I now have reached to the point where I do absolutely nothing on the weekends. Nothing. Not even study for the ridiculous tests I have on Tuesday and Thursday. My mind does not seem to want to learn anything, anymore. It seems bent on reminding me that studying derailing my persute of world domination. Chewing away at my lack of focus. Procrastination. It seems impossible to clear my head. It is as if I was in a bad relationship with a stripper and now I miss her and can't seem to find another one to help me forget. I tried praying about it but it doesn't help, I can't ask for anything I want. I am a C student bent on smashing the hopes and dreams of my lecturers. The drama really means nothing, I just ride by and blow your brains out.
My weekends entail putting stuff in the washing machine. Which makes more noise than a jet engine but I love it because it loves me. Later I check my personal and work email accounts to see if my stripper has taken a mere moment from her time to acknowledge my existence with a few bytes of text. Self torture. Nothing. Nobody sends me anything though which is good. It means that nothing has gone wrong since the last time I gave them some rope with which to hang themselves. The client is always right. May the good lord shine the light on you.
I usually find myself dividing my time between watching television, sleeping and checking email. Sometimes since recently I might browse hi5 looking for a new stripper. But it gets addictive and my eyes start to hurt. I fall in love with the wrong women. With issues. All I want to do is wash your clothes. The wrong strippers tend to like to throw their poo like monkeys and I hate monkeys just as much as I hate people that drive hatch civics. I still don't have a camera so no new pictures. I am not buying anything or leaving my house on a weekend until I get that car.
michael_halvorsen commented: i find myself falling in love with what i guess, to be the wrong women. i really don't know though. is it a waste if nothing comes in the end? or is it not wasted time at all? who fucking knows. ... read 11 more
I have not being doing much lately. The disappointment of the love that was lost has left me a broken man, a man with no hope. Like a monkey. Yeah, I've been busy with work with projects, school and women who annoy me for pleasure. I have looked into the classifieds again but I have not called any of the few that I have seen - I do not know why. All weekend I have nothing but wash clothes, TV and think about how better life would be if she was with me, instead of else where being molested by pirates, riding dirty.
I did meet that girl on the bus again, she told me her name was Monique. Luckily I had some rap music on my ipod shuffle - she said she liked 50. I taught her how to skip the Shania Twain, Capleton and Pop Rock - my tastes vary. You are never sure what unconventional and slightly strange people you'll meet on the bus, so I mix it up. But anybody who says they only like rap music had to be really tasteless. But it did not matter, she was talking with her friend (who she had not seen in ages) and my neck began to hurt from turning around in my seat to face her. I am not much of a conversationalist so I just fell a sleep. I cannot really sleep on moving vehicle so I faked it. I did not get her number either. Next time I will ask her why she is always on the bus that late at night.
Everything would work if it were only up to me. I have lots of work to do. Buy it use it, break it, fix it, crash it, use it, change it, now upgrade it, charge it, pawn it, zoom it, pause it.
There comes a point when you find the perfect car. A car so perfect you want to conceive babies with it. I had that experience last week. The stuff they talk about in silly american movies/books about love and pre-marital sex over looking a valley, late at night. She smiled at me on the subway. She was bueatiful, shiny, clean like aluminum foil before you touch it - silver. They must have just washed it. It had 93000 miles/km like a cup you find in the sink at a hospital - used but not more than usual. Only a 2 knobs were missing but nobody is perfect especially if you met her at church on a special sunday. Not just any special sunday, a special sunday when it rains. Rain is good.
In the end our Love was not meant to be. No, I know what you thinking, but she totally wanted Afternoon Delight. It just that her owner's resident pimp sold her to the first drug dealer that came with the cash, after I had repeatedly stated that my car loan would come through in less than 2 weeks. My heart was broken as the words came forth from the veil monkey's mouth. "BUSINESS IS BUSINESS" he said as he ripped my vital organs from my chest and laughed - like a monkey. A rabid monkey. A monkey so rabid that I can't even find a word to describe the extent of rabidity which he was established. I should not have gotten my hopes up. I should have suspected that the world would not care about a love which had quickly grown between us.
If another person says something similar or even sounds like "that car was not meant for you". I will personally choose to hate you with the fire of a thousand suns. People only say that to make you feel better about something while laughing at your misfortune and eating all of your french fries. French fries that you had tenaciously hidden from them. I guess it would not have hurt so much, so deeply if I had not seen her, touched her wonderful plastic and sheet metal exterior sheet metal, rims and mid spoiler. 1300 cc. They said it was a bitch car but it would have been my bitch car. MY BITCH CAR! :(
I remember. I remember when I wanted to be a fireman. To drive through traffic with a siren like a super power with nuclear weapon. An attractive woman or winded creature whose singing lured unwary sailors onto rocks. I might have had a lack of experience, wisdom, or judgment but the power was just too much not to have for myself. Out of control. Yes, it was a big red truck with water - like a womb, pregnant and ready to have the time of her life, bless your sole. Essential was some place to park the infinite mass of steal, pipes and placenta.
A fire could break out and the doctor would tap it on its feet. They know the path would always be clear because they could hear you coming from a mile a way. It looked like fun. All lights mean green like grass on a playing field stretched across space. A platinum visa. All I remember is that I wanted to be like them. Like a bird falling from the sun. Back then I didn't know too much, complications involved either going head first or feet first. Never enough water when you need it - a private pool that broke. There was something very pleasant about that place I guess I moved too much. With world and time enough, crash upon the rocks. Coy delay eternity mine.
I often wonder how people work in supermarkets. The small, great smelling marts are OK. But on another level you have those gigantic all-you-can-ever want warehouse super-supermarkets. Sometimes I wonder how they don't find people dead in the aisles in the back. Or gang wars going on in the stationary products aisle. It is often hard to decide whether you want one book with 3 subjects or 5 books with 1 subject. I suppose it must be difficult to work in an environment that is centered around selling food, women's underwear and household appliances. Especially the with all the fresh meat coming in on a daily basis.
What do they really do with the milk after it passes the expiration date. Put it back in the cow? I went down to the agricultural produce section, the place where they imprison the carrots. Neatly, packed, in plastic wrap. I strain my eyes to read the label and it was apparent that these carrots where in fact packaged somewhere in GA. It was inconspicuously hidden which forced me to start touching and rotating the package. Like a health conscious single mother. I park my shopping-kart in the soft drink aisle, I feel uncomfortable pushing around anything with a baby seat for twins. It would not be so bad if I had a wife to guard it from the Yakuza. So I watch it from a safe distance while I check out the meat.
I always buy Jamaican. There are however situations such as when it comes to Kellogg's frosted flakes, Puerto Rican, Chinese and white. I like the variety though and the feeling I get when I walk through the sensors at the entrance - I think they are reading my thoughts or maybe telling me to buy carrots. Carrots from GA. Luckily I write stuff down. I avoid eye contact as I leave because the ladies giving out free samples have my ticket to ride.