I think in the last few weeks I've been labeled "bi polar", "personality disorder" or some similar counterpart way more than I thought I would. I was even called "angsty artist" by a professor. ARTIST?! sweet.
But I will continue my inter mantra of : You are not creative. You are not Artistic. You are nothing specail. You have no idea what's going on. You know nothing.
I've been putting off going to get that book, only because I know all the stores are swamped my silly Christmas shoppers. You know, the drunk dads and the moms who will upturn other's strollers with their superior Gucci double wide with matching diaper bag, sunglasses, with another child tied to a matching Gucci leash.
I want a Gucci leash.
Anyway.. the last two Christmases I worked at the mall, and let me tell you, the average mom shopping for gifts is pretty much the bain of my existence. Or perhaps their rude haughty behavior triggers my anger disorders, encouraging fantasies of throwing something breakable at their heads. Though being cold and rude back really gets them in a tizzy. They're so used to passive aggressive underhanded comments and snide looks towards their miserable drunk husbands, spoiled kids and lesser social disfuntionaries that when some young thing working minimum wage dishes it back they short circuit.
Thank God I am not dealing with them anymore.
Though now I get to deal with drunk young idiots who want everything cheaper, more liquore, some sort of a deal, no tipping. How do I get myself wrapped up in this?
I've decided I'd rather be a secretary.
By the way, no one's getting presents from me. Fuck Christmas. Happy birthday Jesus.
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1 comment:
It's clear to me you ARE creative, you ARE artistic, you ARE special and you DO know what's going on. But sometimes we live in denial, afraid of that last mile, because even with all of that, what does it matter? It only matters years from now when we look back and realize it all led up to something important. So don't give up.
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