Velouria (velouria) wrote,
Velouria
velouria

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Things That are Wrong.

I'm (relatively) fat. Relative to when I was 22 and a hundred pounds. I guess I want to be 22 and a hundred pounds again. Everything passing by is not coming back, says VAST.

I can't blare VAST because of my stupid-ass, retired-ass, curmudgeony-ass neighbor. I can't even make use of my sub-woofer anymore.

I hate my hair. I shouldn't have cut it.

I'm in debt. I owe Comcast the cable company upwards of ten-thousand dollars every month so I can watch "I Survived-Beyond and Back" on the BIO channel and fantasize about dying and going to Heaven, because hey, it fucking sucks owing Comcast the cable company ten-thousand dollars every month. Is there somewhere else to be? asks VAST.

I have a library book in collections. And not just any library book, a library book about positive thinking. I borrowed it months and months ago when I was mildly interested in thinking positively. I can't find it, and have reverted to solely thinking negatively.

I've gotten jury duty summons once a year for the last...how long has it been since I turned 18 and was a hundred pounds? 12 years. I ignore it every year, because I aint doing that shit. I'm not going to a courthouse and letting a lawyer ask me questions until he's determined I'm too intelligent to serve and sends me on my merry way. Well I've finally received a little postcard saying I'm going to get pulled over and arrested. This isn't good, dude. That sort of interferes with my new job, which brings me to my next point:

I spend all day every day weeping at my new job. WHO DOES THAT? My old coworker, whom I miss dearly, told me to tell all the ladies I work with that my boyfriend called me fat and that accounts for my crying. Am considering it.

I can't spell liaison. My first project at my new job involves writing this word hundreds of times. You think I would have learned after the first couple hundred times, but no. I just cannot wrap my mind around that second Goddamn I right after the stupid A like that. I would say the word liaison is about 30% responsible for the constant sobbing at my cubicle.

This is a work in progress. Check back.
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