Breeze Remixed
So I was writing in my journal and realized that I haven't posted anything on any of my blogs in an exceedingly long time so this is an EXTREMELY edited and censored version of what’s been going on with me with dozens of names and places censored out. Not really to protect the innocent, but to not get shot at when I walk down the street... again:
...it feels like I’m just mindlessly rowing out in the middle of the sea without the slightest view of land...
...all the jobs that were available I was horribly under qualified for and the few that I saw that I was qualified for made my head hurt at thoughts of acquiring yet another fucking office job...
...I’m sure when I leave work I’ll get on the bus and there will be high school students rolling blunts in the back seat and leaving piles and piles of the tobacco from their Swisher Sweets all over the floor, some girl loudly playing music on her cell phone as if it were a boom box and assuming everybody wants to hear fucking Young Jeezy at 5:00 p.m., maybe a fight or two, maybe the bus will break down, maybe the bus will breakdown because of a fight or two...
...I’ve got to get my fucking car fixed...
...I viciously chewed the hot dog and painfully loosened the cap on my back left molar which instantaneously felt like a gun shot in my mouth...
...I distinctly remember talking to [CENSORED] about how in my heart of hearts, I am attracted to physically fit dudes but my tiny little ego could never carry the heavy burden of actually declaring to the world that I don’t like to date someone out of shape considering that my own silhouette gets closer and closer to resembling a baby elephant as each day goes by...
...There are certain things that have slipped back on my prayer list that have not been on there for a while now. 1. Money. 2. Love. I haven’t asked for either specifically for a little while now but for the past month or so it’s been very directed, sharp and succinct requests. I need some money. I need a man. Amen...
...Once I lose some weight and get an Oscar, I’m going to remember this moment and tell [CENSORED] to go fuck himself...
...[CENSORED] drove me home. He really wanted to have sex. I really didn’t but I was just stinking drunk enough to give him a hand job. He exploded in 60 seconds, said he had a good time then immediately opened the car door. I felt like Kelly Bundy...
...I just don’t know if I can give another passionless pity blowjob to yet another obese guy. My heart just isn’t in it nowadays...
...The problem is, when I think of [CENSORED] I just see this ball of issues on top of issues swirled around this massive ego with a custard meringue issue on top...
...I really do think a financially affluent Republican with an extra three inches would probably serve [CENSORED] better than I ever could, the same way a drummer in a rock/rap band with an afro, tribal tattoos and six extra inches would serve me better than he ever could...
...I know I’m slow. I get that I don’t have full mental health, but it didn’t dawn on me until this night that [CENSORED] has got an actual, serious, drinking problem. And not in a fun way like me when I drink way too many beers and give some aging rocker a hand job then write about it on Facebook, I mean an actual DSM IV diagnosed, police involved, seriously fucked up behavioral malfunction. He’s going through some serious shit that seems like it has nothing to do with me and trying to slide myself into his dysfunctions as either a cause or cure would be the height of narcissism. He needs his mom, he needs his God, he needs a little counseling. If he wants me around for support I’ll be there, but I think staying on his peripheral vision would just save the both of us a lot of heartache...
