Email to My Mother

my mother: "Have you called any of the tel #s I gave you? Please keep in touch."

me: i haven't. i'm taking antidepressants now, they're not helping, & i've taken a few different kinds & none have worked. therapy hasn't worked either. i hate life. i hate pissing, shitting, wiping my ass, shit jobs I hate, cleaning, laundry, shopping, & all these other things i hate doing. i hate my chronic pain, aging, that i've lost my looks & i can look forward to getting older, uglier, weaker, & more pain

Cowards

I'd always gotten the asshole vibe from this regular customer at work. He'd made fun of me before, & I'm sick of seeing his ugly face. I work as a lumber cashier at Lowe's, & I see some customers everyday or nearly everyday: frequently multiple times a day. It sucks. This guy is 1 of those customers.
When this guy is there by himself, there aren't problems. But when he has an audience, watch out. He's been there with his kid(s), & asked me, "Are you having fun?" & I've said, no, & he's laughed, which might not sound so bad (Certainly, trust me, it's boring & typical.), but context is everything sometimes. I'm real; that's how I am. If I'm miserable, I have neither the energy nor the inclination to act happy. & I'm frequently miserable at work for good reason; my job sucks.
Lately, this asshole has been coming into Lowe's with a young guy: a teen. So they come to my register. While I'm doing my job, the asshole asks me, "Do you like your job?" He's such an asshole, I was expecting him to laugh when I said, "no," but he didn't. "What's your passion?" he asked. As I mentioned, I'd gotten the asshole vibe from him before, so I didn't answer. he said, "not this?" I said, "no." The teen said, "Are you certified in anything?" "No," I said. "He don't give a fuck about you," the asshole said. "He's angry," 1 of them said as they were leaving. It was humiliating. They ganged up on me. If you don't see it, you had to be there.
I'm such an easy target. I stand there, they approach me, & I have to deal with them. Realistically, to be a cashier at my age means I'm a loser. & that's how they treated me. & people are so shitty, they don't care WHY you're a loser, just that you ARE 1, & therefore, it's OK to treat you like 1. Maybe I'm a loser because I'm the result of a teen pregnancy, my father left when I was 2, my mother has always been cold, selfish, lazy, uncaring, stupid, etc, & I was molested by a family member (the short version).
So that in itself sucked, but it wasn't over. That occurred at the "front end" of the store, where the main exit is. Then, as usual, I moved to the lumber register to relieve the woman who starts there at 6:00 am. So they returned. Fucking great, I thought. Even though he's well into adulthood, I saw the asshole jump onto a cart & ride it a bit.
So they approached me again. The asshole said, "hi." I was still pissed at them, so I said nothing. He laughed & so did the teen. Then he asked, condescendingly, "which register do you like better: this or the other 1?" Again, I said nothing, & again they laughed at me. I'd had enough.
"I don't appreciate you hassling me while I'm trying to pay my bills & keep a roof over my head!" I said very angrily to the asshole. I had bagged his purchases & tossed them hard onto the counter, which may have hit him a little bit, & there was hard stuff in that bag. He looked shocked; I didn't care; I was furious.
"You got it wrong," he said. "I was trying to be nice." "You laughed at me!" I replied. He said, "Yeah, but- (don't recall the rest)."
Then he called me a prick. Obviously, you can get fired for cursing out a customer, so I said, "You are!" The whole time, the teen is smirking at me: so fucking disrespectful & shitty. Then the teen bought an energy drink. I virtually always hand the change to the customers: not this time. I definitively put his change & receipt on the counter; our hands touched a little. I did not thank them for their purchases; again, I virtually always do that. The teen continued to smirk, as he said, "Have a nice day" (sarcastically) to me.
As they were leaving, the asshole loudly said, "What a fucking asshole!" or something like that, which was obviously meant for me. The teen laughed.
For quite a while, hours, afterward, I felt sick: possibly the result of an adrenaline dump. I also had, & still do, some fear. What if they come back to beat the shit out of me? I spend a lot of time alone over there: especially at night. What if 1 or both of them know Karate, etc.?
That's why I titled this "Cowards," because that's what people who fuck with other people while they're working are. It's not fair. He can call me a prick, an asshole, but I can't unless I don't mind getting fired, which doesn't seem so fucking bad, & hasn't for a while now.
Now I can "look forward" to dealing with them again (& again & again).

What a Fucking Day

Another shit day at work. Dealing with an old fool (I have to deal with plenty of them at work.), I got a little frustrated with him & raised my voice a little. He said, "Well, don't get sore about it!" But he wasn't done. The old fool has quite a temper. He did some more snapping at me, &, as he was leaving, I laughed at him. Then he got really pissed off. He called me a jerk. Since I was at work, I said, "It takes one to know one." Outside of work, I probably would have called him an asshole. He got in my fucking face: hilarious! The guy's like 30 years older than me. I could demolish him. I stepped back, & said, derisively, "get out of my face." He said, "fuck you," & so did I. I could get fired for that; I'm sure.
But that was nothing compared to what was waiting for me in the mailbox. The IRS sent me a bill for $664. Some DUMB ASS ignored the amount of NYS tax I paid that I wrote on the form & the stub from my employer & assumed I payed 0 state income tax for the whole year: UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE! And today is the Friday before Memorial Day weekend, so this shit will be hanging over my head for 3 WHOLE FUCKING DAYS before I can call them. When it rains, it pours. If I can't convince them I don't owe that money, it will be DEVASTATING.
Also, my mother sent me a letter asking me to drive from here (Rochester, NY) to my grandma's apt (Queens, NYC) so I can spend a few days with the 2 of them. So fucking presumptuous. She's like, we'll do this, & we'll do that. I don't think so!
Everyday I'm being punished for not killing myself.
  

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.  

I Must Be Crazy

I don't give a fuck about my job.  I don't give a fuck about my life.
Today is a day off.  The last few days at work have really sucked.  You see, if I see someone that has some of our merchandise approaching the exit of the store I work at, and I can see that they didn't buy it in that area of the store, I'm supposed to ask to see their receipt, even if they are carrying the stuff in one of our plastic bags.  Obviously, someone could grab a bag, put stuff in it, and walk out while acting as though they bought it.  Although, as I've been obsessively thinking about the events of the past few days, I realize that I've never seen a particular head cashier, who's been working at this store longer than me, ever check a customer's receipt, and that's part of her job.  She spends a lot of time standing by the main exit.  Regardless, she received an award at the last store meeting, because she "seems to never have a bad day."  Maybe she'd have more "bad" days if she was confronting people who were trying to leave the store.  She's also hot as hell, which would explain why she'd get away with anything.
A few days ago, I asked to see a customer's receipt and he was a total prick to me.  It's happened before.  It's not fun.
But, two days ago, a couple of guys exited the area of the store where I was working holding plastic bags with stuff in them.  I didn't ask to see their receipts.  I don't always do it.  I don't like doing it, because I don't like it when people are rude as hell to me, as they sometimes are when I do that.  Later, those guys came back: one of them bringing stuff in one of our bags into the store.  This time, I would confront them.  As they were leaving, I walked up to them and asked to see a receipt.  One of them said, "That's rude" to me.
"That's store policy," I replied.
He got very angry very quickly.  "Don't you see he's got a bag?" he yelled at me.
I walked away and said something about how I don't appreciate being yelled at.  I think his buddy tried to get him to leave as he was leaving, but he said, "No.  He might call the police."  He aggressively got very close to me and continued to yell at me.  I was so worried he was going to hit me, that I backed away from him a few feet.  He pulled a receipt out and yelled, "Do you want to see it?!" multiple times.  Finally, a coworker heard all the yelling and walked over to me, so that he was standing next to me.  The asshole left soon after.  Then I heard one of them laughing loudly outside the building.  I suppose he was laughing at me: the pussy.
I've since realized it's stupid to be a corporate tool.  I should put my ass on the line, I should put my health and safety at risk, for the sake of the owner, who must be rich as hell, highly-paid executives, or wealthy shareholders?  That's crazy.  We have a concrete floor.  Someone could knock me out, and my skull could fracture after it hit that unforgivingly hard floor.  It would be fine if I was murdered; that would be great.  But what if I was crippled?  What if I was injured so badly that I was paralyzed from the waist, or the neck, down?  Then I'd really have a reason to bitch and moan. 
So I need to be smarter about this receipt-checking business.  I should probably ask to see it while I'm behind the counter at least, so there is a barrier between me and him (or them).  Of course, someone could go around the counter, or throw a punch over it.  It should be a judgment call: based on how threatening the person (or people) appear to be.  Most of all, I need to protect myself.  This store rakes in millions of dollars a year, despite what people steal from it.  I need to protect my own skin more than other people's money. 

"Work Sucks, School Sucks, Life Sucks"

I was watching the news today, and they mentioned the latest school shooting, unless another has occurred by now (only in America).  Before the shooter went on his rampage, he wrote, "Work sucks, school sucks, life sucks."  I couldn't agree more (with the statement, not the shooting).  As usual, I can't be bothered to look back at what I've written before, because I'm lazy, and "been there, done that."  But I'm pretty sure, after another one of these shootings, I wrote that the problem could be as simple as "life sucks."  They hate life, and they hate other people.  People are always annoying the hell out of me.  I don't shoot them, though.  I don't even have a gun.  If I did, I think there's a good chance I'd use it on myself.
I know, I've mentioned suicide plenty of times here, but I'm still alive.  I really don't want to be elderly, though, so I think there's a good chance I'll do it eventually.  I've seen plenty of elderly people that I don't want to be like.  They're fairly helpless.  It's no way to be.  I'm enough of a mess as it is.  If I have trouble with simple functions, like using a credit card, then I definitely don't want to be alive. 

Contempt

I find it very difficult to live in this society, because I have contempt for
-mentally-competent adults that selfishly support animal cruelty by buying meat, leather, fur, etc.
-mentally-competent adults that have procreated
-mentally-competent adults that have brought animals into this world
-mentally-competent adults that spend a lot of time with their faces in their smartphones.
So, once again, obviously, I am not targeting children or the mentally disabled.  I get along with the sorts of people I have just mentioned, mostly because I have to.  I get along quite well with a coworker who eats meat and has kids.  I like her.  Interestingly, we were talking one day, and she admitted, unsolicited, that life is shitty.  Do you regret having kids?  That's the question I wanted to ask but didn't.  I need to do whatever I need to do to get through the day at work.  If I hated, and scowled at, all my coworkers that eat meat, have procreated, and have their faces in their phones every chance they get, I'd be hated.  I have no friends, so I need to try to get along with my coworkers as well as I can.  But whenever I see them eating meat, or hear them talking about their favorite meat dishes, I can feel the contempt bubbling up inside me.  Likewise when I see them with (or hear them talking about) their kids.  Seeing them with their faces in their phones reminds me of the contempt too.
So, again, leaving it all for the wilderness seems like a good idea.  I wouldn't have to be around people I have contempt for.  But the same issues come to mind: bugs bugging me, lack of heat, showers, and toilet paper.  It seems like I can't win.     

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.       

The Ultimate Sacrifice

I make sacrifices for animals.  I haven't eaten exactly what I have wanted to since 2002.  I used to like the taste of pizza, burgers, and bacon.  I don't refuse to buy non-vegan foods because I love veggies or because I'm a health nut.  I certainly don't want to live forever.  I do it for the health, and well being, of animals.
I hate cooking, eating, pooping, pissing, and living.  All I want to do is write, create, and enjoy other people's creative works: good movies, TV shows, music, and books.  But I can't support myself with my writing.  I need a boring, soul-destroying menial job to pay my bills. 
What did the monks achieve when they protested the Vietnam War through self immolation?  Who knows, but their actions will live forever as long as human civilization exists.  For example, one of my favorite bands, Rage Against the Machine, put the image of one of these monks, fully engulfed in flames, on the cover of their debut album.
I have thought about combining my wanting to die with my desire to help animals.  Inspired by the monks I just mentioned, I have considered setting myself on fire to protest animal cruelty.  I'm at least 99.9% sure I'll never do that.  I don't mind dying before I'm elderly (to say the least), but I don't want to go out with that sort of pain.  I don't want to burn my little finger, let alone my whole body.  It's not what mama's little baby deserves.  I have also thought about a hunger strike to protest animal cruelty.  I could begin posting video online and say that I won't eat until animal cruelty is wiped out completely or every single person in the world is at least a vegetarian (preferably vegan).  Regardless, it would be a virtually impossible goal, because animal cruelty is so prevalent, so socially acceptable; the situation is so incredibly dire, so far away from where I want it to be, where I think it should be.  So the world wouldn't change as much as I wanted it to, certainly not in the time I needed it to, so, assuming I was able to do it, I would starve to death online.  Again, 99.9% sure I won't do this.  As someone who has spent plenty of time being depressed and suicidal, I have done quite a bit of research when it comes to ways to kill oneself.  I read that starving yourself to death is a very painful way to go, and I believe it.        
I feel the need to mention that I am not advocating anyone do these things at all whatsoever.  After all, it is extremely unlikely that I would do them.  These are just thoughts.  I'm only expressing myself, which is something I feel the need to do.  I may take my own life one day, but, if I do, I will try to avoid pain as much as possible.  If you are passionate about defending animals, the best thing to do is to remain ALIVE, so you will be able to continue to fight for them.  You won't be able to do anything when you're dead. 

A Salute to the Real

This one goes out to the realists.  If someone gave me a "Life is good" shirt, I would never wear it outside.  Assuming it fit, and it was comfy, I would only wear it indoors, because I wouldn't want anyone to assume that I supported such an asinine notion.  The fact that I've seen so many of these "Life Is Good" shirts just goes to show how many fake and phony people are out there.  If you want to know what isn't "good" about life, watch the news, or just read more of this blog.  I don't sugarcoat shit.  By the way, when I was writing "Life is good," I accidentally wrote "Lie" instead of "Life."  How appropriate.  "Lie is good," because "Life is good" is a lie.  To be fake and phony is to be worthless.  Fake laughing at someone's joke is weak and cowardly.  That being said, I have done it, but mostly at work.  A customer tries to be funny, fails, and I laugh a little anyway, because it would be uncomfortable not to, and/or I don't want him or her to try to get me into trouble at work.  Although that would be a typically ridiculous thing to get into trouble at work about: not laughing at a pathetic attempt to be funny.  Although, a customer's total came up, and it was $4.30.  He said, "Sounds like quitting time!"  And he laughed at his (can you really call that a) joke.  I couldn't bring myself to laugh, and he had the fucking nerve to criticize me!  Not in a major way, he wasn't mean; he didn't yell, but he mildly criticized me for not laughing at that weak-ass shit!  He should take that act on the road: to comedy clubs everywhere.  He should get up on stage, and ask the audience to yell out 3-digit numbers.  "715!"  "715?  That sounds like quitting time!"
I had a job where I repeatedly failed to laugh at my coworkers attempts to be funny, and they disliked me as a result.  Don't play our little game, don't fake laugh at our little jokes, and we will hate you for it.
Which brings me to the realest tweet I ever saw; "People are loved for being fake and hated for being real." 

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.           

People Ruin Everything

People ruin the environment, the lives of animals, the lives of other people, everything.  If I am having a rare good day, then it's highly possible that someone will ruin it.  I sort of don't understand why people would have friends.  I understand that loneliness is not good; I deal with it everyday.  But take the example of my aforementioned frenemy.  There are plenty of times when he and I got along very well.  But it was always just a matter of time until he ruined it by judging me, criticizing me, or yelling at me (for no good reason).  My ex-girlfriend used to be absolutely pissed off that she HAD to go see friends of hers.  What's the point of that?  If seeing friends is like work, then why do it?  My frenemy told me he was going to a Springsteen concert with a friend.  At no time did he want to go.  He complained and complained about it.  Why complain about it to me?  I'm not the one that's going to the concert with you.  But he went, and complained about it some more afterward.
Work sucks, but it's preferable to work outside, where we sell colorful flowers; it's a marvelous display.  As I've mentioned here before, it's good to be outside.  It's natural.  It's the way it should be.  But the outside area at work is definitely ruined by people.  It's amazing how different the two ends of the massive home improvement store I work at are.  In lumber, the customers are mostly men, and they sometimes expect me to know how to build or fix this or that.  I don't know how to build or fix anything.  The garden area of the store might as well be a world away.  Most of the customers are women, and they expect me to know about plants and gardening.  I don't know shit about that.  Lots of the customers there are elderly ladies.  Plenty of them have lashed out at me.  It must be hard to be an old lady.  I'm sure a lot of people treat them like they're slow and in the way, which they sort of are.  I've seen, and dealt with, a depressing amount of elderly people that I never want to be like.  They say, "death before dishonor."  Well, it's dishonorable to be half dead physically and mentally.  I think it makes sense to kill yourself before you become a ghost of your former self.
The elderly lady was buying something from me at the outside register, and she was saying the usual boring shit that I've heard tons of times before.  It's amazing how dull and unfunny many people are when they try to be funny.  I didn't react to what she was saying.  She said something about not talking much.  "Who?" I asked.  "You," she said angrily.  So, once again, I'm the lowest on the food chain.  My position in society is to take undeserved abuse from pathetic old ladies.  The young, tattooed woman who was next in line heard the exchange.  She, unsolicited, mentioned to me how the old lady's attack (on me) was bogus. 
Since we're outside, there is, obviously, no roof to block sunlight.  This means that direct sunlight hits the PIN pad; the glare makes it hard to see.  You wouldn't believe how many morons complain that they can't read its screen, as though it's my, or anyone's, fault.  What do I want to say every time?  "Hey, if I could control the brightness of the sun, I wouldn't be here."  Or, "You could pay inside, which has a fucking roof over it."
Last night, a bit of a connection was made.  I was dealing with a customer who's a very nice guy.  The total came up, and he mentioned that it was the same as the year he was born.  I didn't tell him, but it was the year I was born too.  He talked to me a little bit.  He mentioned that he works 12-hour days, 7 days a week.  Then he added that he's making a lot of money.  You see, he ruined it there by bragging about all the money he's making.  It wasn't necessary.  I think bragging about the money you have, especially to someone who doesn't have much of it, isn't classy.  My frenemy was like that.  Not only did he brag about his money, he told me several times that his sister is rich: rubbing other people's money in my face over and over again.  He is such a piece of shit.  
If you want to laugh, try my Twitter account where I tweet jokes.  It's here: https://twitter.com/TheBaldDBag        

Better Off Dead

I've contemplated my situation and realized I'm better off dead.  My life is a bad deal.  I get up and take a shit and wipe my ass, which I hate doing passionately.  I have to do this at least a few times everyday.  I also hate having to piss, which I have to do more than several times a day.  Afterward, my penis always leaks piss into my underwear; every single day is disgusting.  It's guaranteed. 
I've mentioned the pain I'm in; it's chronic, and it hurts.
I hate my job; it's very repetitive and boring; it's a soul squasher.  All I've had are menial jobs.  That's where I'm stuck.  When I've tried to get a better one, they have said, "no."  They say America is a free country, but not if you have to work.  You're a slave to the money you need to live in a society that's not worth living in anyway.
I hate people.  There are a small amount of coworkers I get along with, but they eat meat, which means they unnecessarily support animal cruelty. 
I have no friends, girlfriend, or pets.  I love dogs, but the question of whether to get a pet or not is a complicated one, and I have ultimately decided against getting one.  One of the most important reason is I need to be free to kill myself.  If I have a pet I can't do that, because, as far as I'm concerned, when you make a commitment to a pet, it's for his or her entire life. 
My shitty neighbors ruin my home life, so there's no escape from the shit, the misery.  As I'm writing this, I'm keeping an eye on the clock, because, as soon as I can, I'm going to have to attempt to do my laundry again.  There's too much fucking competition for the goddamn laundry machines here.  I'm way overdue when it comes to laundry.  I go there, and the machines are inevitably taken.    
I've considered living in the wilderness, but how can I go without showers and toilet paper?  I'm addicted to living in this sick society.  Besides, bugs ruin the wilderness.
Death, as I see it, is an end to pain.
 

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.