Showing posts with label drugs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drugs. Show all posts
Friday, October 5, 2007
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Trucks And Trains Ruining My Life.
Ahhh.
This morning, I'm on my way to work. I'm trying to get there a little early because I have to leave early to take Mr. Junky to a job interview. The ride to work was a little more annoying than usual because it's earlier than usual, and so there is still residual traffic from the chumps who get up and go to work early in the day.
But that's ok. I'm practicing all my newfound Nar-Anon Buddhist serenity and detachment from madness. I know that if I get frustrated with the Granny driving 35 on the highway in front of me, all that will happen is I'll be mad. Granny will still be going 35. My mad can't move her. Revolutionary!
So I'm not mad. I keep driving, and I get off at my exit. There is an 18 wheeler in front of me, and it goes through the last stoplight to turn off on the main street and ends up heading in the same unfortunate direction as me. I know that the turn by my work is kind of tight, and he's going to have to maneuver his big-ass truck around this tight turn, which will take a few extra minutes and will make me a little later for work. It's ok, though, because I'm not going to get all bent out of shape about being three of four minutes later than I want to be. No big deal...I can wait. I turn my music up a little louder and enjoy a few minutes to myself.
The truck swings way out to make its turn, and another truck comes up in the opposite lane. They sit there for a bit, in a standoff of giant trucks, neither willing nor able to move. Finally the new approaching truck backs up a bit, and the truck that was in front of me moves on. I'm starting to feel acid gurgling in my stomach, but I realize that these nice truck drivers are just trying to get to their destinations, and me getting all bent out of shape won't make them move along any faster. We've conquered this obstacle, and it's ok, and work's right around the corner and over the railroad tracks.
So I'm ok. No need to get all worked up.
The truck in front of me swings out wide to go around the next corner, indicating that he wants to turn into the warehouse that's right before the train tracks on the road to my work. The acid makes its way from my stomach to my throat. I swallow it, and I tell myself one more time that REALLY, THERE'S NO NEED TO GET FUCKING WORKED UP. IT'S JUST A STUPID FUCKING TRUCK MAKING SOME STUPID FUCKING TURNS. SO WHAT IF I'M GOING TO BE 15 MINUTES LATER JUST BECAUSE OF SOME DUMB TRUCK BULLSHIT? I MEAN, I'VE GOT TONS OF MONEY. IT'S NOT LIKE I NEED TO WORK EVEN. WHY GET THERE ON TIME AND PUNCH IN AT ALL?
But I'm ok, and I swallow and swallow the bile that is now in my mouth, and wipe the sweat from my forehead, and try to breathe and breathe and relax and think about a warm, soothing white light residing deep inside of me, right below my heart and between my lungs, a serene inner spirit that protects me, a higher power guiding me down a path that was planned for me from time immemorial, a design full of obstacles and beauty and lessons and glory...
And as the truck finishes its turn, that's when I notice the caution lights blinking on the train tracks and the guard rails coming down.
This morning, I'm on my way to work. I'm trying to get there a little early because I have to leave early to take Mr. Junky to a job interview. The ride to work was a little more annoying than usual because it's earlier than usual, and so there is still residual traffic from the chumps who get up and go to work early in the day.
But that's ok. I'm practicing all my newfound Nar-Anon Buddhist serenity and detachment from madness. I know that if I get frustrated with the Granny driving 35 on the highway in front of me, all that will happen is I'll be mad. Granny will still be going 35. My mad can't move her. Revolutionary!
So I'm not mad. I keep driving, and I get off at my exit. There is an 18 wheeler in front of me, and it goes through the last stoplight to turn off on the main street and ends up heading in the same unfortunate direction as me. I know that the turn by my work is kind of tight, and he's going to have to maneuver his big-ass truck around this tight turn, which will take a few extra minutes and will make me a little later for work. It's ok, though, because I'm not going to get all bent out of shape about being three of four minutes later than I want to be. No big deal...I can wait. I turn my music up a little louder and enjoy a few minutes to myself.
The truck swings way out to make its turn, and another truck comes up in the opposite lane. They sit there for a bit, in a standoff of giant trucks, neither willing nor able to move. Finally the new approaching truck backs up a bit, and the truck that was in front of me moves on. I'm starting to feel acid gurgling in my stomach, but I realize that these nice truck drivers are just trying to get to their destinations, and me getting all bent out of shape won't make them move along any faster. We've conquered this obstacle, and it's ok, and work's right around the corner and over the railroad tracks.
So I'm ok. No need to get all worked up.
The truck in front of me swings out wide to go around the next corner, indicating that he wants to turn into the warehouse that's right before the train tracks on the road to my work. The acid makes its way from my stomach to my throat. I swallow it, and I tell myself one more time that REALLY, THERE'S NO NEED TO GET FUCKING WORKED UP. IT'S JUST A STUPID FUCKING TRUCK MAKING SOME STUPID FUCKING TURNS. SO WHAT IF I'M GOING TO BE 15 MINUTES LATER JUST BECAUSE OF SOME DUMB TRUCK BULLSHIT? I MEAN, I'VE GOT TONS OF MONEY. IT'S NOT LIKE I NEED TO WORK EVEN. WHY GET THERE ON TIME AND PUNCH IN AT ALL?
But I'm ok, and I swallow and swallow the bile that is now in my mouth, and wipe the sweat from my forehead, and try to breathe and breathe and relax and think about a warm, soothing white light residing deep inside of me, right below my heart and between my lungs, a serene inner spirit that protects me, a higher power guiding me down a path that was planned for me from time immemorial, a design full of obstacles and beauty and lessons and glory...
And as the truck finishes its turn, that's when I notice the caution lights blinking on the train tracks and the guard rails coming down.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Dickhead From Hell.
You know, if there was ink on that bedspread, I mean, since you love to criticize me and point out all the ways I fuck up, I mean, I just thought you'd have shown me before or something, so, I guess I don't believe that there is paint on it or whatever cause, you know, you would definitely have pointed it out...
FUCK YOU.
All I asked was that if he and his silly-ass friends were going to be doing art upstairs that they could move the carpet back (the new rug I bought to hide the stains) and remove the blanket. I put the nice blanket on the bed to hide the ink stains that I sometimes love and sometimes find mortifying. I asked that these things be removed so that the things that are already ruined with nasty ass paint can be further ruined, as they already have to be replaced, instead of ruining new things and pissing me off further.
And this jackass has the audacity to start giving me this little speech about how I'm unfair and I criticize and bullshit like that at 7:30 in the morning when I've just driven him 20 miles in the opposite direction from work so he can putterfuck around with his mom to try to earn some money. So yes, it's cute that he might earn some little bitchmade money, but I'm losing money on the deal driving his dumbass back and forth, back and forth, from his mom's house.
And I'm willing to do it because I love his stupid ass and want him to feel good about himself and like he made some little fucking sillyshit money that ain't good for nothing and won't pay a single goddamned bill. And then, after he blows up at me like a dumbass because I asked him to move my shit instead of just ruining it like he always does, he says, "Well can I use your phone today?" and my dumbass puts my phone in his hand so I can't even text Vowels to bitch about it.
God, I'm an ass. He's a bigger ass. He's an asshat fucktard dickhead good for nothin' piece of shit dumbass.
It's like he was offended that I was asking him to take care of my stuff. And really, I'm offended that I HAVE to ask him to take care of my stuff. I'm offended that he doesn't just fucking take care of my stuff. I'm offended that, although it's slowly, painfully getting better, I still don't trust him worth a fuck even not to rob me...I certainly don't trust him to think for himself about how he can not FUCK UP OUR HOME.
God I LOVEHATE him.
(So sexy...)
FUCK YOU.
All I asked was that if he and his silly-ass friends were going to be doing art upstairs that they could move the carpet back (the new rug I bought to hide the stains) and remove the blanket. I put the nice blanket on the bed to hide the ink stains that I sometimes love and sometimes find mortifying. I asked that these things be removed so that the things that are already ruined with nasty ass paint can be further ruined, as they already have to be replaced, instead of ruining new things and pissing me off further.
And this jackass has the audacity to start giving me this little speech about how I'm unfair and I criticize and bullshit like that at 7:30 in the morning when I've just driven him 20 miles in the opposite direction from work so he can putterfuck around with his mom to try to earn some money. So yes, it's cute that he might earn some little bitchmade money, but I'm losing money on the deal driving his dumbass back and forth, back and forth, from his mom's house.
And I'm willing to do it because I love his stupid ass and want him to feel good about himself and like he made some little fucking sillyshit money that ain't good for nothing and won't pay a single goddamned bill. And then, after he blows up at me like a dumbass because I asked him to move my shit instead of just ruining it like he always does, he says, "Well can I use your phone today?" and my dumbass puts my phone in his hand so I can't even text Vowels to bitch about it.
God, I'm an ass. He's a bigger ass. He's an asshat fucktard dickhead good for nothin' piece of shit dumbass.
It's like he was offended that I was asking him to take care of my stuff. And really, I'm offended that I HAVE to ask him to take care of my stuff. I'm offended that he doesn't just fucking take care of my stuff. I'm offended that, although it's slowly, painfully getting better, I still don't trust him worth a fuck even not to rob me...I certainly don't trust him to think for himself about how he can not FUCK UP OUR HOME.
God I LOVEHATE him.
(So sexy...)
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