Don't think I forgot about you xanga!

I guess I'm the Jesus of my own Nazareth, but somewhere along the way I lost any semblence of a following. I feel like a thrid party candidate. You know the one's who people kinda like, but would never actually vote for? Yeah that's me, but this election is just a little more important than who is the ruler of the free world.

         A man/me/then jim is just stuck on repeat and when I work, I can't stop thinking of the lyrics to Napolean's hat.

        This one person at work likes me. He calls me the crazy gringo. And he calls me his love. And it's gross. But funny. But weird. And I feel bad for him. Because he seems so lonely. And I'm lonely too. But no. Too much hair gel. Not enough english. I really hate this friggin country. I wanna go back to europe so bad. Everything is so much more free over there. I don't know how arrogant Americans can call this the Land of the Free. More like the land of the judgemental.

            My friends have deserted me. Except one. And she's leaving soon. For good. And I love her. And I'm going to miss her. And I'm totally quitting the diner after she leaves. Because she's like the only one there worth going to work for. And the money is shit. But I've saved up a lot of money. But damn, if I had a better paying job. I'd be rich. Me and my co-worker played this game, one where we pretended we hated each other, there's a reason, but it's not important. Anyway, we didn't talk the whole night, except for the occasional note, or the whispered "i miss you" or cigarette break. So, nothing came out of it except for me being lonely, and bored, and lonely, and man, I hated it. And then I'm thinking, this is what it's gonna be like when she's gone, and I'm just like damn, I'm gonna miss this bitch. And more so, I'm not gonna be able to work at this place after she leaves. Because, damn, I can't stand any of the people I work with. Well maybe a few, I tolerate others, and others I downright hate. Shit, I gotta get a new job. Or my own little mongolian hut on a slice of paradise.

       Fuck everything, I can't sleep. I cannot fall asleep, and when I do I get night terrors. For those of you who don't know, it's these crazy paranoid dreams, but they don't seem like dreams. And you're surprisingly concious throughout the whole thing, but not really because you're sleeping. But awake. And you don't want to open your eyes, because you feel like what's going on around you is really happening. It freaks me out. Living alone and all. And I know that it's not real, but at the moment it happens, it feels so so so real. When I do wake up I smoke a bunch of cigarettes, listen to music and ponder my life. Only tonight, my life is going on to the computer, because what better place is there than this for it. Computer, here is my soul, take it, spell check it, and do what you want with it.

        Where is steph? Hope she's enjoying the new manager position. She told me on new year's eve that she was like freaking out because they were only letting her work one day for the week. But then they told her to check out the manager sheet, and she was on it, or she was going to be trainging for it or something. I dunno, I was pretty flat out excited for her, hopefully it all works out, because I know this is what she wants, and damn, I think sometimes, if you just get one thing, just one, that you really want, it kinda keeps you sane and happy. But damn, where'd she go? Probably off slaving at the theater.

         I'm not even tired. Well I kinda am. But I fell asleep right when I got home from work at one. And I woke up fucking sweating. And it's cold in my apartment. Night terrors. Yeah now I'm awake. So it's cigarettes, a little root beer, and a lot of heartache. Story of my, short but sweet, little, life.

         Going to a bar tommorow. Hopefully. Damn, I'm gonna become one of those people that sits in the fucking bar all alone. Telling anyone my stories, anyone who will listen that is. Getting completely fucking wasted, and then attacking people outside the bathroom, telling them they need eyelash implants. Maybe not quite so extreme, but yeah, I've become a regular at that place. At least I always go with someone. To keep me sane, or a semblance of sanity.

        Alright well, if you've managed to make it through this entirely too long rant of shit, I commend you, and next time you talk to me "don't let your voice sound like hot coffee, more like a scented pillow".

And honestly, if we fucking spent some more time understanding than trying to be understood, we might actually fucking get somewhere. Right?

   ADIEU