Really Fucking Sick @ MindSay

i wrote a poem:

Current Music : Violent Femmes (currently Kiss Off) BTW, the only way to listen to the Violent Femmes is really really LOUD.
Current Mood : Really sick of myself.

I feel like a fucking over hormonal teenager.  I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me.  I don't have pms and no one has pissed in my sea of tranquility. 

I feel this build up of something.  Like you feel right before you explode.  Whether the explosion will be tears or an outpouring of creativity *snort* who knows.

I've been sitting here all fucking morning (or at least since shortly after I woke up) trying to muster up something and write.  But nothing is there.  My muse has fucked off for parts unknown.  And I just know that if I force myself to write it will be total shit.

I'm lost, at loose ends, I don't know what to fucking do with myself.  I feel like I have a rock in my stomach that's pushing my lungs down and I feel really hot (temperature wise). 

I have this character that I thought was fucking awesome that I really want to give his own story to, but now I'm second guessing myself whether he is really any good or not.  Or if he is really good, if I will destroy him trying to make him evolve enough to have his own story.

I don't even want to be around me today.

I'm really fucking pissed off at myself.

I say fuck way too much.  Even the tags are saying fuck.

Fuck.

It's one of those days where things haven't gone according to plan. I wanted to sit around in my underwear all day and not move out of my bed. Mebe nap a little. Watch some dvds. I have a bottle of wine under my bed so mebe pop open a few glasses of that. But this wasn't to be. David woke me up at 6am to go to school only to come back at 10am. Lovelly David. Why the fuck on my fucking day off?

 

Then I get fucking messaged by Andrew. Nice boy. Really. Just fucking persistant. Sorry buddy, really not interested in driving all the way out to Cook or wherever the fuck you live just to watch you play Playstation and cook me dinner. My Mum does that for me most nights and I don't have to drive anywhere for it so stop fucking badgering me about it or I swear I will shit on your children you piece of stupid butt fluff.

 

So I chose to spend lunchtime with Amy (which was the highlight of my day. I love ju Amz) which was fucking awesome. Brightened it up lots and lots. And talking to another someone tonight who shall remain nameless for now is brightening it up a hella lot. Games are fun :)

 

But I'm taking things the wrong way now days too. Everything just seems to be aggitating me lately. I get a message every fucking day at least twice from this Andrew guy. He just doesn't seem to get it through his head that I don't want what he does. Nor do I want to drive everywhere for him. Kinda gettign sick of playing taxi too. I like driving, don't get me wrong. But just, dunno... Mebe it's just aggitated moose getting aggitated at everything.

 

I feel the need for a girly night of kickign the boys out of Short's or wherevers and having a girlie night with wine and pizza and cruisers and movies and pizza and junk. Or going to the beach again. That trip was wicked ace.

 

Later days fuck nuts.

Love Monkey.
Current mood: chipper

(This is the part of the book where Tom Ferrell goes into the bathroom to talk to his dick, my absolute favorite part so far.  Absolutely genius, and I love it. Read on and enjoy.)

-So.

-So.

-How do you feel?

-How do I feel?  How do I look?

-You're plumping like a Ballpark Frank.

-Swelling often accompanies fever.

-Settle down.  That's not what we're here for.  I can't if you are in that mood.

-Bullshit.  We're put on earth for one reason.

-This isn't earth.  This is a urinal.

-Get me in her mouth.  Do whatever it takes.  That's all I ask of you.

-"All I Ask of You."  That was in Phantom of the Opera.  Streisand sang it.

-You fucking pussy.

-Just trying to do a job here.

-I mean, have you checked her equipment?

-Mmmm.

-The lips on her?  Dual air bags, amigo.  So ripe they're about to burst.  And the softness.  That color.  Can you imagine how good I'd look wearing those lips as a sombrero?  O-fucking-lay!

-You're Ballparking again.

-I need.  I need.

-I'm laying the ground work.

-Lay the girl.

-Jump her?

-I would.

-You're a dick.

-I will never ask you for anything again.

-Wrong.  You'll keep asking again and again.  You're never happy. 

-I'm only human.

-Nothing's happening here.  She's going to think I'm stroking you.

-Would you?  It'll only take a sec.

-Not appropriate.

-Bitchtalk.

-It's a woman's world.  We play by their rules.

-Take her.

-Calm down.  Barbara Bush.

-Ow.  No.

-Hillary Clinton.

-Ugh.

-Camryn Manheim.  Rosie O'Donnell.  Oprah.

-Uma.

-Oprah.

-Uma!

-That's it.  Liza Minnelli.

-You win.  You fucker.

-Ahh.  Thanks.

Tinkle, tinkel little stud.

-Anyway, I can't just jump her.  What if I get slammed?

-Failure is not an option.

-You're quoting Ron Howard movies?

-He did Night Shift.

-Shelley Long.

-That scene in her panties.

-You're Ballparking.

-Her ass when she's reaching over the counter.

-Ballpark.  Stop it.  Bea Arthur.  Nancy Reagan.

-Jackie Kennedy!

-Jackie Mason.

-Faggot.

-It worked.

-The only constant is acting like a man.

-You have to be smart.

-A man doesn't need brains.  He needs balls.

-You need brains to earn money to spend on her.

-Stephen Hawking has brains.  Hugh Hefner has balls.  Who'd you rather be?

-You have too much balls, you wind up in prision, then you're somebody's girlfriend.

-Do not fuck it up.

-Doing my best.

-Your best?  Like that time with Sabrina Klein?

-I know.

-You had her right there.

-I was being a gentleman.

-On her couch.  In her bathrobe.  She put her head on your shoulder.

-She was sick.

-You're sick.

-I'm supposed to take advantage of a girl who's been in bed all weekend?

-Her head.  Your shoulder.  The body on her.  I would have gotten so deep in her I would have tickled her liver.

-I figured it would pay off in the long run.  Being trustworthy.

-Trust, yeah.  That's fine.  If you want to be her sister.

-She might have just slapped me.

-Her head.  Your shoulder.

-You can't tell with girls.  Sometimes they're offended if you make it a sex thing.

-Everything's a sex thing.

-To you maybe.

-I am the most powerful force in the universe.

-What about God?

-Yeah, but I actually exist.

-How did I miss with Sabrina?

-How close was the belt of her robe to your hand?  One fucking tug would have done it.

-Oh God.  Angela Lansbury.  Ethel Merman.  Jean Stapleton.  Janet Reno.

-Okay, okay.  We'll talk later.

-When?

-About ten seconds after you get home.

-Right, buddy, done.  Time for me to tuck you in.

-You are not my friend.

 

 

I can't stand being sick anymore. This coughing is making my stomach muscles ache from overuse and no matter what I do, I can't stop. I feel nausous. I keep drinking water like CT told me to, but it just feels like it's not working... I just need like, an entire day to just relax and stay calm. But I can't do that. I'm working non-stop until Friday and I can't call in. Not with the way the GSTL's treated me last Thursday. No fucking way. And it makes me want to cry because they don't give a shit about anyone but themselves and how me calling in affects them. Well, I'm so fucking sorry that I feel my health is more important than my job... if I don't have good health, how can I perform well at my job? I hate being sick...

 

Oh, did I say I wanted to cry? Change that to I am crying... I got my finger stuck in the cabinet handle and I just started bawling. I can't take this anymore. I feel like I'm going to break down. My forehead is so fucking hot and I know I have a fever. But no one at my work seems to fucking care and that just makes me cry even more. I need to talk to my ETL... she would understand.

Ugh, I feel like such a baby for complaining...


Mood: Sick
Music: Rush Over Me by the Backstreet Boys