6 Months Later.
Summer now. My friend Sarah convinced me to take a stray kitten dwelling in her sideyard to my home, and I did. Now he thinks I am his mother. I guess this was accomplished by licking my nose while I sleep, and via rubbing his butt in my face while I try to type, or maybe from taking flying leaps and latching onto my neck to chew on my Our Lady medal when I get up.
So now I'm responsible for him, but not much else besides rent and an astronomical car payment for a Toyota Corolla. Jesus, I could have bought a Tesla outright for what I'm paying in predatory interest, but I guess that is my fault for not attending to my Hot Topic and JC Penny cards promptly enough a few years ago.
I am still fat. Also my hair is white, and I pull it out obsessively, because I have trichotillomania. That's attractive. What's more, I've noticed my eyes being all gross and crepey when I'm trying to apply my signature liquid eyeliner in the mornings, and on the offdays I'm not wearing an ugly paisley-print blouse from Lane Bryant and actually have my boobcrack exposed, it is hella crepey and gross too.
I turn 37 in September. Not happy about it. I imagine getting fatter, crepeyer, balder and grayer as I cruise Walmart in a Rascal.
When I see a little fat bird land on the Comcast wires outside my window and stare at me, I will think of Matt Winkfein (Ruxpin) who once posted on here about being drawn to little fat birds, and I will say, "Hi Matt." Then I will (however morbidly) be slightly jealous that he is not getting fat or crepey in Heaven.
But I think of all the people he left behind here prematurely, and all the turmoil and guilt they must feel, and I remind myself that "what's your hurry? every man will have his day to die" as Maynard pointed out with APC (possibly Shakespeare pointed this out previously, I admit I don't know) and that I am of service in some small way, even if it is from procuring steel toilets and tampon machines for the State of California for 10 hours a day.
I try to be kind and somewhat entertaining in my emails to vendors and field and colleagues (can you call fellow State workers "colleagues"?) and creative with the clipart in my signature blocks throughout the seasons. I feel this counts toward contributing to the world in some small way. If I was to drop dead suddenly one night from sleep apnea, I know the kitten and everyone I have procured binoculars for would be none the worse to have know me. It is not that I have not been a megabitch a few times during my time here, but I have tried to make amends. At least to a parking lot attendant and a Starbucks baristo I lost my shit(s) on this past year.
I am excited that when this ball-blisteringly hot and insufferable summer ends, it will be Fall and Halloween time. I look forward to curling up with my kitty beside a virtual fireplace on Youtube with a pumpkin-spice latte in hand (from a baristo I was not an asshole to).
So now I'm responsible for him, but not much else besides rent and an astronomical car payment for a Toyota Corolla. Jesus, I could have bought a Tesla outright for what I'm paying in predatory interest, but I guess that is my fault for not attending to my Hot Topic and JC Penny cards promptly enough a few years ago.
I am still fat. Also my hair is white, and I pull it out obsessively, because I have trichotillomania. That's attractive. What's more, I've noticed my eyes being all gross and crepey when I'm trying to apply my signature liquid eyeliner in the mornings, and on the offdays I'm not wearing an ugly paisley-print blouse from Lane Bryant and actually have my boobcrack exposed, it is hella crepey and gross too.
I turn 37 in September. Not happy about it. I imagine getting fatter, crepeyer, balder and grayer as I cruise Walmart in a Rascal.
When I see a little fat bird land on the Comcast wires outside my window and stare at me, I will think of Matt Winkfein (Ruxpin) who once posted on here about being drawn to little fat birds, and I will say, "Hi Matt." Then I will (however morbidly) be slightly jealous that he is not getting fat or crepey in Heaven.
But I think of all the people he left behind here prematurely, and all the turmoil and guilt they must feel, and I remind myself that "what's your hurry? every man will have his day to die" as Maynard pointed out with APC (possibly Shakespeare pointed this out previously, I admit I don't know) and that I am of service in some small way, even if it is from procuring steel toilets and tampon machines for the State of California for 10 hours a day.
I try to be kind and somewhat entertaining in my emails to vendors and field and colleagues (can you call fellow State workers "colleagues"?) and creative with the clipart in my signature blocks throughout the seasons. I feel this counts toward contributing to the world in some small way. If I was to drop dead suddenly one night from sleep apnea, I know the kitten and everyone I have procured binoculars for would be none the worse to have know me. It is not that I have not been a megabitch a few times during my time here, but I have tried to make amends. At least to a parking lot attendant and a Starbucks baristo I lost my shit(s) on this past year.
I am excited that when this ball-blisteringly hot and insufferable summer ends, it will be Fall and Halloween time. I look forward to curling up with my kitty beside a virtual fireplace on Youtube with a pumpkin-spice latte in hand (from a baristo I was not an asshole to).