Another Day… Staring at the ceiling…


I’m absolutely bored, on this rather peculiar Saturday/Sunday morning. I’m tired, and although I’ve decided that I’m going to work tomorrow (in order to facilitate yet ANOTHER shopping extravaganza) I can’t/don’t want to sleep.

There’s alot running around in my head, like hyper children at recess. I cant stop thinking about – well, alot.

If you’ve been reading my entries (like you should be) you would know that a recurring topic is how I need to get the fuck out of Texas. I loathe this place, and every ignorant thing about it. Well, I’m keeping my fingers, toes and Gucci boots crossed, because hopefully my prayers will be answered soon. The hellhole I call work is making a valiant effort to give me an aneurysm, and they should quit while they’re ahead. I cant understand why people are so busy backstabbing and hoe bagging that they cant do their own damn work. Bitch leave me alone and go ‘SADDOWN’ somewhere.

“If he don’t FUCK with ya’ll, then don’t BOTHER him.”

This is a rule of thumb that anyone who has a job should follow. If there is someone in your direct working circle (department/team/clusterfuck/etc) that is simply trying to work for the sole purpose of survival and fashion, leave him ALONE! That means, DO NOT throw paper clips at him whilst he’s working, DO NOT lie on him and tell others that he’s talking shit about them. DO NOT try and control him as if he’s 2. You will not like the outcome if that kid goes completely apeshit on you, for the fuckeries that you commence upon him.

(Yes, this is based on a VERY true story. I’m tempted to forward this to the entire group.)

In other news- I have been hauling ass on my writing project, The Interrupted Perspectives’. The fucked up part? I have to stop for a while before I start pulling what’s left of my two-toned hair out. Reason being, is this one particular segment involves me and the re-imagined version of Bryan, or ‘Two’, and it makes me obsess about what could have been. I want to kick myself for saying this, but I really wish things would have worked out between us. He was really one of the closest specimens of my version of perfection as I was gonna get. But shit happens. There’s a lovely Keepall 50 at the Louis Vuitton boutique that will make me feel a little better about that.

As I’m sitting here, listening to old ass sad love songs, I went back to my MySpace blog (the one that started it all) and began reading from my first post. Wow. I have been through some shit and It all seems to have started here. This shit was obviously a hell of a lot more tolerable when I lived in New Orleans. But, then again, I didn’t live alone, and wasn’t working with a bunch of imbeciles who cant seem to pull their heads out of their asses or stop chasing the meal trucks to realize that they are at work and not kindergarten. (If you read this, and think I’m talking about you, ask me and I’ll go ahead and confirm it for you.) But anyway. I was reading a poem that I wrote, and It was very relevant, nearly three years later:

2:51 and this feeling is far from fun,
i sit and i wait on you with nothing exciting to do.. this is a ridiculous process and nothing at all is new.

i have two phones but no one to call, to ears, and no one to say a damn thing at all.. and this is why i’m scared to let my defense fall..

ive been dragged likehellthrough the rat race and Ive even beenhit in the face; but there’s something inside that keeps my faith, that tells me that it isn’t a waste..

i sit here wanting to cry, and even asking why; i sit here watching time pass by and you havent even said hi…

am i stupid? should i give up? can you please pour some brandy into my cup? but drinkingjust softens the cries that never shut up!

but this is a shame… its never the same; and still a twisted commonality in this perpetual game!

this poem is not about structure, its not about stupid mistakes can cause a heart to rupture..

sometimes my life is never on track, i feel like a jacket with 3zippers on back.

you did it again, and i let you,
now who is to blame? its me, I’ll bet you…

all i ask for is an occasional hug, and that will help mekill this emotional bug..

I think its a little ridiculous that 3 years later, the story is strangely similar. I can’t and I won’t dwell on the past. My life back then was nothing like it is now, and for that, I am truly greatful. I’ve waited this long (the better part of eight years) so, whats a little longer? For now, I have my music, my writing (well some of it) and my shopping. Stay tuned, because things will be making a sharp turn… REAL. SOON.


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