Sigh.

Nothing ever changes.

As I told Travis, the next time I hear a girl try to legitimize the term "lover" in the context of stable relationships, I'm going to brain her with a rock under an overpass in a shitty part of Oakland.

I hope you get crippled in a bus accident and have to spend the rest of your life blowing into a tube to move your mechanized wheelchair you can't afford because you don't have health care so you have to spend your nights sleeping next to the couch in your friend's place because he's paying off your awful medical bills in hopes that it will give him an in to fuck you, as he's always had a fetish for fucking an invalid, and it's too much work to pull you out of your chair and besides you're not paying rent because you aren't employable so you try to compensate for your lack of upkeep by being positive and saying uplifting things, but you stutter because the accident fucked up your temporal lobe so every time you try to say a word that starts with "st" like "stellar" or a phrase like "stay positive" you just whimper ineffectually and irritate the shit out of everyone who already doesn't want to put up with you but their pesky fucking conscience prevents them from telling you to "st-st-start wheeling your ass out of here" and as the days go by you realize the dream of that awful sex is never going to come to fruition because the smell your body is emanating starts to worsen because you can't convince anyone to help you into the bath (because you're secretly afraid they will try to drown you) let alone spray you off with the hose in the yard which you obviously can't handle yourself, so you have to wait for it to rain before blowing into your little tube and hearing the little whir of the motor that's propelling you between the miscellaneous pieces of scenery that comprise your personal hell and sit pathetically in the rain and hope the battery on your scooter doesn't short out and leave you hanging st-st-stupidly on the front porch, not to mention the possibility that your so-called friend might lock the front door or just kick over the two shitty two by four planks he has propped up against the st-st-stairs so you can come and go as you please (with emphasis on go, you fucking burden) and as you try to daydream of some kind of better existence you notice your friend's dog chewing off one of your useless toes and you try to tell him to st-st-stop but instead you get flustered wheezing into the tube and you end up spinning in circles, which prompts the neighborhood children, who were no doubt raised by savages, to laugh and throw rusty gardening tools at your dumb limp face.

This isn't even aimed at anyone, it's just a fuck you to the archetype I keep running into every other fucking day and to be honest, I am not even mad or irritated anymore, that was more just a fun exercise in how long I can maintain a single, hateful sentence. The truth is I fucking WISH I could still be annoyed by this, but it has become the status quo, so now I don't complain because I end up feeling like some kind of Marxist douchebag bitching about how the system is fucking me, maaaaaaaaaaaan. I wish this destroyed me. I wish I would go home and not know what to do with myself. I fucking remember when that was the way it was, back when I was devastated by loss and I wouldn't get any sleep and I'd be a zombie at work the next day. But I've known for so long now that I haven't gained all that much that mourning the loss seems silly and melodramatic. I just want to go home and punch a hole in something, but that won't fucking help anything. I'll fuck up my hand, I'll break something that doesn't need to be broken and I'll be right back to where I was before, except that my stupid hand will ache every time I try to write something down. And this is all way too much like my father's behavior anyhow.

I need a drink. And don't fucking dare tell me it's going to get better because I'm sick of hearing it. It sort of loses it's luster when I've heard it for the eightieth time. Yeah, is it? I'm trying really hard not to degenerate into some kind of antisocial troll but oh boy, how easy it would be.

I don't really know where I'm going with this. I just sort of wanted to rant angrily. And I think this certainly qualifies. I actually feel better now. I think. Tee hee, carry on.