the sun is so bright that if i go driving in the morning without my dark glasses on i can't see clearly for the rest of the day. i have to keep squinting and feel like my glasses are inadequate (btw, i'm kinda almost blind). i spent a weekend where i was out in the sun for about half an hour on two separate days. today i can see the tiny, microscopic lines its leaving on my forehead. could it be that and the new smoking all you want, when you want lifestyle? its really unbelievably bright here.
working for a friend is very hard. i'm not as professional as i thought i was and i need an attitude change. or a new job. i also need to not smack my driving instructor, despite her racist prattle and poorly disguised threats pertaining to my imminent assessment.
i just got here. i really like my flat, it's taken a lot of work. i'm very happy here at the moment, because my brother's staying with me for a while. those of you paying attention will remember he's my second favourite person in the world (after the Cat). so my flat is morphing into something that looks and feels a lot like home, as much as a place without my babies can be. i miss home but this place gives me space. though most of the time i don't need or want any space, living in a desert in a room so you can do a job that has already begun to increasingly irritate you doesn't make a lot of sense. i smoke too much, i can feel a tightness in my chest already. i shouldn't write this like this, half asleep, leaning against my pillows completely slanted, partly sullen.
the only people i like at work are already leaving. everyone else is boring. their lives (which i know nothing about) astound me, their trivial concerns, their self absorbed, limited world view makes me sick. working with women is a horrible experience if you're also female. it's incredible the depths they will fall to, the things they will do to make themselves feel the slightest bit better about themselves, their completely limited and short term vision and their appalling managerial skills. i wish i didn't know so many pathetic women. i wish i didn't hate myself for thinking that they're like this because maybe beyond a point, beyond a certain age if you're single it becomes a crippling / overwhelming / debilitating force in your life, unconsciously affecting everything you do. i wish i didn't hate myself for thinking that this constant need for approval, for being the superfunsuperenergetic person you're not wouldn't be around if you were getting laid more often.
i know that some of you reading this will be surprised / mad at me for this corrosive nastiness. i can't help it, i couldn't write for ages and every time i stop saying what i'm thinking here i can't say anything at all. this is my opinion and i stand by it, unfortunately.
maybe i'll utilise this time the way bukowski did for post office. maybe i'll eventually figure out how to correctly apply weights to the weighted average that is my happiness. my flat, my absence of cats, my brother, my lack of clarity and absence of plans, my non existent driving skills.
like starfish washed ashore