Why do you even have to ask yourself this, you fucking idiot? OF COURSE IT ISN’T.
Just the same… it’s not so easy as just quitting. No, that would be too nice and convenient, a fairytale. I have to hold out a bit longer in this God-loving hellhole until I can find myself something else…and plan it right so that I am not unemployed for an unknown amount of time. But DAMNIT… The end of my employment here will not come soon enough.
The only way I can keep my sanity here anymore is by talking and scheming with my fellow unhappy-coworker about how we will escape this dead-end hut and by thinking of the day I will finally be free of these shackles… one way or another…
Sometimes I imagine tragedy striking. Well… physical distress that would be nothing but bliss to me. I could yawn while riveting… and some freak accident happens and a rivet ricochets into my throat and chokes me to death. The ceiling could collapse and squash everything and then there would be nothing to come to to work. Maybe the cockroaches and mice will just take over completely and run us all out of there. Or maybe I’ll just take up smoking, walk across the street, buy a pack, walk back to work and perch upon the roof, enjoy the embracement of hastening my own mortality by lighting up some cigarettes, and set the place on fire with my “carelessly” discarded butts. That plan even has TWO good outcomes. No more job there AND… Mike would be blamed. After all… he’s the only one there who smokes…
853, 854, 855…
Or something less destructive and fatal could happen… The FDA has been after them for years now. Rightly so. The ceilings are disgusting with the aged and grimy stains of water made by an unlocated leak… health regulations aren’t so firmly adhered to… and I couldn’t say how many roaches I’ve seen already during my short time here. Like the one laying out on the floor when the FDA man was here inspecting about a month ago… It’s there still. Slowly rotting away, bit by bit. It’s not my job to pick them up. And maybe they want them there… since all that’s done is ever kicking them into a corner by that lame-brained, worthless sack of gay-hating man-sludge, Mike…
Mike… I can’t even say his name without snarling…. I loathe you, you little bitch. Don’t just fucking stare at me when I’m talking to you and waiting for you to answer me. And don’t give me that fucking wispy-eyed, child-molester grin… I’ll knock it right off your face… And don’t ever touch me again… whatever part of you does, you will NEVER see again…
I would absolutely love to be able to tell him, and everyone else that pushes their beliefs on people and encourages closed-mindedness and insists that they know more than even their beautiful fucking ALL-KNOWING GOD:
“You are the pimple upon my tongue, curdling with bloody puss. You’re the kind of person that gives me such chills that my nipples grow so hard that it makes me want to take even the dullest butter knife and saw them off. You make me want to shit scalding hot and jagged cinderblocks because THAT would be less painful than having to deal with knowing that people like you are allowed to keep breathing.”
Sheesh, I’m angry. I’d do best to just… stay away from people. I wish I could…
1187, 1188, 1189…
Deep calming breaths…
Mike is really the only one I despise. Everyone else pretty much leaves me alone and don’t do much to annoy me. Despite the fact that they all think I’m some naive little child, that is. Even Loleta does in some ways, even though she could tell before I came that I most often played mommy to my own mother a lot around the house after a certain age. Really though, the only thing that Loleta ever said to upset me was when she was praising my father and I to me about how kind we are to my two-timing mother, and she commented that we were “being very Christian to her.”
I will never say that Christians aren’t kindly. That would be as stupid as saying gays are the devil’s work… But you know… us heathens can be just as kind and decent folk (and in many cases more so) as any Christian out there. I like how those fanatic worshippers take all the credit for the definition of any basic compliment for their own beloved religion… Gotta love those Christian Supremacists…
Yay, Dennis is here! Oh, sonofa… Fan-fucking-tastic. Mike wants to work with us today. “Work”. He’s so worthless, it’s disgusting… and he will steal all of Dennis’ attention. Ah well. Hello yet again, my life-saving cd-player. At least I get to leave a little early today…
Oh please, head-banging chicks of Kittie… Play harder, scream louder. Help me drown out my thoughts. Headaches are fine, I’ve become used to those… just… don’t let me think…
1636, 1637, 1638…
Wow… my finger really hurts. More than the usual every day wear-n-tear… When the hell did I get a paper cut? Three lines of uplifted and broken skin… only one is an actual wound though. My body clearly wants to be wounded…
No…
Oh, please, rocker chicks of The Breeders. Play louder your fun lyrics and happy beats. Make me dance in my seat to your groovin’ guitar and bass movements. Make me smile at my own silliness… a silliness I’m desperately trying to upkeep in defiance of all this pain…
God… I can’t cry now, not here, in front of everyone. At work, even. How unprofessional of me. This happens far too much anymore…Sink back into the ducts from whence you came, my tears… Bambi simply does not cry. Not ever. Never-ever. Not until that law of physics is broken at home…in the dark… in bed… all alone. WHAT is my PROBLEM? I’m such a crying mess anymore…
My phone is so vacant. I keep looking up at it like a starving puppy looks up at an occupied dinner table at Thanksgiving. I wish it was not my only source of communication with the world that I once had, before that terrible internet blackout crept into my home.
As always… the breaks pass like seconds and the time working passes like illness… the day gives me plenty of time to let me notice just how incredibly lonely I am anymore, how unhappy I am, how much pain I’m in…
I wish the pain would stop. I wish everyone could just be happy. I wish I didn’t feel so worthless. I wish the scratching knot in my throat would go away…
But at least I get to leave early today. Good thing too because my back is killing me extra today, I wouldn’t have been able to make it through a whole day. By assembled part number 2,586, I’m thrilled to have to clean up and punch out. Farewell Dennis, we’ll have a good talk tomorrow and make up for Mike’s intrusion of today.
DC and mi poppy greet me as I walk up to the truck. I tell DC for the 2,426,078th time that he doesn’t have to sit in the back, that I will, it’s really no problem. Such a polite and silly man. It still amazes me that he’s 40something.
How am I, you ask, DC? Oh, just fine… except I seemed to have just unwittingly punched myself in the nose… It’s seeming very clear to me now that my body is pissed off with me. “How could you treat me like this, you bitch?!”, it cries. I’m so sorry, body. I’ve even already ruined your life and now this…
The long drive home, which is even longer than the ride to work normally, is not it’s usual length. Leaving early means beating some traffic. We even get home early enough to experience full daylight while not having to drive into the sun… not something I really care about anyway, my eyes are too sensitive from acting like a bat for so many years to enjoy the sun… but it’s nice to actually get home and have more than just an hour or two to myself after a full day of wretched but necessary torture.
And it’s still back there, behind my brain, lurking in dark corners and ducking behind lumps of gray matter, that urge that bears the strength of an angry and urgent command and wears the suit of the very word: cut. Maybe I will just give into it. Just get it over with so it will go away and just leave me alone. I’m too weak to wage war with myself these days. My resources are exhausted and the battlefield itself is rotting.
But first I must go clean the dog bowls and bring them back up to the house. Hello, doggies. No, no, no, don’t bite and scratch through the fence and make such a loud racket… it gets me in trouble. Stop fighting. Stop the violence. Stop the hating. Just shut up and love, damnit.
Oh great… I have no clothes to wear. I could wear my raggiest of rags, I suppose… I really couldn’t give a shit… but I don’t even have a clean bra… forget clean… there isn’t one that isn’t too spent to contain me for even another hour let alone a full day. *sigh* Laundry to do, then.
What am I cooking for dinner? I think everything is frozen… and there’s no time for defrosting… Eh. I will simply make pops his frozen pizza that he loves so much. Perhaps I’ll pick off some. Yes, of course I will. And the dishes can all wait until tomorrow…or whenever I feel I have the energy to even walk to them…
Whoa… I’ve been sitting here in my room for fifteen minutes, I swear it… how is it that an hour and forty-five minutes have escaped me? Whoever made up that old-man complex to depict Father Time obviously had too much time on their hands. Time runs and runs like a young, virile sprinter on steroids with something to prove… that can actually last far longer than the long-distance runners...
I really can’t believe it’s already almost 9pm… I need to lay myself down. I’ve already been having trouble sleeping the past few days. So… no slicing myself open today. Even if just through exhaustion and lack of time to give in, I’ve made it another day. I’ve eluded my inner-wretchedness. And maybe I’ll be able to stay “sober” yet another day… and another…
…One day at a time. And the next is soon upon me. Which reminds me… off to bed. Down I plop.
I’m sure I will lie awake for another agonizing pair or so of hours, wishing I didn’t have to do this again tomorrow or ever, staring into the darkness at my pillow next to me, trying to paint with my eyes a face upon it so that the loneliness is not quite as consuming, longing for someone to sing me to sleep, or pet me gently until I finally cry myself to sleep, or at least to play with me in the time I would spend not sleeping anyway…
Sigh. Sleep.
Sigh-sleep. Sigh-sleep in, sigh-sleep out. I hope it’s enough…
G'night everyone. <3
At long last, I can surf the web in the comfort of my own home at my own leisure on my own schedule. And I can finally look up porn again! Oh, happy day...
Digital cable is here to, with neat channels and tvr. We still don't have a phone though. They can't install that until the 5th of next month. Internet was my only concern anyhow.
I have not the energy to do any real updating on my life right now. Not to mention I need to get to bed. I've already screwed myself over. I haven't been sleeping good at all the past week or so. Even this past weekend, the most I slept at one time was four hours. I took a hour and a half nap tonight though... so hopefully that will help.
As for how miserable work is... I've typed a bitching about, like I promised about 2 weeks ago. I ranted on and on and on... more than 5 pages worth... I'm telling you now, it's not pretty. Welcome to my daily Hell. Welcome to everything ugly in me. Please don't worry about me. Somewhere in all of that... I am ok. I must be because... here I sit, typing to you.
EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE!!!
Oh, curse you, alarm clock. No… you’re just doing your job, I shouldn’t assault the messenger. Curse you, Father Time. Such determination, such persistence… Take a fucking break and… just…… sleep……………
EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE-EEE!!!
Uggghhh… I thought the snooze button held out longer than that. No wonder I never bother to use it.
Yes, my father, I’m awake and working on dragging myself from my warm and inviting bed-couch… and from the equally warm and inviting imaginary lady that I was just cuddling with. She thinks I should just stay in bed today…
Twenty minutes until we need to depart for our day of enslavement to the corporate system.
I’m in desperate need of a shower. It’s been at least all weekend since I’ve been properly cleaned. Between staying up late into the nights conquering medieval Japan with my vast armies of samurai and warrior monks and further staying up into the faded light of the early mornings with my fantasy lovers, there was simply no time…
Twenty minutes later I pull my still stiff and fatigued body from the shower. I only just stepped into the shower but a few minutes ago it seemed, how the hell did that happen? *sigh* How does it ever? Damn time warps…
Ten minutes later and I’m walking out the door, feeling like I’m forgetting something. Phone, cd player, bag of distractions… keys and water, both of which I rarely ever touch… No I have everything. This must just be one of those psychological scars that high school has scraped unto my mind.
Hardly thirty minutes into the drive and the sun is creeping upon me. Meh. The sun hurts me eyes. I love the dark. I wish the night would last forever…
At long last - yet most certainly not long enough - here I am at work. Why does earning my keep and maintaining some level of self-worth and respect feel so… unrewarding? Hell, it’s hardly satisfying anymore.
Hello, time clock. 8:04am. I’ve been up for two and a half hours already… all basically wasted because I just have to work four cities away from my beloved nest. I should just now be waking up. That’d be nice…
Rivet, rivet, rivet. That’s my day. My unrewarding, backbreaking, dull-as-fuck day. Even the machine says the word “rivet” it seems in it’s own mechanical tongue like a big metallic frog. “rivet… rivet… rivet…”
Ouch… damnit. I hate it when the parts jump up at you out of nowhere and bite you like that… Oh my, it really took a little chunk out of my hand. No blood though. I wonder why I’m disappointed. Oh wait… there it is. A little twinge of happiness just jiggled inside me. Something else to wonder about…
I watch as the rivet counter measures out how badly I’m wasting my time and my life here, counting up to a higher number than I’d like to think about…
46, 47, 48…
Hmmm, my wrist is so itchy. I’m trying to play coy with myself but I can’t deny that I know exactly what it is. It’s my sick itch for blood…for a blade…
It’s been a while since I gave into that itch. It must be going on about four months now since I could no longer hold those inner, biting demons at bay and let them mutilate me and go back to sleep. I’ve been fighting them again ever since they grew hungry and awoke nearly two weeks ago. I wonder how much longer I can hold out…
I need some distraction. Where’s that new guy? Surely he would hold out longer than two days… Perhaps he had brains and was like, “Psshh, fuck this place.” And quit. Meanwhile I’m left here, in my scarecrow clothes, left singing to myself the words, “If I only had a brain…”
123, 124, 125…
I can’t stop thinking about cutting. I wonder why I even bother to fight it. Time has proven that, in the end, I’ll just end up giving in. Even if just to make it go away. Temptation through addiction… such a funny thing. “I want to because I have to.” I imagine this must be, if even just very mildly, a glimpse into what it must be like for heroine addicts…
I wish Dennis didn’t get here almost two hours after me… Some good ol’ tales of Dennis-lore is just what I need.
Jesus-fuck my back hurts like a bitch. I’m SO tired of these people telling me that it’s normal, that I’ll just get used to it, that it’s my own fault and need to strengthen my back muscles. Yeah right… you all have it easy. YOU grow up with oversized bazoomas and live with them from age 13 and have them fuck with your posture all this time… then get smacked around by a truck speeding at 60+mph, sending the vehicle you’re minding your own business in spinning through the intersection traffic and have your head smash through a window and crack the dashboard… THEN you fucking tell me that this pain is nothing, that it will pass… You can’t even fathom that kind of pain. Let me help you… seven hours of setting your very spine aflame with the hottest flame known to man… toss in some menstrual-equivalent cramps and Charlie horses in your spine, neck, and joints… then you maybe have 50% of my pain… bitches…
367, 368, 369…
Fuck this place.
Why am I even here? To help out the household with some extra finances and being able to support myself? Is that worth being in constant pain, risking permanent damage to my already frail body, the aggravation of the people here, or being quite unhappy? Why do you even have to ask yourself this, you fucking idiot? OF COURSE IT ISN’T.
Just the same… it’s not so easy as just quitting. No, that would be too nice and convenient, a fairytale. I have to hold out a bit longer in this God-loving hellhole until I can find myself something else…and plan it right so that I am not unemployed for an unknown amount of time. But DAMNIT… The end of my employment here will not come soon enough.
The only way I can keep my sanity here anymore is by talking and scheming with my fellow unhappy-coworker about how we will escape this dead-end hut and by thinking of the day I will finally be free of these shackles… one way or another…
Sometimes I imagine tragedy striking. Well… physical distress that would be nothing but bliss to me. I could yawn while riveting… and some freak accident happens and a rivet ricochets into my throat and chokes me to death. The ceiling could collapse and squash everything and then there would be nothing to come to to work. Maybe the cockroaches and mice will just take over completely and run us all out of there. Or maybe I’ll just take up smoking, walk across the street, buy a pack, walk back to work and perch upon the roof, enjoy the embracement of hastening my own mortality by lighting up some cigarettes, and set the place on fire with my “carelessly” discarded butts. That plan even has TWO good outcomes. No more job there AND… Mike would be blamed. After all… he’s the only one there who smokes…
853, 854, 855…
Or something less destructive and fatal could happen… The FDA has been after them for years now. Rightly so. The ceilings are disgusting with the aged and grimy stains of water made by an unlocated leak… health regulations aren’t so firmly adhered to… and I couldn’t say how many roaches I’ve seen already during my short time here. Like the one laying out on the floor when the FDA man was here inspecting about a month ago… It’s there still. Slowly rotting away, bit by bit. It’s not my job to pick them up. And maybe they want them there… since all that’s done is ever kicking them into a corner by that lame-brained, worthless sack of gay-hating man-sludge, Mike…
Mike… I can’t even say his name without snarling…. I loathe you, you little bitch. Don’t just fucking stare at me when I’m talking to you and waiting for you to answer me. And don’t give me that fucking wispy-eyed, child-molester grin… I’ll knock it right off your face… And don’t ever touch me again… whatever part of you does, you will NEVER see again…
I would absolutely love to be able to tell him, and everyone else that pushes their beliefs on people and encourages closed-mindedness and insists that they know more than even their beautiful fucking ALL-KNOWING GOD:
“You are the pimple upon my tongue, curdling with bloody puss. You’re the kind of person that gives me such chills that my nipples grow so hard that it makes me want to take even the dullest butter knife and saw them off. You make me want to shit scalding hot and jagged cinderblocks because THAT would be less painful than having to deal with knowing that people like you are allowed to keep breathing.”
Sheesh, I’m angry. I’d do best to just… stay away from people. I wish I could…
1187, 1188, 1189…
Deep calming breaths…
Mike is really the only one I despise. Everyone else pretty much leaves me alone and don’t do much to annoy me. Despite the fact that they all think I’m some naive little child, that is. Even Loleta does in some ways, even though she could tell before I came that I most often played mommy to my own mother a lot around the house after a certain age. Really though, the only thing that Loleta ever said to upset me was when she was praising my father and I to me about how kind we are to my two-timing mother, and she commented that we were “being very Christian to her.”
I will never say that Christians aren’t kindly. That would be as stupid as saying gays are the devil’s work… But you know… us heathens can be just as kind and decent folk (and in many cases more so) as any Christian out there. I like how those fanatic worshippers take all the credit for the definition of any basic compliment for their own beloved religion… Gotta love those Christian Supremacists…
Yay, Dennis is here! Oh, sonofa… Fan-fucking-tastic. Mike wants to work with us today. “Work”. He’s so worthless, it’s disgusting… and he will steal all of Dennis’ attention. Ah well. Hello yet again, my life-saving cd-player. At least I get to leave a little early today…
Oh please, head-banging chicks of Kittie… Play harder, scream louder. Help me drown out my thoughts. Headaches are fine, I’ve become used to those… just… don’t let me think…
1636, 1637, 1638…
Wow… my finger really hurts. More than the usual every day wear-n-tear… When the hell did I get a paper cut? Three lines of uplifted and broken skin… only one is an actual wound though. My body clearly wants to be wounded…
No…
Oh, please, rocker chicks of The Breeders. Play louder your fun lyrics and happy beats. Make me dance in my seat to your groovin’ guitar and bass movements. Make me smile at my own silliness… a silliness I’m desperately trying to upkeep in defiance of all this pain…
God… I can’t cry now, not here, in front of everyone. At work, even. How unprofessional of me. This happens far too much anymore…Sink back into the ducts from whence you came, my tears… Bambi simply does not cry. Not ever. Never-ever. Not until that law of physics is broken at home…in the dark… in bed… all alone. WHAT is my PROBLEM? I’m such a crying mess anymore…
My phone is so vacant. I keep looking up at it like a starving puppy looks up at an occupied dinner table at Thanksgiving. I wish it was not my only source of communication with the world that I once had, before that terrible internet blackout crept into my home.
As always… the breaks pass like seconds and the time working passes like illness… the day gives me plenty of time to let me notice just how incredibly lonely I am anymore, how unhappy I am, how much pain I’m in…
I wish the pain would stop. I wish everyone could just be happy. I wish I didn’t feel so worthless. I wish the scratching knot in my throat would go away…
But at least I get to leave early today. Good thing too because my back is killing me extra today, I wouldn’t have been able to make it through a whole day. By assembled part number 2,586, I’m thrilled to have to clean up and punch out. Farewell Dennis, we’ll have a good talk tomorrow and make up for Mike’s intrusion of today.
DC and mi poppy greet me as I walk up to the truck. I tell DC for the 2,426,078th time that he doesn’t have to sit in the back, that I will, it’s really no problem. Such a polite and silly man. It still amazes me that he’s 40something.
How am I, you ask, DC? Oh, just fine… except I seemed to have just unwittingly punched myself in the nose… It’s seeming very clear to me now that my body is pissed off with me. “How could you treat me like this, you bitch?!”, it cries. I’m so sorry, body. I’ve even already ruined your life and now this…
The long drive home, which is even longer than the ride to work normally, is not it’s usual length. Leaving early means beating some traffic. We even get home early enough to experience full daylight while not having to drive into the sun… not something I really care about anyway, my eyes are too sensitive from acting like a bat for so many years to enjoy the sun… but it’s nice to actually get home and have more than just an hour or two to myself after a full day of wretched but necessary torture.
And it’s still back there, behind my brain, lurking in dark corners and ducking behind lumps of gray matter, that urge that bears the strength of an angry and urgent command and wears the suit of the very word: cut. Maybe I will just give into it. Just get it over with so it will go away and just leave me alone. I’m too weak to wage war with myself these days. My resources are exhausted and the battlefield itself is rotting.
But first I must go clean the dog bowls and bring them back up to the house. Hello, doggies. No, no, no, don’t bite and scratch through the fence and make such a loud racket… it gets me in trouble. Stop fighting. Stop the violence. Stop the hating. Just shut up and love, damnit.
Oh great… I have no clothes to wear. I could wear my raggiest of rags, I suppose… I really couldn’t give a shit… but I don’t even have a clean bra… forget clean… there isn’t one that isn’t too spent to contain me for even another hour let alone a full day. *sigh* Laundry to do, then.
What am I cooking for dinner? I think everything is frozen… and there’s no time for defrosting… Eh. I will simply make pops his frozen pizza that he loves so much. Perhaps I’ll pick off some. Yes, of course I will. And the dishes can all wait until tomorrow…or whenever I feel I have the energy to even walk to them…
Whoa… I’ve been sitting here in my room for fifteen minutes, I swear it… how is it that an hour and forty-five minutes have escaped me? Whoever made up that old-man complex to depict Father Time obviously had too much time on their hands. Time runs and runs like a young, virile sprinter on steroids with something to prove… that can actually last far longer than the long-distance runners...
I really can’t believe it’s already almost 9pm… I need to lay myself down. I’ve already been having trouble sleeping the past few days. So… no slicing myself open today. Even if just through exhaustion and lack of time to give in, I’ve made it another day. I’ve eluded my inner-wretchedness. And maybe I’ll be able to stay “sober” yet another day… and another…
…One day at a time. And the next is soon upon me. Which reminds me… off to bed. Down I plop.
I’m sure I will lie awake for another agonizing pair or so of hours, wishing I didn’t have to do this again tomorrow or ever, staring into the darkness at my pillow next to me, trying to paint with my eyes a face upon it so that the loneliness is not quite as consuming, longing for someone to sing me to sleep, or pet me gently until I finally cry myself to sleep, or at least to play with me in the time I would spend not sleeping anyway…
Sigh. Sleep.
Sigh-sleep. Sigh-sleep in, sigh-sleep out. I hope it’s enough…
G'night everyone. <3