i can't/don't/won't write anymore. The one thing I seem to have avoided over-analyzing is on the chopping block these days and when I pick up the pen, I get mean. I keep having this recurring daydream of living alone (or if I HAVE to, a two bedroom) with a kitty. There is minimal furniture and no television. Everything is where it should be, dishes in the sink, underwear on the bathroom floor- because who cares, it's all my mess. If and when I clean it up, I'll be cleaning up after myself.

So many things about other people piss me off.

I'm happiest when I'm at work. Wherever work may be and even when I hate the job. I am happiest when I am doing. When I'm not active, I prefer to be asleep. I suppose the trend here is my desire to not think about my outside life as often as possible. I will work and sleep it away. Unfortunately, like that fucking cat I made the mistake of feeding that one time, it will be waiting at my door step again and again when I return.

So I never go home.

There will be a day, when my white walled studio apartment and black cat named after a romantic comedy will be waiting and I will be satisfied. Until then I'll just keep working. I left my job on Friday, had a new one by Wednesday. I was built a fine machine.


  1. "I left my job on Friday, had a new one by Wednesday. I was built a fine machine." A fine machine indeed!

  2. can you please name your cat sweetest thing