(no subject)

So here I sit and it's the weekend. Shri's got a house full and is being superproductive, so I don't want to intrude on any of that, but it's been so long since I've done anything but talk with her on the phone in my spare moments that I'm not really sure what the fuck to deo with myself right now.

After a long raging five-minute debate I decided I wanted to sleep some more, try to catch up on what feels like lost sleep somewhere, but I laid there for fifteen minutes with no sign of drifting, realizing I'd just wind up laying there for an hour or two not sleeping. So I got up, but then I found myself right back at the point again:

What to do?

So I'm posting this. So there.

They've closed another store, my bosses, so I am gonna be collecting even more extra customers, people who can't simply give up on what they think they want. The last few nights have been three-hundred-dollar nights, meaning that I am usually too busy to get much done once the workd starts happening. The worst part is that the majority of that work likes to pile itself into the last half of my six-hour shift--I'll make two or two-fifty in just two or three hours, when I'm also trying to get all the fucking donuts finished.

I guess I've got a fat case of the "boreds"--nothing I think of sparks the interest, no? Plenty to do, around here, hobbies, back burner projects, and plain simple fucking chores. Part of it is the fact that work looms like some stinking distasteful specter in the back of my mind, growing ever closer, nearing, nearing; crying hungrily for my pudgy belly-flesh.

I think what I'll do is finish this thing here, down some Earl Grey, and then try to do some drawings or maybe fold some laundry.

I'll be thirty in three weeks, three days. I find that shit hard to believe. I've not felt much different since I turned fifteen. I still know everything and everybody else is a big fat idiot. I still don't know anything and ain't worth a blot of shit on a scrap of TP.

It's a crazy life I've run through.

And no matter what I believe or how heavily I practice my faith, things still happen, people still get cancer, get raped, get dead. Houses catch fire, despite the promise of eternity. And I still wander through thinking that everything's gonna work out okay in the end.

This is the main reason it's so fucking hard to get things done. I know in my heart that no matter how terribly bad shit gets at the time, things are gonna work out all right in the end. That's pretty fucking crazy, huh?

Anyway, I'm thinking I'll try to post something entertaining or something later on. Or something.

Our yaks are really large, and the smell like rotting beef carcasses...