Everyday I risk being exposed to poop, pee, puke, blood, and the gruesome task of greeting and being nice to people.
I know. Gross.
This was also from six months of hibernation, being content and secure in the confines of my own room and home-cooked meals. At that time, I was also broke so being secure is a complete fat lie. Money is everything. Those home-cooked meals also fattened me up. I am supposed to aim for bikini bridges and starve myself!!! Ugh you should see my fat butt. No you shouldn’t–wtf? But yes, I must conclude unemployment is really bad.
Now though I meet tons of people everyday again. And I’m actually so good at being nice to everyone. Also, one of the people I was nice to died yesterday. Not that I’m saying it’s my fault. I’m not saying it’s not mine for sure either. I might have been directly responsible for someone’s death–isn’t that cool? Well, at least it’s not my mama who died when I popped out of her bloody vagina. But then again I’m not a vagina baby. I came out of her sliced open tummy, scooped by the gloved hand of a complete stranger. So yes, the first person to have ever touched me was someone I didn’t know. Boring Jenny fact # 2. Number one is that I have a gap between my front teeth.
When will I ever stop being gross?
Tonight’s going to be my third graveyard shift. This is another hazard of doing what I do–looking like a zombie (and in time, possibly eating like one). I hate graveyards. I mean the shifts, not the actual graveyards. I love graveyards. I used to jog in two graveyards some mornings. I can’t do it now though with my shitty schedule. Graveyard shifts are unhealthy! Graveyard shifts disturb your sleeping and pooping pattern! There is no worse thing in the world (other than hashtagging yourself as #cutegirl in your Facebook selfies. And no, you’re not cute. Cute is like tiny, say, a micropenis. You however are nowhere near micro…if you get my drift).
Having a disturbed pooping pattern means you don’t poop once a day as is healthy. It takes away the joy of pooping. Sometimes pooping is even more magical than an orgasm, but that’s for another story. Point is, I hate night shifts. I also hate people.
Nah, not really. People are meat. I love meat. Oh, especially if you eat it raw–for the love of sushi and kinilaw! But people do despicable things like, I don’t know, existing? I really shouldn’t whine so much; a lot of people actually have been nice to me despite my face that says “I don’t care if you die” after it gets tired doing that fake gappy teeth smile. Actually, most of them have been nice to be honest.
People are generally nice, in theory. Niceness, however, only comes in certain durations. So if you want less mean people exposure, spend the least amount of time as you can with people. Everything has an expiration date, you know. Even niceness. Don’t stretch your chances of getting a rewarding relationship from anyone. It’s not niceness that’s unreliable though. People are. Even dreams have expiration dates. So why still aspire for anything in life at all?
Wow…do you also get the feeling that I’m probably going to die alone?
If you’ve read this far you probably know what lack of sleep feels like. You also probably know I’m talking with a floating head. I’m sorry for not being sorry for wasting your time. That’s a complete fallacy. I could never waste anyone’s time–it’s a person’s own choice.
So being logical aside, fuck that expiration date crap. The only thing that’ll expire is your brain (and food, and meds, and ovaries). Love doesn’t expire. Not that I know what it really is. It’s the most mysterious, ineffable phenomena in this universe (well, next to God–but isn’t God love? Isn’t he? Or…she? It???). Even death is more predictable than love and death is a great mindfucker.
And if love can’t expire, and if you have…if you feel this love thingy in whatever way it chooses to take form now, perhaps it’s still not time to give up. Not on dreams (oh you better fucking not). Not on anything. Or anyone.
Fuck, I need sleep.