999 cranes and 1000 days

Posted: February 4, 2011 in hidden admonishment
Tags: , ,

I’m old…and people still laugh at me like we’re all in high school. I’m not young enough to be “hip” and I’m not old enough to garner any sense of respect. People fucking laugh at me…where I work…where all I want to do is my job for whatever pay someone else deems fair. I’m so worthless by outside standards. I don’t want to be worth anything there.

I live in my head, I guess.
Maybe I always have.

I can’t fit into a pair of pants. Now, logically, since it is only one pair of pants, I could conclude that it’s the pants. Perhaps their $4’s worth of fiber can’t withstand heat from the dryer…but it’s not the pants. No. I’m getting fat again…while I starve…while I find some mundane balance between beans that my sister sends me in the mail for free; beans and rice. How do I manage to get fat off of beans and rice and lose weight when I break down and go to the grocery store?

I hate eating, because I know that I can’t afford food. I feel like I don’t deserve what I can’t afford. I hate having somewhere to live, and I hate where I live. I hate that I fucking exist at all, and I try to get through my days with these stupid kids that have life all figured out while Mommy buys their groceries and they play house. Yeah, I guess they have figured shit out for themselves. Greedy, self-centered fucks. It’s all pretty funny if I stop to think about it, right?

My life plays out in a series of “I” statements all about me, but how much do I honestly care about myself? How much do I take for myself? How much of myself do I allow without criticism? How much do I really fucking matter at all?

They laugh at me, because I’m not happy and don’t hide it. It’s funny to them, because they are. They’re happy. Life is fun, because they know how to make it fun. The shit that makes them happy makes me want to peel my skin off. I don’t fit. I never have. Even as a stupid little kid. It’s not a pity party. I know how to appear to fit. Hell, I know how to pound the corners out of my mind so that I really fit. I don’t…want to fit. Life is a joke, and I’m funny…because I don’t get it.

I honestly don’t get it.

That journalist is hot shit, because she knows how to whore it out. Like I don’t know how? Like I don’t know how to play? Like I don’t have a few tricks for this trade? Come on, people. This isn’t because I don’t know the rules and loopholes and bullshit to spit shine my worthlessness and pawn it for a golden ticket. No. I can’t figure out how to make myself do it. I can’t find a reason. I don’t see the benefit in trying anymore. I…don’t want it.
Box is full.
Wasted time.
The box is full of wasted time.
Time he told me; time is irrelevant.

My mind is stuck: Now what? Now what? Now what? Now what?


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