Sticky Beak
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The Skinny
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...life in small Northern towns, working for assholes, boys who refuse to become men, synthetic personalities, anorexic models and their link to emotional scarring, bad marijuana trips, crazies on BC Transit, beer, piece of shit cars, living out of a suitcase paycheck to paycheck, unrequited love, Seinfeld, minimum-wage jobs, broken New Year�s resolutions, and over-limit Visa accounts.
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Heads I'm Right, Tails You're Wrong. Seriously, has anyone out there got a straight-razor a girl could borrow? I'm flat out DYING behind this desk. No drama, no hyperbole, no martyrdom. Just death, slow and painful. And the gods are punishing me for taking a couple 'sick' days last week; I'm actually starting to get sick now... motherf***er. I really have nothing to complain about at the moment, besides work. I mean, nothing that spawns from me directly. A quick glance around will shed light on enough human emotion and darkness without me contributing. I know that I should just adjust my attitude and perception, and be thankful that I have a job - particularly one that doesn't involve a uniform or fluorescent pink baseball cap - and I've tried, honest I have, but I'm just not built to be a Mary Poppins. Shit is still shit, no matter how much you sugar-coat it with pleasantries and zen bullshit. It's still there - same shit, same pile. Speaking of piles of festering poo, that beautiful puppy of ours, Max, certainly can squeeze out the turds with the best of 'em. And piss. Lots of piss. Last night he pissed on our couch. Ugh. Good thing we're poor and don't own anything nice, or a person might be inclined to get upset. People are already loathe to sit on our furntiture anyway, so what's the diff? Besides, we get what, 3 visitors a year? I doubt they'll notice the pee. (and yes, I washed it.) Still, despite the pissing and the pooping, he's an absolute treasure. Who knew that a puppy could provide so much entertainment value? Certainly not me, but this could come from never having had a puppy before. Had a cat once, hated the fucking thing. Bitch. She attacked my face on several different occasions. I was only too happy to "lose" her in the "divorce" with my ex-boyfriend. And hey, what's up with my page design? All of the sudden, it's gone tits-up... I checked out the webpage of the chick who supplies these templates, and all of them are buggered. Great. I'm not intelligent enough to figure all that code stuff out again... those were different days, back when I was in Redondo and first set this page up... I was unemployed and had ambition. Nevermore, quoth the Raven, Nevermore. I have two new zits today. And my eyebrows look like the news-anchor eagle off "The Muppets"... bushy. Keep forgetting to tweeze, and am starting to develop a slightly bohemian look. Very earthy; facial hair and acne. Excellent. Pass the patchouli, please... Really need to tackle the eyebrows tonight... must remember to ask D to pull the weed-whacker out of the shed. Big day #1 is tomorrow... pretty nervous, possibly the eyebrow plucking will levitate my confidence? Dodgy. At any rate, tomorrow's the day that I get to disprove the talents listed on my resume. Big day #2 - Friday - is my chance to shine and really make an ass out of myself, with an audience. God, I hate interviews. This one shouldn't stress me out as much as most, considering I've already been through it once before... Maybe that's the root of my nausea? I've already failed once, not the most encouraging thought going in. I'd normally say 'que sera' and feign resolve to accept the outcome in a fatalist manner, but this time I'm looking down the barrel at infinity spent staring at The Taupe Wall. Unless I get knocked up --- that would atleast provide me with a year of life outside these walls. Possibly not the best motivation to breed, however. I should really go back to school and get qualified in something... but what? That's the problem. Complete and total ambivalence. Passionless, talentless, ambitionless. Not entirely sure ambitionless is a word, but if not, it should be. Apathetic. That's the word. How does a person shake that? Apathy. If for no other reason, I should be able to dive into life out of sheer respect for my mom and anger at her losses. That's what she wants... she chides me for my apathy, lack of enthusiasm and lethargy. Wish I were a better person. Wish I could do it for her, but I can't. I don't know much about anything, but I do know that - that we can't do things for other people... if they don't come from ourselves then ultimately, they fail. But I wish I could. Wish I could just fix her and she could do all those things herself that she wants me to do. Wish, wish, wish. If wishes were fishes, then beggars would dine. |