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.  

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. 

It's Gonna Kill Me

The mad dash before work: hurriedly grabbing keys, sunglasses, and other things.  Time just before you need to leave for work goes fastest.  I hate driving.  It is so stressful.  Every time I'm passing someone's car on the highway, I'm worried that he or she, not seeing my car, will change lanes and hit mine.  An old guy almost did that to me recently.  His car nearly hit mine, but he saw it just in time.  My car has hydroplaned several times: terrifying.
Yesterday, I was waiting to make a right turn.  The approaching car was making a right turn, so I thought that would be my opportunity to make the turn, because the driver behind the one making the turn would certainly slow down for the car in front of him, but that didn't happen.  I ended up cutting off that driver a little, which resulted in him giving me the finger.  I gave him the finger.  A little further down the road, as I was waiting to make a left turn, he honked his horn as he passed me, so I could see him give me the finger again.  I flipped him off again.  I was very angry.  I was thinking how I could quickly communicate to him that I wanted to beat the shit out of him.  I've seen plenty of accidents and road rage incidents.
It seems like virtually all my problems are society related.  I hate my job.  I hate my neighbors.  For the most part, I hate people.  A meat-eating biological parent that believes in god is someone that I really don't relate to.  Why am I here?  Why am I in my apt, where I don't want to be, getting ready for work, where I don't want to go?  My writing gives me a little bit of hope.  I have written 3 books, which, of course, have generated very little interest, but that can change, I tell myself.  Yeah, right.  Most people don't read.  Should I start taking antidepressants again?  Is that what life is all about?  Taking unnatural medications so you can tolerate life in a shitty, human-made society? 
I'm thinking that maybe I should just leave it all to live in the wilderness: not live as a homeless person in a city; that seems horrible.  No, truly living in the wilderness.  My neighbors have chased me out of my apt on my days off, and I've been spending more time in nature as a result.  It feels good to be there; it feels right.  I believe that is how we're supposed to live.  Society hasn't improved life; it's ruined it for many.  Of course, I'm a have not.  Wealthy people probably love life in our society.  They have poor bastards like me doing everything for them: like cleaning.  But, for someone like me, I don't think it's a good deal to live in civilization. 
Civilization, another joke of a human word.  Humans are a nightmare: an incredibly violent species that terrorizes, on a massive scale, animals, the environment, and each other.  It's civilized to support horrific animal cruelty by buying meat and leather.  It's civilized to bring people into the world to suffer.  It's civilized to worship gods, that never existed, like a fucking Neanderthal.  It's civilized to pretend that life in society is great, and you're so happy in it, even if you're miserable.  Don't complain.  Whiners are weiners.  Don't rock the boat.
There are problems with living in nature.  Can I get by without showers and toilet paper?  It seems like those things would be the hardest to live without.  Bugs are also a problem.  They are very annoying.  I think I'll start reading books about living off the grid.  All I'd need for entertainment is a library card.  If I ever just walk away from my apt and job, I'd make sure to pack one very important item: the rope I bought, to hang myself with, years ago.  If things didn't work out, I could hang myself from a tree in the middle of nowhere.