H.G.T.

There’s a line in a william gibson book where a character keeps repeating a bit from an ancedote about a plane wreck: He took a duck in the face . . .

Lately, there’s been kind of a weirdness in my life. I piss off people I like seemingly by accident, but I can’t get through to the people I hate.

Then there’s girls. I went on a coffee date thing with a girl about a month ago, and never called her back for no particular reason. She was pretty, and relatively pliant. What gives? I don’t know. I theorize she triggered some sort of jerk reflex.

I would very much like to get my federal income tax return, as it has been 4-6 weeks since I filed and I could use the money.

There is a new Shelby Mustang and it’s cooler then your car.

I worked out until I threw up today, and it didn’t feel all that bad.

Scattered thoughts are all I have sometimes, for days on end.

If you come on in, this is what you find inside. I don’t even make sense to me all of the time, and once in a while I get very, very angry about it.

I’m thinking of buying premium because I have had this blog for many, many days.

I have this ex. Neurotic is a good word for this human. She sends me a myspace request. I ask her if she’s aware there’s a bunch of people on there she fucking hates and shit-talks all the time, and if she’s asking to be invited just to start shit. She mealy-mouths me.

Her profile says she’s married and pregnant. I ask her when that happened. Nothing. I ask her again. She writes back wanting to know if I’m ashamed to add her to my friends list. Cause I think it might be good to keep this world famous bitch away from people I like and she hates.

 

NO, I’m not ashamed, you cock-a-mamie train wreck. I’m afraid aquiesing to the demands of your broken friendship will fuck up the many working ones I still enjoy.

Anyway, I keep after her about it, and she keeps changing the subject until she just gives up and signs off.

What the fuck gives with that? What gets in people’s heads? How come everyone else is such a pile of fuckup? How come I can’t get through one goddamn day without dealing with somebody being fucked up at me, like, projectile shooting their bullshit at me with a bullshit gun? It makes me want to build a giant asylum and burn it down with me in it, like a grim twist on Wonko the Sane.

And you know what the real bitch is? The thing that pisses me off the most is that I’ve spent this long thinking about something fucking stupid. It’s fucking stupid. That’s what it is. I think I’m fucking done with her until she can answer a simple fucking question honestly.

To think, I missed out on a girl I liked and could still be with for this ball of fuck-up. Should have listened to the gut feeling on that one, pally-boy.