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I think I might be fucked



Calamity Jane: Everyday takes figuring out all over again how to fucking live.

I just want to write down a bunch of curse words and write fucked up stories with fucked up people. But I guess I can’t get there cause I keep getting myself fucked. Not in the carnal sense (today) but in the metaphysical sense I guess. I keep creating situations in my head that are preposterous so I can keep myself busy cause I’m bored out of my mind. I just want to party and bullshit right now.

The good thing is that I am keeping busy and feel like I’ve reconnected with my purpose in life. The thing I like best but would be considered the bad thing is that I’m also setting myself up for a mighty fall. I’m not using the minuscule amount of self control over my thinking on certain things and it’s really affecting my life.

Firstly, I’ve got to go to work soon. This is really some bullshit and besides the fact that right now I feel all production people should be fucked, I don’t want to do that. I just don’t want to have to go pretend that I give a fuck about Pizza Hut, or Mastercardor anyone who has more money than me. I’m sick of pretending at all and since I’m doing it less and less, I’m getting much better at speaking my real mind and watching people look at me in horror.

Secondly, my own mind is full of rage, lust, sloth and abject hedonism. Rage and lust apparently go everywhere together. They’re almost inseparable right now. I never would have guessed them for a couple. But since my lust has a crazy component right now, I just have to write it out and see if I can find a website sick enough to print it. I’m making that sound worse than what I’ve written, but not what I’ve thought. My rage is so all emcompassing it can only be satisfied by lust.

Lust, well it’s always more difficult isn’t it. Lust (or lechery) is an inordinate craving for sexual intercourse often to the point of assuming a self-indulgent, and sometimes violent character (Wikipedia). But there’s a component of affection there, supposedly. In order to make the emotion of affection dissapate, I now rely on the lust. But sometimes, when my heart does go a flutter, I flirt with a stranger or spend some serious quality time with myself and computer. I can’t deal with “feelings”; I’m learning, but I’m slow learning.

Sloth and hedonism, well they’re pretty well matched. I did buy that bottle of Jameson along with other choice fun aides and nothing lasted two days. Two days? And I didn’t share but a drop with anyone else. Then the next week brought about sake Thursday. I’ve apparently created a song and dance revolving around the nectar of the small isle.

But see, I’m still pussyfooting around what it is that I want to say. I’m not telling the whole truth. Maybe I’ve gotten so good at it that there is no whole truth with me anymore.

But I know one thing, I hate being told what to do and if you want something done you need to do it yourself. That’s abstract. I’m in a constant tug of war with my friend and basically pusher of alcohol over the contents of my soul. Or at least my allegiances, or my loyalty. But what she wants is obedience and a reflection of herself as all saving saint that I know is false and therefore can’t trust. I’m always a player in the dramas that ensue around her. I try to stay away, but I’m so bored and I want to be with my friends…so I succumb. Then she’ll try to help me with something or start pouting cause she’s left out or try to find a way to manipulate a situation to create some drama. I’m so sick of it. Now she wants me to clean something that’s been dirty for years because she wants it done now. Fuck that. I’m not her kid. I’m not A kid.

When we met I was much more fucked than I am now (which is saying a lot). I had a neediness on me that reeked. When I’m reading my old journals it’s the same ole thing: I wish I had money, I wish I had a boyfriend, I’m so lonely, some strange guy was here this morning, smoked too many cigarettes today, I’m fat, I’m so lonely- because I’m fat…it goes on and on for years like that.
Then suddenly there was a light at the end of the tunnel and it was full of booze and it gave me a bunch of people I like a lot and some, not too much. But I stayed cordial. Well, even my cordial is getting thin. I don’t have anything to lose so much and I’m sick of being manipulated. I’m really sick of being needed in a way that makes me feel like I’m constantly in a turtleneck. Everythingsmushed, tits, throat.

Sometimes I think I’ll just stay away forever. But I know I can’t. That would freak me out more than anything else. I do change slow. When I learn slow, I synthesize. I’m still not even telling the whole truth, but at least I posted today.


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