Plans

no explanation: except for the obvious: insanity

I've been meaning to do this for a while. I've tweeted that I can't do my job anymore, and it's true. it's so incredibly boring and repetitive. Not only do I see the same coworkers, but the same customers as well. I hate seeing those faces. I need a change.
Today, I sat on the counter while I had no customers in my fucking face, and a coworker said there was an email about sitting on counters and reading. Before I left, I briefly looked for that email, but didn't find it. I was, after all, wanting to get the fuck out of there ASAP as I always am when the day is finally over. I'll look for it tomorrow night when I'll have plenty of time.
I have no reason to doubt the email was sent. It seems like it's targeting me specifically. I sit on the counter, and I read when I get a chance to. What does the typical person do when they get a chance? They stare at their fucking phones. They text, surf the web, etc. Not me. I recently finally bought a smartphone, because the phone I had died. But I only have an inexpensive talk plan on it: no text and no Internet. I began sitting on the counter, because I have a lot of pain in my feet and legs, and standing all day doesn't help. I suppose I should probably tell them that. Maybe I should also tell them I have depression and OCD, and maybe that's why they think I'm a miserable "asshole."
So now I'm thinking compromise. I won't stop reading when I get a chance: no fucking way.  Seems like, all of a sudden, the store manager has a problem with it. The assistant store managers don't.  So maybe I'll just do what I used to do: lean on the counter.  But if the pain is too great, then I'll go back to sitting on the counter (There are 2, so I'm facing the 1 I'm using.).
There's the possibility of applying for another job in the store. Instead of being a cashier, I'd work in a department (If they'd hire me. I applied for a head cashier job, which I was def qualified for, & I didn't even get an interview: just an email saying "no thanks."). But then I wouldn't be able to stand on the anti-fatigue mats I stand on most of the time; I'd be walking on the concrete floor.  As I mentioned, I already have a lot of pain in my feet and legs. So I think I have to leave. God, I hate looking for a job; I really despise it. And I'm "unskilled," so my chances of getting a good job, that I like, are slim to none. What if I got a job where I have to sit all day? That's probably, in the long run, worse than standing all day. It's not good to bend your spine too much. It seems like we were meant to be "straight:" standing or lying down.
I feel best outside. I've thought about living in the wilderness. But the reality is I'm addicted to living in society with it's comforts (That we pay so dearly for.).  It's not realistic.
So, once again, death. I've contemplated suicide. I've threatened to do it. I've attempted to do it.  Living is pain. It's suffering.
Maybe I'll quit my job and do some traveling. I'll make sure to pack the nylon rope I bought to hang myself about 10 years ago. I don't know how long the trip would last. Being on the road by myself seems lonely, and, from what I remember, it is. I don't like driving at all; the intelligent, sensitive person is stressed out by it, because it's so dangerous. 
So all signs point to death. Even when I'm not working, I'm miserable. Work just takes it to another level.  

Uh

 

It's been a while. I'm still unhappy, depressed, suffering, in pain, miserable, etc. I still love animals (people, not so much). Again, I'm active on Twitter; my account is here: https://twitter.com/TheBaldVegan

This is where my 1st eBook, a memoir, is on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/American-Loser-Memoir-Coming-Achieving-ebook/dp/B00HQSO9RO/ref=sr_1_5?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1529065613&sr=1-5&keywords=american+loser

This is where my 2nd eBook, an animal-liberation thriller, is on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Veganman-Started-Liberation-Worlds-Animals-ebook/dp/B00ZSHNT5I/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1529065845&sr=1-1&keywords=veganman&dpID=514D0eG7tML&preST=_SY445_QL70_&dpSrc=srch

This is where my 3rd eBook, a comedic collection, is on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Farts-Literature-featuring-Bald-D-Bag-ebook/dp/B074MCFPVD/ref=sr_1_2?s=digita

I use pen names.


 

Waste

I hate waste.  It's very depressing to see how much of it is happening at the corporate level.  There's a lot of it occurring in the giant store I work in.  The only material that's recycled regularly there is cardboard.  I take out the trash frequently, and it's clear that some of my coworkers aren't even recycling that.  A couple of people use a certain desk.  Behind that desk are two cans: one for trash and one for paper recycling.  I frequently find paper in the trash can.  These two cans are right next to each other!  The apathy when it comes to recycling and the environment disgusts me.  My coworkers frequently toss their empty soda bottles into the regular trash.  They could return that those bottles for 5 cents each.  Even when you pay people to recycle, many of them won't do it.
At a previous job, a coworker's friend was visiting him at work.  He mentioned that he doesn't care to recycle because, when the environment shits the bed, he will be dead and gone by then.  He obviously thought he was being hilariously funny, and my coworker laughed.  I didn't.  I don't find laziness, apathy, and selfishness humorous.   
Caring about animals and the environment go hand in hand (I think they should,), because that's where wildlife live.  I recycle as much as I can at home, so it angers and frustrates me to know how much waste is occurring elsewhere.  May have mentioned this before, but I have pulled stuff out of the trash (at work) to recycle, despite my OCD telling me not to.  Although I wear work gloves when I handle trash at work.  When I take out the trash, I try to save trash bags.  If one can isn't very full, I will dump it into another.  By contrast, some of (if not all) my coworkers just automatically (and thoughtlessly) take the bags out of the cans and throw them out: even if there had only been a tiny amount of trash in there (one piece of paper, for example).  This sort of mindless waste pisses me off.  So you see how one can reduce waste and save money simultaneously (The store uses less trash bags.). 
The holiday season is a very wasteful one.  Yesterday, I rang up a lot of holiday decoration purchases.  What a waste.  Decorations are a waste of money, time (putting up and taking them down), and materials.  People brought up carts that were full of boxes of Christmas lights and other needless, useless decorations.  Plastic bags were filled with all this unnecessary crap.  So the decorations themselves are a waste, so is the packaging they came in, and the bags they went into.  This wasteful display depressed and angered me.  I have no decorations, because I don't need them: no one does. 
Then there is the most obvious example of holiday waste: the Christmas tree.  Killing, or buying, a tree for Christmas disgusts me.  You're murdering a tree, raping Mother Nature, so you can have a tree in your home for a short period of time.  Then you will unceremoniously throw the tree out (more waste).  You'll waste time getting the tree decorations out, putting them on the tree, taking them off again, and cleaning up the after the tree.  When I walk a certain route, I pass a cliff.  When one looks over the cliff at a certain spot, one can see a Christmas tree, wrapped in plastic, stuck in the trees.  It has been there for quite a while: disgusting.  The world would be a better place without the person who put it there.  So much wasted stuff becomes litter.  I see it everywhere: yet another reason to get away from society.           

Pets

my ex-girlfriend's dog

I have mentioned the benefits of writing here.  It helps one remember things.  One can thoroughly explore an issue and save that information for posterity.  For instance, while I was drinking and smoking weed, I began, and added, to a document on my computer called "STOP DRINKING AND SMOKING," which listed reasons why I should do that, and now I've been clean and sober since 7/31/16. 
The question of whether to get a pet or not is very complicated for me.  The first thing that comes to mind is they make me happy.  I love all animals, but especially dogs.  I love cats too, but I have had less experience with them.  Some of my happiest memories involve playing ball with my ex-girlfriend's dog.  She loves playing ball so much.  She has so much fun, it's inevitable that whoever's playing with her will have fun too.  I am alone.  I am untouched.  Touching is important.  Companionship is important.  Petting a pet is therapeutic.  Pets can extend your life, because they improve the quality of it.
But there are drawbacks.  I hate the thought of a pet being alone while his or her mom or dad is at work for over 8, 9, etc. hours.  What if a fire started, and the pet couldn't escape?  That would destroy me.  There's also a loss of freedom involved.  My ex-girlfriend adopted a dog, Barney, while we were living together, who became the love of my life.  He's gone now, but I still love him more than anyone, human or animal, I have ever known.  But, whenever I was using my computer, I'd feel guilty, cause I was ignoring him.  I don't think he understood it.  He may have thought, "Why are you staring at that thing when you could be petting me?"  And that's a good question.  However, I feel a need to get on the computer and write.  There are also issues with traveling.  Dogs need to be walked: even when one doesn't feel like it (shitty weather).   
Then there's the vegan question.  I haven't spent money on meat, milk, or eggs since 2002.  Can I have a vegan dog or cat?  Someone tweeted a picture of their 10-year-old vegan dog, and he looked healthy and happy.  I don't want to support the slaughterhouse in any way, shape, or form, even if the food is for a pet. 
I recently mentioned Lyme disease.  Can you really keep ticks off a dog or cat?  If not, they could transfer a Lyme-disease-ridden tick to me.  Of course it would be horrible if the pet got Lyme disease.  Knowing what I do about the disease, I am terrified of it.  Anyone who is at risk should be too.
The added expense is also an issue.  As I've previously mentioned, I don't make a lot of money, and, as a result, I'm frugal.  However, I definitely believe pets are more than worth any money you spend on them.  One of the biggest problems with society is money being more important than life, which is horrible.
Not being able to communicate can be frustrating.  Your pet could be in pain, and you might not know it.  Is my pet suffering or not?  The worry, and the uncertainty, could be frustrating and devastating.
Pets can get on one's nerves (again, usually because of communication issues).  A lot of things get on my nerves.  Adding to that list might not be such a great idea.
I've mentioned my OCD, and issues I have with poop.  This is where I favor cats.  I think they lick their own assholes, which is gross, but at least they have clean assholes.  I think a poopy dog ass would bother me quite a bit.  Would it be fair to a dog to expose him or her to my disorder?
When you get a pet, you are making a commitment to take care of him or her for the rest of his or her life (or your life).  That is what I believe.  That's quite a commitment to make, and I haven't made it before.  My ex-girlfriend adopted Barney against my wishes.  I didn't want to have to walk a dog, and pick up shit, regularly.  Regardless, I never once suggested that she get rid of him.
I hate the fact that people have pets that ever get to go outside; I consider them to be "cute prisoners."  I could go on for quite a while about this, but I certainly disagree with making an animal spend most of his or her time in a tiny space.  I strongly disagree with keeping fish in tanks and birds in cages.  It's just plain cruel to not allow a bird to fly and be free.  Therefore, if I had a cat, I would take him or her outside.  I can picture the looks of contempt people would give me.  "You don't walk a cat," is what they'd likely be thinking.  Fuck them, and fuck being "normal!" 
Of course, life is fragile, and I could die at any time: making my pet an orphan.  My pet could even die of hunger or thirst if he or she wasn't rescued in time.  I could become paralyzed from a car accident, or stroke, and therefore unable to take care of him or her anymore. 
Which brings us to the most important reason why I wouldn't get a pet.  If I had a pet, I believe I would not allow myself to commit suicide.  It wouldn't be fair to him or her.  I need to have the freedom to do that at anytime.  I have no kids, pets, wife, girlfriend, or friends, which means, as far as I'm concerned, I'm good to go.  I'm allowed to kill myself.  I am now back on antidepressants as of a few days now.  But knowing that I can kill myself at anytime, and escape from this hellhole, gives me a certain amount of peace that I don't want to relinquish.
   

They Fucked with My Laundry!

I've had so many problems with the only laundry room I'm allowed to use regularly in my apartment complex (They let me use another laundry room in the complex once.  I've subsequently asked to use it again, and my request was denied, which pisses me off, because I have paid thousands of dollars of rent here over the years.).  There are 3 washing machines, and at least one of them is out of order frequently.  There can be a lot of competition for these machines.  Lots of times, I've checked to see if I could do laundry, only to find that the machines were being used.  The last time I attempted to do laundry, only one of the washers was working, and it was being used.  I had to go to a local coin-operated laundry, which wasn't fun.  There were quite a few loud, out-of-control kids there.  I left an angry message at the apartment's office, telling them what happened, and saying, among other things, "You raise the rent every year here.  Buy some washing machines."  A few days later, I called the office again, this time about my asshole neighbors, and the office manager asked if it was me who left the message about the laundry room (I didn't leave my name on the message, but she knows my voice because of how many times I've complained about my neighbors.), and I said it was.  She said that 2 new washing machines were on the way.  That was over a month ago.
I needed to do laundry: badly.  Doing laundry is like shopping at the nearest Walmart; it never goes very well; at least one shitty thing will happen.  I really dread doing laundry.  I checked the machines.  They weren't being used, but one of the washers was out of order.  What the fuck?  Considering what I had been told, none of them should have been out of order!  And the maintenance workers are so lazy.  They don't even put a sign up; they just unplug the machine.  But at least there were 2 washers, which is what I needed.  So I got my dirty clothes and started putting them into the machines.  I heard some people.  Two guys came into the laundry room.  They said they were going to be switching the "out of order" washer, which was between the 2 I was using, with a new one.  Holy shit!  You have to be fucking kidding me!  There was only a 27-minute window in which I was going to be using both washers, and that's when they were going to be switching the machines!  My luck is just unbelievable!  I was worried that they were going to fuck up my laundry.  They could knock the plug loose of a machine I'm using.  They could bump the old, or new, washer into one, or both, of the machines I'm using, which could result in a fuck up.
Meanwhile, I realized that one of the washers I was using wasn't working.  The light came on, but nothing was happening.  I angrily moved my clothes to the "out of order" washer; maybe that was working.  The guys came back, and one of them told me that machine was not working, and it was unplugged.  I moved my clothes back to the one that didn't work and told them about it.  One of them opened a panel and pushed a button.  The machine started, but it was in the wrong cycle.  "There's no water in there?" one of them asked.  "No," I said.  So he pushed some more buttons, and it seemed like he finally found the right cycle.  Before I left, I thought about asking them to not fuck up my laundry, but decided that probably wasn't a good idea. 
When I returned, to put my laundry into the dryers, one of the loads was finished.  Alarm bells went off in my head.  It had finished too early.  They had fucked up my laundry!  I opened the machine and inspected the laundry.  It seemed okay.  I couldn't help noticing that the old washer had been replaced.  The other washer was still going.  It takes about 10 minutes longer to finish than the one that was done.  Even though the laundry room is small, I spend that waiting time pacing energetically from one end of the room to the other (for exercise) until it is done.  Something was wrong with that machine too!  It was taking too long to finish!  So they fucked up BOTH of my loads: worst-case scenario!  It was taking so long to finish, I was worried that it WOULDN'T finish, that it would keep going forever, unless it was unplugged, which, of course, would result in fucked-up laundry.  In fact, a laundry token was left in the slot for that washer, which I assume one of the workers had left there for me, because they had fucked up my laundry.  I tried to get the token out, but I couldn't.  It finally stopped, and I inspected the laundry; again, it seemed to be okay.       
When I was completely done with the laundry, I still wasn't sure if it had been fucked up or not.  When I put on some freshly-washed clothes, I paid special attention to how they felt.  Did they feel clean?  Were they making me itchy?  How did they smell?  Because of my OCD, I smelled my freshly-washed clothes over and over again.  They smelled okay.  I was itchy, but I'm always itchy to some degree.  And how much of that itchiness was originating in my mind?
In retrospect, I believe my clothes are clean.  I'm too lazy to go through all that crap again anytime soon anyway.  So, despite all the stress and drama (I yelled, cursed my luck, and I was close to crying when I was furiously pacing: waiting for the machine to stop.), I think I ultimately was lucky, because those guys were there to fix the problem I was having with the washer I was using. 

I'm a Loser

There is no escaping it; I'm a loser.  In fact, my memoir is called American Loser, and it is here on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HQSO9RO In America (at least), white males are supposed to be successful.  They aren't discriminated against; women and minorities are.  As I've documented here, it is very difficult to be a loser in this society, where winners are always rubbing it into the faces of losers like me.  Turn on the TV, and you'll see plenty of them: successful TV personalities, actors, athletes, entrepreneurs, etc.
I write eBooks, and nobody cares.  The last one really hurts.  I think it is very funny.  I got the idea to tweet jokes from it: trying to attract attention to it.  No one has bought it.  It's a failure, and so am I.  Lots of people don't want to read.  I use the library a lot.  People very rarely put holds on books; I'm virtually always able to renew them.  People put holds on DVDs, because most humans want them more than books.  And I've read some great books lately.  Though they weren't new.  Maybe I'd have had trouble renewing them if I took them out when they were new.   
I am a loser.  There's no separation.  I'm not reading, or watching, the story of a loser.  I am living that story.  It's not fun.  Much has been written here about what it's like to live the life of a loser: shitty, boring menial jobs, living in apartments instead of houses (and having to hear your neighbors as a result), not having much money, and being alone, because it's harder to attract women.
Lack of money means a lot of things.  It means I'm less likely to treat my depression and OCD with medication, because it is so expensive in this country that has mastered greed.  And, yes, my mental issues are untreated, and it has been that way for far too long.  It also means I'm less likely to have a pet (I don't.), because of the extra cost involved (Pets aren't allowed in my apartment complex anyway; not having a house means less freedom).  And dogs make me happy; I know they do.  It means that my home is depressingly messy, because I hate cleaning.  I'd pay someone to clean it if I could afford to.  There are all sorts of safety features that other people have on their cars.  They are less likely to get into an accident, and they will be protected better than someone like me in the event that they are involved in an accident.  I don't know how much longer I'll be able to live the life of a loser.      
 

No Right to Complain!

Another shitty day: literally.  Once again, I started work at 6:00 am: so early.  Because of OCD, I get up at 4:09 am when I have to be at work at 6.  I need the extra time to wipe my ass, which I do excessively: even when I'm on antidepressants, which are supposed to help with such compulsions.  What can I say?  I hate shit; it's gross.  I almost never get all the shit out of me before I have to leave for work at 5:40 am.  I hate shitting and wiping, but I REALLY hate to do it anywhere besides my home.  It's an OCD thing.  So I frequently end up holding my shit in at work on days I start working at 6.  This day was no different.  It can be quite uncomfortable.  But unless it's an absolute emergency, I will hold it in: even if it's a lot of shit.
It was a busy day at work, which reminded me that I wanted to write this, so I'll get to the point.  If you have brought a child into this world, and you are waiting in line (at a store, for instance) or you are stuck in traffic, then you have no right to complain!  A line at a register in a store, traffic, these are the results of overpopulation!  And you have either contributed it by having kids or you haven't (like me).  You did the typical thing.  You wanted a little baby to cheer you up, and that mattered more than your concern about all the horrible things that could happen to your baby.  You also don't have the right to complain about overpopulation.  I heard Al Gore, on TV, complaining about overpopulation.  My first thought was "hypocrite!"  Al Gore has 4 kids!  He's contributed to the overpopulation of this planet 4 times!  Shut the fuck up!  You have no credibility when it comes to this issue! 
Then I came home, and my neighbors were playing their TV very loudly.  I'm glad they're leaving at the end of the month, but who will replace them?  What do you prefer: the devil you know or the devil you don't know?  They could be worse.       

Cruel Joke

What a cruel joke life is with all the pain, fatigue, asshole neighbors, shitting, ass wiping, pissing, and shitty, boring, soul-destroying jobs.  It's not even 9:00 am yet, and I've already shit (and wiped excessively thanks to OCD) twice.  My ass felt "less than fresh," so I wiped it again.  Indeed, it was confirmed that the last dump required 2 (update: now 3) separate wiping sessions.  And there will be more.  I'm sure there will be more shit (Update: I've shit 3 times now, with probably still more to come.  When will I learn that eating less leads to less poop?), and more wiping, today.  Of course there will be more piss.  And I have to work today, which will destroy my soul, already severely damaged, some more.

You Can't Protect Them

I write this as, once again, the tears are welling up in my eyes.  Once you've brought a baby into this world, it's too late.  You can't protect them from all the evils, and the shit, of this world.  You can't protect them from pain, loneliness, sadness, frustration, disappointment, bullies, child molesters, rapists, murderers, terrorists, disabilities, autism, OCD, depression, suicide, cancer, AIDS, etc..  I could go on and on.  You can't protect them from the feeling of "I should be doing this or that, I should have done this or that."  Only death brings relief from the pain, and misery, of life.        

Fuck the Norm (part 2)!

I knew I'd have to revisit this theme, as pain throbs in my left leg.
"How are you?"  "Have a good day."  Bullshit!  "How are you?" is a bullshit way to greet someone if you don't really care how they are.  It is a question.  If you don't care to hear a real answer to it, then don't ask it.  Example: I'm at work, and a customer asks me how I am.  "Not good.  My leg hurts, and so does my foot and my back.  I have depression and OCD.  I hate this job; it's crushing my soul.  Life sucks.  (I could go further.)."  "Have a good day" is also bullshit.  How?  How are I supposed to have a good day?  Hey, if you want me to have a good day, how about giving me a shitload of money?  Or let me watch your hot girlfriend having sex.  That would help.  If you can't truly help me have a good day, then don't say that.  It's meaningless and worthless.  "Hi" and "Hello" are perfectly fine greetings.  They don't say or ask anything fake or stupid, and they waste lass time.  Fuck the norm!
Next is this annoying trend I've been noticing.  People are going bananas for Under Armor apparel around here.  I see a ton of Under Armor shirts, hats, shoes, jackets, etc.  Plenty of people are wearing multiple Under Armor garments at once; multiple members of a family are wearing them, etc.  I'll admit that, when I was a kid, I paid to advertise apparel companies by buying shirts that said "Adidas" on them, etc., but I was a KID!  That's my excuse.  I'm talking about fully-grown adults paying (probably through the nose) for the right to advertise the company that's taking their money!  Fuck the norm!
Lastly are tattoos.  It has become the norm to pay someone to mutilate your body!  Stupid!  Also, why do fat people get tattoos?  Hey, look at me!  I've got a tattoo between my stretch marks!  Don't these morons realize how shitty these tattoos will look once they get older (Plenty of them look shitty from the start.)?  Fuck the norm! 

Trapped

I am trapped

in this skin
in this broken body
in this damaged brain that is afflicted with depression and OCD
with these ears that are always ringing
in this shitty, painful life
in this dirty apartment
in this suffering situation
in this shit "career"
in this sad, pathetic existence
in this sick society
on this ultra-violent planet of misery

Do You NEED a Bag?

Not sure if I've disclosed this before, but, I, most unfortunately, am a cashier, and I am not young.  It pains me to write that.  In fact, I try to avoid saying the word as much as possible.  At work, we have head cashiers.  I call them "HCs."  I don't even like to see people working as cashiers, because it reminds me of how I spend 40 hours a week.  "You are what you do" is bullshit.  I am not, at my core, a cashier.  It is just how I pay the bills.  People, that I don't know, have purchased and read my writing, so, therefore, by definition, I am a professional writer (just not a successful one).
However, even someone as low on the food chain as I am can make a difference.  I don't think I've ever heard one of my coworkers asking a customer if they NEED a bag.  They either bag the item(s) without asking, or they ask, "Do you WANT a bag?"  I specifically ask them if they need a bag, and this gets them thinking, "Do I need a bag?"  Many times, the answer is no.  Compared to my coworkers, and lots of other cashiers, I issue far fewer plastic bags, which, of course, aren't good for the environment.  They are all over the place.  Innocent sea creatures attempt to eat them in the ocean, where there are tons of them.
Frequently, I don't even ask if they need a bag.  I just don't bag their stuff.  Sometimes, this leads to me getting attitude.  An elderly woman was buying some large items: too big to fit into our bags.  There was a box of lightbulbs that would fit into a bag, but she left it in her cart, and I scanned it there.  I didn't bag it.  It turns out her middle-aged son was there too.  He approached her as she was waiting for him near the exit.  He said, "You didn't get a bag for the bulbs?"  He seemed annoyed.  Then he bought something at my register.  Even though I heard this whole "bulb, bag" exchange, I still asked him if he needed a bag.  Some things (like the environment) matter more than pissing off some little shit.  I towered over him, on my anti-fatigue mat, my body language aggressive.  No, he didn't need a bag.  But, as he was walking away, he angrily ripped a bag from the dispenser for his mommy.  What will happen to that bag?  Will it be recycled?  I hope so.  But it's far too possible that it won't be.
I have trained others to do my job, and I have trained them to ask the customers if they need bags.  I heard one of my coworkers say, to a customer, "I put a bag around these just to keep them together."  I looked to see what she was talking about.  It was clearly a waste of a bag.  I wouldn't have used a bag for that.  I wouldn't have even asked the customer if she needed a bag for that.  But the customer was so impressed!  I thought no one in this wicked world cared about me, but someone does!  "Oh, thank you," she said.  So, you see, my coworker took the easy, wasteful way out.  She pleased the customer, but at what cost?  No less than the environment.  She betrayed the environment to please a common hag (a bag for a hag!  If he's still alive, her husband can reuse it by putting it over her face, and maybe, just maybe, he'll be able to have sex with her near carcass!).
Even though I have OCD, I have pulled paper out of the trash (gross) at work, so it could be recycled.  My shitty neighbors opened a box, that was addressed to the shitty tenants that lived in that apartment before them, and put the box outside the front door of the building that we (unfortunately) share.  They left it there for at least a week (They are lazy slobs.).  I considered calling the office about it, then I decided to dispose of it myself, so it could be recycled.  If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself.        

Life Is (Part 2)

Life is sniffing like mad to keep my nose from running down my face; I can't blow my nose, because I'm wiping my ass at the time, which I would have been done with by now if I didn't have OCD.  My OCD keeps me from blowing my nose in the middle of an ass-wiping session, because that would disgusting, and it is.  My nose is running like a faucet, because my allergies are severe.  It is early in the morning, and what do I have to look forward to?  More pooping, more ass-wiping, more nose running, eyes itching, and sneezing due to allergies, hearing my shitty neighbors that I hate, going to my job that I hate, having to deal with stupid, annoying, boring people, being reminded, multiple times, just how many people are thoughtlessly contributing to the suffering of animals, being tired, in pain, and barely making it through the day (if I do make it).  I have taken allergy medication, which has made me even more lethargic than I usually am.  Depression is killing me, and it's not being treated, because I live in an incredibly greedy country (America), where antidepressants are extremely expensive, because those that profit from the sale of pharmaceuticals are allowed to charge as much as they want to; perhaps this is the only country in the world in which the prices of pharmaceuticals are unregulated.  What a great plan to weed out the poor and those who don't make much money; price pharmaceuticals out of their reach, so they will die: many by suicide.