Life is Shit, The World is Shit, and Everybody Has Nice Stuff but Me

Yes, I like to name my blog entries after songs – my life is a mutherfucking musical.  Today really sucked.  Like sucked a donkey dick sucked.  I should have taken some pills and watched movies all day.  Foolish me I kept expecting it would improve.  I was wrong.
I work up at something like 5:00 Am to my cat howling, his favorite new thing to do.  After I got him to shut the fuck up I bent over to feed him and dripped blood al over the kitchen floor.  Yes, I have my period again.  Maybe I have someone else’s cycle, maybe my body is shooting eggs out like an automatic weapon hoping to attract someone to copulate with, or maybe I get my period ever ten day now.  Who fucking knows?
Now that the sun is coming up and I have blood and a screeching cat on my hands I can get to the part  where I talk to my sister and her new baby is screaming in the phone – I have the evil ear thing in and so now over my first cup of coffee there is a screaming baby in my head.  Wow.  Does it get better?
Sure does.  I go to target.  I hate shopping (except for designer shoes and Demask latex) so being in Target is a little like a trip to suburban hell.  Save for many many screaming kids nothing tragic happens. I refrain from biting anyone, and I get out of the store with an enormous amount of dental hygiene products and kitty litter.
I have a beer, a short sob fest to remind myself how really great this town is,  and then I move to the Cuban rum I have been saving for a special occasion.  Feeling like shit is a special occasion.  I’m sure I won’t have the luxury to feel so lousy in the months to come.  I crack into it and tell myself I’m only gonna have one drink.  It is the best rum in the world so I change my mind and say only two.  On drink three my friend VP calls and tells me I’m bipolar and I should seek help.  I scream “FUCK YOU” into the phone, hang up and have several more drinks.
After getting my period at a strange time of the month, dealing with screaming kids, cats, and corporate amerika; VP’s hippie shit, get your life together talk, was just too fucking much to take.  I called him back and told him he is the one who is bipolar, and delusional, and a bourgeois dick who only called me because he felt bad about the way he threw my ass out last time I came to visit.  Why is now the time to call me and tell me that I need help.  I was minding my business enjoying a dirty book and a glass of rum.  Why did he think it was the right time to call and suggest that I need help? Maybe god just hates me! Fuck everyone who wants to howl their shit at me today, my cat, my nephew, my ex (who I spared you the nasty details of), the wailing kids in target, and you VP, FUCK YOU, YOU BIPOLAR SOB!

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