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. 

Broken Links

My father is a broken link.  He hasn't been a father to me.  He left my mother and I when I was 2 years old.  He didn't teach me how to use tools, how to build stuff, how to fix things, how to throw a baseball, how to throw a football, how to fight, how to be a man; though he couldn't teach me how to be a man, because he isn't a man, and he never will be.  I've complained more about my mother here than my father.  The reason is that my mother attempts to be in my life.  She repeatedly reminds me of her and how she brought me into this world of pain, misery, and death.  I haven't heard from my father since I was a teen (a long time ago).  Did he ever care about me?  And, if so, then for how long?  Certainly not long.  No, I am just the physical manifestation of a big mistake he made. 
I work in a national hardware store, which is sort of ironic, because I know so little about building and fixing stuff.  I suppose that is why I have remained a cashier, even though I could conceivably transfer to another area in the store.  I've heard about how customers react when they feel as though my coworkers don't know enough about the areas they are covering.  So it's strange to be surrounded by all these people who build and fix stuff regularly; for lots of them, that's what their job entails. 
I mentioned the regular customer, who I thought was a nice guy, and he is, but he likes to brag about his money.  He told me a little story, in which he mentioned his $150,000 car.  Doesn't he realize that, as a cashier, I can't afford a car like that?  Does he enjoy rubbing his money into the faces of those who don't have as much as he does?  Bragging about money is like school on Sunday: no class.  How did he learn how to use tools and build and fix stuff?  Perhaps from his father.  So you see the difference between a boy whose father taught him things and a boy whose father taught him nearly nothing.
In fact, the more I talk to customers at work, the more likely they are to start bragging about their money.  Money is what matters more than anything in this shitty society.  It is why animals are treated so horribly.  It is all too common for them to not get the medical care they need, because that would cost money, so, as a result, they suffer.  It is also why animals like pigs and chickens are crammed into small spaces, many of them not getting enough space to walk at all; it's cost-effective.   
So, as a result of not knowing how to build and fix stuff, the thought of being a homeowner is a daunting one.  Therefore, for the foreseeable future, I don't se myself buying a house (not that I could afford one anyway), so I'll continue to live in apartments, and hearing my neighbors will continue to make me miserable.          

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.

Seeing Yourself

Do you ever see yourself?  I mean in a sort of literal sense.  For instance, you're lying on the couch, watching TV, and you step outside yourself a little bit.  You can see what you look like.  You imagine that you're someone else (or, somehow, still you), in the room, looking at you from approximately 8 feet away.  I think it can be a helpful exercise.  It can help you realize how you're wasting time and/or what you're doing that you don't really want to do (or spend less time doing).  I don't like to see myself lying on the futon, watching TV.  It's pathetic.  I'm doing nothing.  I'm inside (I've written, over and over again now, that it's better, more natural and therapeutic, to be outside, but, of course, most of us don't want to always be outside.) and I'm looking at a screen.  I know why I do it.  I like movies and TV shows, but only if they are genuinely worth watching (Many aren't.  I have a 30-minute rule.  I will watch a movie or a TV show [on DVD-I don't have cable] for 30 minutes, and, if it has failed to grab me by then, I will stop watching it and move on to the next one.  There are exceptions.  I recently gave Easy A less than 30 minutes before pulling the plug, because it was, in my opinion, made for people much younger than me.).  I also read, and I'd be better off doing that, but my current setup makes it less comfy to do that.  Although I probably could fix that just by moving a lamp.  There's also the issue of my asshole neighbors.  Their loud TV comes right through the wall we share.  If I'm reading, there's nothing to drown out the sound they make.  If I'm watching TV, then that noise will battle the sound they're making.
Another place I hate to "see myself" is at work.  I hate what I do: what I am 40 hours a week.  It's depressing to stand outside myself and see me doing what I do to pay the bills.  I don't even like to watch other people doing what I do; it's an unpleasant reminder.  So you see how this can be a helpful thing to do.  It lets me know that I don't like my job (I can get another one.), and I don't like watching as much TV as I do (I can watch less and read more.).
I don't mind seeing myself sitting at my computer, probably because I'm usually doing something at least somewhat constructive.  The issue there is stamina.  I can only sit there for so long, before the pain becomes unbearable (I don't have a laptop; it's a desktop.), which is why I adjourn to my futon to watch TV.  I also don't mind seeing myself exercising.  Exercise is very important: for both physical and mental health.  I don't mind seeing myself outside at all: even if I'm just standing around and looking at some trees.  There's nothing wrong with that; it's natural.  It's soothing.  Time spent in nature is time well spent.           

I'd Rather Be Dead

That's my idea of a bumper sticker.  A popular bumper sticker is "I'd rather be fishing."  I wonder if mine could catch on. 
I think death is better than life.  With death, all the shit that bothers you just goes away.  Perhaps anything that brings me closer to death is a good thing.  My neighbors make me want to be dead.  I've had to listen to their too-loud TV coming through the wall for hours today.  They've ruined yet another one of my days off from work.  Shitting and wiping my ass brings me closer to death.  I hate it. 
My neighbors would probably love it if I killed myself.  That's not a very pleasant thought, but it's a real one.  But that's another great thing about death.  You're not even capable of caring what people think about you.  Even if you wanted to, you couldn't.   
I've tried to get help for depression.  I might get strangled by red tape.  I have to wait till 1/1/18 to get healthcare from my job.  I've tried to get it from the gov't's website, but I keep getting stuck at a certain spot, and I'm pretty sure it's their fault, not mine. 
I'm having trouble typing today, so I suppose I'll wrap it up.  I'm having a bad day.  I'm having a bad life.

Farts and Literature

The cover of my book

It's official; I have written 3 books.  This latest one, Farts and Literature (featuring Bald D-Bag): an Eclectic Collection of Comedic Writing, is (probably obviously) comedic, and it is here: https://www.amazon.com/Farts-Literature-featuring-Bald-D-Bag-ebook/dp/B074MCFPVD/ref=sr_1_2?s=digita  I think it is funny.  But there's no joy, no happiness, because I'm still in a deep depression.  I hate my job.  My scumbag neighbors make sure that I hate my home life too.  I've started a new Twitter account, which is here, https://twitter.com/TheBaldDBag to promote the book.  No interest yet.  No followers.  No likes.  No retweets.  This could be it for me.  My hopes for this book are probably unrealistic.  I'd either like for it to sell so well that I can quit my job, or I'd like to get a good-paying writing job (like on a comedic TV show).  If these unlikely things don't happen, I might be ready to die.  I am anyway.  Life is just shit.  It's just getting kicked around.  I'm in a state of suffering.  I'm not having fun.  All I have to do is quit my job, go home, and start drinking antifreeze.  Then again, I suppose I should try antidepressants again, even though they are depressingly expensive.  No sense in killing myself with money in the bank.  I might as well use it to try to save myself. 

Cheated

This one goes out to everyone who has been cheated out of having intelligent, successful, caring parents, and all the disadvantages they have faced, and continue to face, as a result.  Society is unfair, because the people who have shitty parents have to compete with those who have great parents.  It's no mistake I'm writing this on Father's Day: my least favorite holiday.  Brief recap-I'm the result of a teen pregnancy.  My father left my mother and me when I was 2.  I didn't see him many times after that.  I think he had no interest in seeing me; his mother, my nana, tried to bring us together.  The last time I saw him was about 30 years ago.  I haven't heard from him in over 30 years (I saw him by coincidence.).  My nana, before she died, told me that my father convinced her to change her plans and leave no money to me (to him instead, probably) in her will.
The president of America, most unfortunately, is Trump.  Let's compare him to me a little bit.  He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth; I wasn't.  He had a rich daddy who gave him millions of dollars; the only things I can recall my father giving to me were a shirt and some tools: no money.  His father put him on the fast track to success.  It takes money to make money.  Daddy's money allowed him to be a business owner.  I have a tedious, low-paying job.  I hate cleaning; I really do.  As a result, I don't clean much, and my home is depressingly dusty and crappy.  When, do you think, is the last time Trump did any cleaning in his home?  Has he ever cleaned his home?  Same thing as far as laundry goes too.  Trump can afford the safest car on the market: me-no, so I am more likely to be mangled in a car accident than he is.  Do you think Trump has to hear his asshole neighbors through the wall?  I don't think so.  But I do.   
Some people might call me a whiner.  First of all, fuck them.  I never agreed to live this life; I, like everyone, was forced into it.  I certainly never agreed to be dealt a shitty pair of parents, like I was.  The way children are raised matters.  Parents who are always helping their sons and daughters are much more preferable to parents who never, or seldom, help their sons and daughters. 

I Tried

I realized I've explored the spectrum of negativity here while I was bored out of my mind at work yesterday.  I came up with a more positive mantra than the one I usually go with (Time is passing; death is closer.), which is "Time is passing; you have paid time off to take."  Despite the soul-crushing boredom, I was trying to feel positive.  Then I shaved my bald head, and some hair fell into my eye, and it was bad.  My eye is tearing up again just thinking about it.  There was pain, discomfort, and worry.  I have no health insurance.  I couldn't go to a hospital without breaking the bank.  And that's life.  Just when it's going okay, something shitty happens. 
That's another "life is."  Life is suffering with hair in your eye, trying to finish cutting your hair, while, as usual, hearing your scumbag neighbors through the wall.  You want to scream at them to give you a break, because you're suffering worse than usual, but you realize they have a right to make their shitty noise; it's not too early or too late.  And screaming at them would probably just make it worse.  And when horrible things happen to you, other people, and animals, the rest of the world just smiles and laughs, because they don't care.  What a cruel, cold place.  

I Don't Want to Live

I hate my job.  My neighbors ruin my home life, so I never get to enjoy myself.  I'm always in pain.  My ears are always ringing.  Life is shit.  Suicide should be easy.  I should be able to go to any drugstore and buy pills that will kill me, peacefully and painlessly, in my sleep.  I don't want a painful, fearful suicide.  I don't think I deserve that.  I have no friends.  I could call my aforementioned frenemy, but, as I've mentioned before, he judges, criticizes, and yells at me for no good reason.  I hate life.  I want to die. 

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.     

It's All Shit

Trump is shit.
Meat eaters are shit.
People who hurt animals, directly or indirectly, are shit.
People who don't care about animals are shit.
People who get off by closely controlling animals are shit.
People who can't stop being violent are shit.
Sadistic people are shit.
Selfish people are shit.
Hypocrites are shit.
Narcissists are shit.
Greedy rich people are shit.
Being a nobody with little money is shit.
People who enjoy being mean are shit.
Sexual predators are shit.
Litterers are shit.
Polluters are shit.
People who don't recycle are shit.
Arsonists are shit.
Terrorists are shit.
Biological parents are shit.
My father is shit.
My mother is shit.
Breeders are shit.
TV commercials are shit.
My neighbors, and their guests, are shit.
My ex-friend is shit.
Loud people are shit.
Shitty drivers are shit.
Stupid people are shit.
Human society is shit.
Trying to find a woman that I want to be with, who will want to be with me, is shit.
Aging is shit.
Pain is shit.
Depression is shit.
OCD is shit.
Work is shit.
Cowards who fuck with people who are working are shit.
Shit is shit.
People are shit.
Life is shit.

 

Joy Denied

Yesterday, as I was looking at a cute baby, I couldn't help thinking that I have never experienced the joy of holding my own baby (Because I have no kids.).  And, hopefully, I never will.  I'm not nearly selfish enough to bring a baby into this world.  And on another day in which my body is racked with pain, my neighbors have woken me up, and I'm preparing to go to my job that is unsatisfying (to say the least), I know that I have made the right choice to not bring someone into this hell.