It's roughly 3 hours past my bedtime of 8:30 PM, but I am recently emerging from a sicknasty puking headache and some truly God-awful heartburn and I, I feel so alive. For the very first time (for the very first time). And I can't deny it. I feel so alive.
Okay, I'll stop quoting P.O.D. and tell you that I recently turned 36. This is the only place I can say that and not feel like a legit old fucking woman, because I've been here so long that surely only other fucking old people are around to read it. I keep thinking of Matt and his premature death, and how it's not fair that he won't get all fat and gray and complacent with a soul-destroying office job like the rest of us.
I'm overweight and I keep pulling out and whacking off all my hair so that I look like an insane, overweight turbo dyke. No one says hi to me or smiles back when I smile at them anymore. I'm like the Lena Dunham of state government, except she seems to be having a good old time all over her Instagram.
No one would hire me in retail since I haven't worked a cash register since 2005, but if they did, I'm sure people would be even bigger dicks to me than they were when I was thin and had long, luxurious hair. In fact, I reckon they would not even bother to utter "cigarettes" at me, but just sort of stand there and look past me at the wall of them until I read "Misty Menthol Light 100's" from their minds and retrieve a box for them.
Every time I bother to write in this journal, I'm all, "Well I'm starting a new diet/gonna do step aerobics, blah blah blah, we'll see how it turns out," but I'm really not even up to that anymore. So let's just assume that I'm going to end up one of those people who have to have a wall knocked down and a crane come down to their bed in order to remove them from their house. I don't even own my own house, so pretty sure that would piss my landlady the fuck off. She lost her shit when she had to pay 9 bucks for a new porch light. Pretty sure you can afford that, lady. You live in an ivory tower in the sky and make bank off me and whatever crazyass revolving door of neighbors next to me.
Current neighbors spend an absolutely inordinate amount of time in our communal laundry room late late at night giggling and whispering. Sometimes I think there is a hole to my room and they are watching me not have sex with my boyfriend? They are very weird. But I have never not had a weird neighbor. I just draw the line at them removing my tires and putting my vehicle on blocks. Ah, apartment fun. I still have nightmares. One last night, actually.
I guess I should go to sleep now. I hope I don't wake up with any ailments.