Because five hours of work a week won’t pay the rent. I can pay up until the end of June with what I have but the rest of summer is another story to the tune of $470. I literally stared at the schedule in shock for a good minute or two. What on earth was Julie thinking?
"I reached a hundred followers, so I feel like I have a legitimate blog"
someone said this on a video…hahahahahah no
I get that for some people, their number of followers lets then know that people are looking, listening, that they care. but really? I have never become legit by this individual’s standards. why does the number of followers matter that much anyway? I think I’ve been hovering around 90 for the past six months. sometimes 89, sometimes all the way up to 92. some people I know have 500 followers. or 5. I think both people have “real” blogs. they both post, they both like what they post. and me? this blog is for me. if people enjoy what I post, that’s great. fantastic. but what I post is not about a target audience. I’m not opposed to follow for follow blogs…I just want my dash to be filled with things I like. I’m not trying to get on a high horse. mostly I’m trying to explain my disagreement and ignore punctuation.
What? I’m pretty lame, anon. I spend at least half of my time being grumpy. (I’ve always kind of imagined a cool person as someone who does all these interesting and awesome things…and me doing laundry at 2am doesn’t count.) What do you guys consider a “cool person” to be like? I wonder if the colloquial meaning of the word is in the dictionary…
You have reached that special level of tired. The one where it feels like all of your organs are failing and you’re going to die twitching blood. tch-tch-tch But of course your extremities feel like they’re floating about and the internal thermostat is busted. How the hell did you make it to six oh five with someone’s desperation clinging to you like lichen and the stupidity that comes from sex? Are you going to default on dying or the next several hours of plans? will you go to bed now and hold the pieces of your peace until that tiny tinny little shitty indestructible nokia rings again? It was neutral now the nightmare of waking up again to cheerful bells ascending to the highest pitch of poor quality sound chips embedded in your glitching sim. You are tweaking out now, without the chemicals. Why be cynical, honey, just sleep when you’re dead from driving into that damn ditch. Or at least, that’s what he said to me. Watch me work it all out and then follow my footsteps. Mind the wobbling, it’s natural, all part of the game. And the winner is the one who falls face first last.
In a dog eat dog world, don’t dine on shit. Avoid it, while we work our way through. Today maybe baby we could do it. Do it however you want, watch out for the fucking landmines and scrape away the goosebumps with a flower coated fork. Fuck it, not you, the entirety of everything.
Hair up, hair down. pull the elastic out as it screams let me leave and the strands will cling onto everything they come across because how the else the hell else would everything work. won’t work, will stay home and be a brood mare. why don’t we all live off of young and the restless and vacuum up the bon bon crumbs of luxury, dinner on the table by six o’clock sharp, as sharp as his suit after an eight hour workday clock-in clock-out sleep-eat-fuck her up against the desk sorry I was out at a business lunch that no one would like
but maybe baby we should be lovers, lesbians, and I’ll cover the cost of being the brood mare, pick up the tab. or maybe baby we can dine and dash out of expectations cause I ain’t your goddamn baby and you ain’t mine…so why is it fucking okay to infantilize the fuck right outta me NO YOU DON”T GET TO fucking fuck you fucker. take you scandinavian germanic dutch strike thrust copulation right up the ass because I sure as shit don’t want it
If American GIs pitched a fit over going to Vietnam, how the hell did the British Empire keep its military men in check? Both societies had pervasive amounts of public shame associated with ducking out of service…
So I check my e-mails that I never use, and I find spam ads for viagra asking me if I have trouble satisfying my lover. First thought: what lover? Second thought: as if I have sex. And the third: I’M A GIRL.
I’m slowly packing up. Just muddling along, and by god I have too many things. I keep throwing things out, but there’s always more. Too much. Why do I have more than two, more than twenty bottles of nail polish? At least five hundred hair pins. And tampons? I don’t even menstruate, thanks to a handy packet of birth control. Yet there are boxes hanging out under the bathroom sink…And then there are the things I forgot about. Who needs four hairbrushes? And why do I have a box cutter that belongs to the last company I worked for?
It’s all really just crap. Throw out three things, find four more. And how much are you willing to give up, when you might need it? Even if you haven’t for the past five years. The moment you move away and it’s rotting in the landfill…where the hell did it go? I needed that. Definitely. And I’m not even a pack rat. All the things I own hypothetically fit into the ‘97 dodge neon residing in the parking lot.
Or maybe I am. What kind of person needs an entire car’s worth of things? I should go through everything again, remember the last time I used this was when? Never probably. Or I lost it, bought another, and found the first. Can I ever have enough? No. Yes. I think I need more things of some, need less of others. And in the meantime, the countdown is on.