Dirty Pretty Things.

I've worked sixteen hours three days in a row. I know, I shouldn't
complain. Other people work three days straight and walk around
perfectly happy. But these people are called doctors and they make at
least three times more than I do. The moral of this story being, if my
boss paid me more I would be perfectly fine, even excited, to work
three times as much as most people. But this is not going to happen so
I should be quiet or acquire a M.D.

The boy and I are going to a play next week and I don't have anything
to wear. That's a lie.

When is he leaving? I have no idea. It doesn't matter.

I'm devoid of emotion or at least I've become an expert at ignoring
whatever it is that's here. That sounds old, like I've said it a
thousand times because I have. I don't want to talk about him anymore
but it seems that's all I can think about. And since my friends, who
at this point happen to all be men, have very little patience for
anything romantic the only sort of outlet is whatever shows up here.
I'm better than that. Why does he get to enjoy the glory of my
writing. I suppose I could right about things much more relevant, it's
just that I can't think of anything suitable. Or anything real enough.

But anyway.

I just watched American History X for the first time ever (by just
watched I really mean three days ago). I want to bang Edward Norton.
Maybe I should call him and tell him I'll be single in a few weeks. He
probably wouldn't care. Kind of like when I told my friend Drew that I
wanted to run away and stalk Vin Diesel and he said I probably wasn't
his type and I went into a rage and screamed do you know who I am
during the middle of 5th period lunch. Which is probably why nobody
wanted to date me Junior year. You know, because I am crazy. And I am.
I just changed my clothes to return a movie I rented several weeks
ago. Sad. Like the cashier would care if I wore flip flops or
stilettos. But more important than banging Edward Norton is that the
movie was good. It was sad, tragic maybe. It even made me cry. Once. A
single tear. I thought that it did a particularly good job at
revealing how easily perspectives are formed and changed and how
simple it is to adopt an opinion without even thinking about the
position you are taking. Otherwise, I kind of wish that when he an his
brother tore down all the Nazi memorabilia from the bedroom wall that
they would have painted rainbows, peace signs, and kittens. Or that
while in prison he would have become a motivational speaker and united
all of the gangs so they could have held hands and danced in circles.
I guess that would be too much though. I also wish somebody killed
Seth because he was seriously obnoxious and please do not get me
started on his girlfriend, he could have done better than that.

I have no food and I have no money and I think my mental state is
deteriorating very slowly either that or I respond to work-related
stress by feigning insanity in order to eschew responsibility. Most
likely my delirium is a product of both, compounded by my recent
caffeine addiction relapse.