Saturday, April 25, 2009
I don’t understand why people are so down on marijuana. Where did that come from? There’s got to be some kind of history. Why is alcohol perfectly acceptable but weed is the devil? How many weed related deaths are there a year? How many angry, violent potheads do you know? How many people OD on grass? Is that even possible?
This is my new life plan:
Write brilliant novel.
Move to Amsterdam.
Everyone needs a life plan, unless your plan is to not have a plan and to just float around and see where the ebbs and tides take you, but really that’s a type of plan too. I think my life plan is pretty perfect. Contribute to the world, avoid doing harm, be happy with who and where you are. What else is out there to want? If I can do and have that then the love I want will come to me or I will find that it’s not something that I need after all. Either way, I’ll be okay. Either way, I’ll be happy.
just want to like everyone, hold hands and sing friendship songs. But some
people make it really fucking difficult for me not to want to punch them in the
face. H.B. –a woman who gives herself credit for other people’s sales all the
fucking time (she’s done this to me on huge sales more than once)- had the gall
to accuse me of shorting J on sales and taking them for myself. If she had read
the numbers correctly she would have seen just how far from the truth that was.
This woman just makes me want to scream. Not, even like,
scream at her and tell her off but just a general filling my lungs, opening my
mouth and releasing sound, ANY sound. Just so all these hateful vibrations can
leave my body because they really can’t be good for me. If she falsely accuses
me of one more thing I swear my appendix is going to burst.
I try to like her. I try to empathize with her. I try to
understand her. I try to avoid eye contact and allow her to be the Alpha just
to get through the day. I try. And sometimes I succeed. Sometimes she’s even,
dare I say it, nice. But it never fucking lasts. For every one civil gesture
there are ten experiences like this.
Deep breath in… and out… This is not my life. This is not my
life. This is not my life. This is not my life.
Can I move to California now, please?
I listened to Years of Refusal on my break to help calm
down. I don’t know if it was Morrissey, the peanut butter sandwich, or the
venting but I felt better. I'm not sure how I feel about this album though. The
critics are raving. But, I don’t know, I feel like the last three albums have
been too similar. It’s not like I don’t like it, I just like it when there’s a
real difference between albums. I feel like a heretic saying anything vaguely
critical about Morrissey- at least, about his music. The man himself is another
story. I love him, but he’s a tool sometimes. “The smell of roasting flesh is
just too much for me to bear.” Oh, you poor delicate flower. Ok, I get it, the
idea of eating a hamburger makes me want to vomit, but you’re on stage, man,
performing for a crowd that I’m sure was chock full o’ vegetarians. Suck it up.
No one’s asking you to eat it (Yes, that is how I talk to people I love).
Know what else I love? Fruit. Fruit makes me happy. Everyone
should eat more fruit. It’s yummy and makes you feel happy and gosh darnit it’s
good for you. We’ll all eat fruit
and hold hands and frolic through the flowers singing friendship songs. Either
that or I’m going to have to start doing incredibly hard drugs.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Conversation Overheard Today
God: Like serious, end of the world, we’re all gonna die,
even the fish are drowning, flood-type rains?
God: Heathens abandoned to face the consequences of their
sinful ways in the swirling waters of doom?
God: Animals gathered up two-by-two and lead onto the arc to
be saved with the righteous?
Noah: Uh… arc?
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I’ve been working on a blog about my cat for, like, a month. But I don’t think I’m ever going to finish it. I write one sentence and then I hit save because I’m just too damn sad to write any more. My cat is old. The phrase “decisions will have to be made” has been used more than once and I don’t like it. She’s deaf and now we think she’s going blind. She cries a lot. The thing about cats is that they’re not like grandparents. When they get to be 80something in cat years you don’t feel consoled that they’ve lived a long full life. Because even though your cat may be 80 in cat years to you she’s only 16 and it is not okay to die when you’re sixteen.
So, yeah, I’ve decided to blog about other things because if I keep trying to blog about my cat I’m never going to write again.
Thursday was a really good day. Took an early train into the city. Had Chipotle with Sadie and my name twin. Oh, how I love Chipotle. Michelle went back to work and Sadie and I walked to stogo. And as we sat on the bench in front of stogo eating some AMAZING organic vegan ice cream and judging passersby on a beautiful spring day I couldn’t help but wonder how I could ever even contemplate going so far from this city I love so damn much. Then we went to the tiny studio apartment with an alley view that Sadie’s friend pays almost $2k a month for and I remembered why exactly it is I am getting the hell out of dodge. It was a bittersweet day because even though I’ll be going into the city plenty more times before the big move this was the first time that it felt like I was starting to say goodbye.
My cat keeps walking around, crying and then lying down.
I’m too sad to blog.