Sunshine and farts

I'm dying here.

Well, before I get all melodramatic on you, let me state that my mom is out of the hospital, and at home. I'm feeling much better, and am not as depressed, so I can now focus on more superficial problems.

So I'm fucking dying here.

2 weeks. I'm getting fucking antsy ova here.

I'm dying over here.

I'm smart, outgoing, and good at managing materials and people (when interested). One year yesterday. And I'm fucking miserable. So damn.

I can't handle this, I need to throw away the placebo and just rock with it. But well, whatever.

This makes absolutely no sense to anyone but me. Sorry. I felt like writing a selfish entry and for me to be as bluntly direct as I usually am would be counterproductive. Shit, I hate this fucking job. I hate this fucking office. I hate that my manager doesn't give a fuck. And what's worse? I hate the damn pay.

It's absolutely miserable, although I'm not in quite as much of a funky mood as I've been. I just need a cup of coffee, and I'll be okay.

I think I've become dependant on caffiene again. I am really sluggish today, and I'm craving warm beverages, which I'm sure is a sign that I need a cup of fucking starbucks ASAP. Damn starbucks and their yummy beverages and their high prices and their high levels of caffiene.

I really would rather be kissing my boyfriend than being here. I would rather be laying on him with my cheek on his chest, relaxing and giggling at the things he says that always manage to make me laugh.

Yesterday, I asked him to spend the evening with me, just walking around somewhere and hanging out. We ended up going to the cherry hill mall. It was okay, we looked at stuff that we didn't want to put on our credit cards, and made plans to buy things come the weekend after payday.

He's been pretty bummed out lately as well, and he hasn't really been coming out during the week, which worries me. Like, everyone needs their alone time, but it's good to get out and be social. Not all the damn time, but you know, enough. Especially when you're bummed out. I needed yesterday to involve Frank. I think he needed yesterday to involve me too, even if he didn't say it.

I had to go visit my mom in the hospital, and I hate visiting people in the hospital, so whenever I actually show up, it's not only a huge nod in your directon for me giving a fuck, but it's also a serious sign of maturity outta me, because I tend to do what I feel like doing rather than doing what I ought to be doing. If that makes any sense.

Anyway, my mom -aside from the craziness- is a really strong person, and it made me sad to see her there, laying in bed not being able to get up and pee on her own. I was all daughterly, which is something I never take it upon myself to do. I got her apple juice and stuff. She looked different in the hospital bed, like she really looked like an invalid. That really depressed me, because one day, I'm pretty sure she'll have another stroke, and whenever that happens, I'll have to take care of her, which will really depress me. She's the one who took care of me when I was sick and barfing and had the flu so bad that I was too sick to move.

She's done a lot of stuff, and one day I'm going to have to take care of her. That scares the bajesus out of me. That scares me more than commitment. That scares me more than the idea of never being able to leave philadelphia.

I'm not fond of elderly people. No offense if you're over 65, but if you're over 65 and are still reading this, hat's off to you, 'cause you're a fuckin' trooper. Anyway, I don't care very much for elderly people. They're grownups who can't do for themselves, and for some reason that grosses me out. Well, "grosses me out," is a poor discription. It's weird to me. Children need to be cared for because they're tiny and don't know anything. But when you're 70, you know so much, and you've become so wise, and now you can't do anything with it.

That seems so miserable to me. I don't want to be 70 years old and not be able to do anything with the years of knowledge that I've attained. That just defeats the purpose. There's a point to life, and I've figured (at 23) that it's simply to reproduce. To keep going. But isn't that a feeble endevour? Is it really worthwhile to create another person, simply so that they can collect the same data, process it in a similar way, and make the same types of mistakes, only to die before they can do anything of any signifigance?

There's a point, but is there any meaning behind it? I doubt there is. There's no real meaning to the ants who collect the food to feed their queen. They're just keeping the collective together and alive. Monkies don't really do anything, they don't change or evolve. It's only the humans, and we're doing a terrible job. Look at Iraq. Look at the gas prices. Look at how we treat our own species! Gays, blacks, even women! Women! That's more than half of the population that is treated like crap.

Ugh, enough thinking outside of the box for now. I don't want to be here. I think I'm going to leave early today.

I would rather be at home in my bed, falling asleep to Kill Bill.

I did that last night, it was kinda weird. I started half listening to the movie, and half reading my rolling stone. Then after I realized that I was too tired to read articles about child abuse or even movie reviews, I turned out the light and watched the movie for a while, and i don't remember when I fell asleep. I do remember, however waking up saying, "Your instrument is impressive. Where was it made," and responding to myself, "Okinawa."

But I can't go to bed. I can't go home. I've got my second job to go to.

It isn't always sunshine and farts.

Love and adoration,

Pam