2016

Posted: January 30, 2016 in hidden admonishment

In below freezing conditions, I hauled an old 50 gallon aquarium out onto my front stoop and started to apply a thick coat of paint stripper to the outside of the glass.  The dog stayed in my periphery, and when she wandered off a little too far, I gave a whistle.

I eavesdropped on the neighbors talking about the Carolina Panthers, and I couldn’t have cared less.  At least it wasn’t another drug transaction.  The hub for that burned to the ground a few weeks ago.  There’s no admitting it to my coworkers, but I’m fucking glad that hipster shit hole now sits vacant and condemned.

I took a break, because I couldn’t feel my toes, got myself off a few times and went back to work scraping paint.

Last year was probably one of the hardest years for me.

I felt like I made one of the biggest career mistakes ever, because I absolutely hated my new boss.  I still fucking hate her, but she’s gone now…and I’m the boss.  I make a significant amount more than I did, or still would, if I hadn’t made the change, and I was already doing the job before the bitch left anyway, so…not much of a change.  I can deal with being middle management.  It enabled me to finally quit my safety net job, which gives me much relished time to scrape paint off of fish tanks.

I’m not going to complain about how shitty a lot of mundane things are, because I finally don’t have to work two jobs that I hated with every fiber of my being…and I like having a dog.

Don’t fuck me over, 2016.

Fuck 2015

Posted: December 30, 2015 in hidden admonishment

I know it’s not your fault that some fucking kid backed into you and filed a hit and run claim against you that took half the year and several grand to dismiss.  I’m the one who was rude to the cop who harassed me out of his jurisdiction.  I demanded the lawyer.  I made you go to court.  You wouldn’t have even been there if I hadn’t asked you to fix the P-trap on the sink.

I know it’s not your fault that a month later, you were run down on our street with five witnesses, none of which had the sense to get a plate number.  It cost $8000 with your insurance.  You lost a month of work, opted not to have surgery, and you’re still not even close to 100%.  I had to keep my second job for a year longer than I wanted to have to work it.  I’m still dealing with the hospital payment plans, and I fucking hate dealing with the bills.  I know you give me money, but I fucking hate it.

It’s not your fault I’m still paying on back taxes from the past two years and will have to pay the shared responsibility tax this year for making this a legal decision instead of a personal choice.  I proposed to you.  I don’t have insurance.  I don’t make as much as you.  I filled out the W-4s and 1040s.  I fucking hate paperwork and money.

It’s not your fault our house is being held together by black mold, or that the cockroaches from next door are trying to get a foothold here after the drug addled commune got evicted.  Neither of us wants to live here, and I don’t care if you want to drink that reality away.  Just fucking keep it at home.

It is your fault my crayfish is dead, so fuck you for that one.  That was undeniably, pointlessly, and completely your fucking fault.

I’ll only apologize for my parasomnias and the corresponding scar on your back, but I don’t know how to control that shit.

Promoted

Posted: December 11, 2015 in hidden admonishment

My everyday life is a pain in the ass, but I’ve finally exceeded the pay rate I left behind when I moved.

This means I can quit my second job and piece together my neglected personal life.

I no longer have to eat shit every morning, because I’m the boss.  There is already significantly less anger and frustration to displace.  It has been a very long year spent waiting for this opportunity.

A very long year.

I find it irritating that you sneak back into my thoughts as I try to refocus. 

Burn in hell

Posted: November 18, 2015 in otiose
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Burn in hell.  I wish I believed in hell so I could hope for you to spend eternity burning.  Instead, I hope you die a slow, miserable, cancerous death.  Thanks, boss.  I have 12 more days eating your shit and I only work with you 5 too many.  Do your worst…provided you aren’t already.

Dog

Posted: April 17, 2015 in transliteration
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“So, what are we going to do if we get evicted?”

Who the fuck cares?  At this point they’re lucky I don’t burn it down out of spite.

My body has started to object to how much physical labor I demand from it daily, and I wish you dead every day.  Just fucking die.

The nights would not be complete without sirens.  It’s such a prominent part of the neighborhood that I can easily tune it out along with the sound of shots fired, and the low musical rumble of car audio base.  At some point having bullet holes–both incoming and outgoing–pepper the walls just becomes part of the decor.

I exaggerate.  There are only four bullet holes, and I screamed when they dropped in.

Sometimes, nice people just need more specific directions to the drug den across the street, three houses to the east, or in the west corner lot next door…depending on demeanor.  That’s fine, but get the fuck off my stoop and be on your way.

Please, don’t loiter in my backyard.  Cut through, but keep moving.  Despite what the fast food fucks sharing the lot line want you to think, this isn’t part of their thoroughfare either.

If getting a dog gets us evicted, when the neighbors can ram their car into our wall without consequence, I’m fine with that.

Believe is or not, my student loan debt isn’t going to dictate my surroundings forever, and an eviction from this wouldn’t fuck up my permanent record enough for me to give a shit.

Now…you said something about a dog?

Well…

Posted: December 29, 2014 in hidden admonishment

I’m sure most of you have given up on peering into my life via this portal by now, as I have been highly inconsistent and increasingly infrequent with posting anything whatsoever.

I have slowly shifted away from heavy reading and incessant writing. This is predominately due to the energy I’ve found necessary to devote to my daily turmoil; a turmoil which has drastically increased in its demand for various forms of fuel from me in order to run relatively smoothly.

I’m currently party to an extremely high maintenance relationship. As I’ve found the most casual relationships an arduous burden in the past, this long term commitment exudes an entirely novel level of dedication for me. The majority of my time has once again been swallowed by the wage wars of working 60+ hours per week in an attempt to survive an IRS audit, monthly bills, and my old constant companionship with my haunting student loans.

I am succeeding with these endeavors, so I can’t honestly apologize for my neglect and failure to maintain a balance with old interests. My behavior is fairly cyclical, so I’m likely to come back to old habits, but my life is boring right now. It is not warranting much reflection or analysis, and while I do still pay attention and take issue with the world around me, I honestly don’t give a shit about engaging in any social discussions.

I simply don’t care what you think about anything. Well, that sounds a little too dismissive…I care, but I’m not particularly interested? I’m interested but not intrigued? Bah…

I just want to look at pretty pictures on my phone while I should be working and pretend my life isn’t what I’ve made it.

Depression

Posted: November 17, 2014 in hidden admonishment

Depression does a lot of damage.

I haven’t come here.  I haven’t felt a need to rely on a publicized internal dialog for a few years.  Well, I either haven’t felt the need or haven’t had the energy to acknowledge the need.  I’ve made a lot of changes but not nearly enough to make much difference.  They are all surface changes.

I’m not where I think I should be, and I want to blame my unstable mental state; but I’ve made the decision repeatedly not to treat it.  I don’t treat it.  I don’t do anything, so using it as a crutch shouldn’t be considered as a viable option either.  Having somebody close enough to see it and bring it to my attention makes me angry, and using that person as a distraction rather than really accepting him into my life is…the best I’ve been able to do.

Sometimes, my mind clears, but I would rather keep it dormant in the mud.  I’ve lost so much of myself.  I’ve shut it all down just to be able to get through the daily grind, and barely get through at that.