"Fuck you!!" "Okay."
Yesterday I was completely off my game.
What the fuck was that blog? Seriously?
I'm sorry that it wasn't my best work, wasn't really reflected and was a giant train wreck.
It really reflected me though, since right now I am a train wreck of emotion and thoughts and applications and plans...All I want to do is sleep. Do you guys have this? You're motoring along, getting shit done and then your brain wants to sleep.
*Typing away like a madman editing and mapping out meet ups*
Brain: Dan, you need to sleep.
Me: No, I need to finish this. I'm almost done.
Brain: You can finish it later, you're going to crash you know. You're going to end
up slamming your head into the desk and falling down onto the floor.
Body: Me and brain have decided that you need to rest, Dan. You haven't been
sleeping well and we need it. You need it.
Me: I'll do it l-
.....
*3 Hours Later*
Me: Holy Fuck.
I know that some of the meds that I take cause this and sometimes it's just overwhelming. I guess it's a good thing that I'm not performing surgery or something important. Can you imagine that? "Why is the family suing?" "Didn't you hear? That Dan weirdo fell asleep in a patient's open chest. Got drool all over." And that is why I decided not to be a surgeon. Well, no. It was more of a, 'Daniel if you fuck up all eyes will be on you, there will be no way to fix it without being nagged at' thing. I really didn't want to have to deal with weeping or lawyers. But then I went into psychology at university...that's a story for the ages and one I might share on the anniversary.
Yeah, I fuckin did it.
I pissed in her fucking bottle filled with tea.
I pissed in her fucking bottle filled with tea.
Have fun drinking my urine you carbuncle, you blister, you festering pustule of malignant ooze!!
Was it mature? No. Do I give a shit? No.
I'm looking into more productive outlets for my anger, writing Happiness & Homicide is one of them, running on the treadmill helps sometimes. I know I need others before I stab something that I shouldn't. It's been building and building and yet Melfi says nothing except, "You need to relax. You need to visualise a happy environment." Oh yeah? A happy environment? How's about a field littered with corpses? I mean, that would please me but it wouldn't be all hunky dory with everyone else.
Was it mature? No. Do I give a shit? No.
I'm looking into more productive outlets for my anger, writing Happiness & Homicide is one of them, running on the treadmill helps sometimes. I know I need others before I stab something that I shouldn't. It's been building and building and yet Melfi says nothing except, "You need to relax. You need to visualise a happy environment." Oh yeah? A happy environment? How's about a field littered with corpses? I mean, that would please me but it wouldn't be all hunky dory with everyone else.
And I think that it's high time that I get things together and do another Dan the Doodlebug. It's been a while, wouldn't you agree? I've got sketches here, there, everywhere. Perhaps I'll work on the blog while I'm travelling to Boston for the tattoo convention and have time to kill. I start a lot of sketches/drawings, but then I never finish. Either I lose the magic for them, just get bored or a better idea sneaks into my head. Does that happen to you guys? It's the same with writing. I'm in a groove for weeks going like a motherfucker and then I can't string two goddamn words together, yet I know what I want to say. Somehow, I always manage to cockblock myself.
Also, as a little social experiment for my blog, I'm thinking about joining a few online dating sites and see how that goes. I've never done anything like this before, so I really don't know what to expect. I'm seriously not invested in this, but I am curious and it really does seem to be all the rage these days. I don't know what to say or how to explain myself. Do I really have to explain myself? I can only imagine how that would go. "Hi, I'm Dan and I don't know what the fuck I am." *Awkward smile* "Oh, well, um, are you straight?" "I don't even begin to know how to answer that question. I'm a crossbreed between man and woman, but I don't know what I properly identify with. I have a squishmitten but there's also the remote chance that I could get you pregnant so..." *Checks watch* "Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot that I'm late for....late for this thing!" And then she runs off into the sunset never to be seen again. Or we do it the reverse way. "Hi, I'm Anja and I'm attracted to men mainly, but inside I'm mainly a man too despite having tits. I'm not sure what I am, really, but I know what when I have to wee, I do it standing up." And he looks at his pint and my pint and says, "Will you get this round? I'm gonna need another few after that chit-chat." Or I get punched in the fucking head. Either way, it ends up with me back on the sofa at home (with or without ice over my eye) watching Netflix and drinking diet cola.
Why the fuck can't I just be normal? Why can't the way I am be the right way? I don't want to exactly fit inside the box, but I'd like to have an idea of where the fucking box is. I don't feel a part of the straight community, nor the trans community or the LGBTQ community. Where the fuck do I fit besides a spaceship going back to my home planet?
This also part of the reason I hate public toilets. Not only are they usually skanky and or dirty, I just feel wrong going into the women's one. The men's toilets always feel more comfortable and right for me. Women look at me strangely in the women's toilets because I look like a boy 9 times out of 10 while in public. I'm used to the hairy-eyeball treatment, I'd just like one day where I could do this and it wouldn't matter; that I could walk into the men's toilets have a wee, wash my hands and fuck off back to what I was doing. I hate this body. I hate this curse.
4 years ago today:
"I'm glad there are cigarette machines in train stations. This way I can buy a pack without dicking off with some cashier who wants to know all about my day. All I want to do is light up, scar my lungs a little more and complain about how these aren't killing me fast enough. Is that too much to ask?"
I don't smoke anymore and I haven't for a good while now. I don't miss the smell, the taste, the waste of money. What is miss is the connection I felt when I wrapped my lips around the filter. I miss the connection I felt when the carcinogens danced with my alveoli. I miss the exhale of breathing out all that was consuming me.
🔪LINKS 🔪
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/anjathesickboy/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ichliebebillah
Instagram: instagram.com/anjathesickboy/
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ichliebebillah
Also, as a little social experiment for my blog, I'm thinking about joining a few online dating sites and see how that goes. I've never done anything like this before, so I really don't know what to expect. I'm seriously not invested in this, but I am curious and it really does seem to be all the rage these days. I don't know what to say or how to explain myself. Do I really have to explain myself? I can only imagine how that would go. "Hi, I'm Dan and I don't know what the fuck I am." *Awkward smile* "Oh, well, um, are you straight?" "I don't even begin to know how to answer that question. I'm a crossbreed between man and woman, but I don't know what I properly identify with. I have a squishmitten but there's also the remote chance that I could get you pregnant so..." *Checks watch* "Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot that I'm late for....late for this thing!" And then she runs off into the sunset never to be seen again. Or we do it the reverse way. "Hi, I'm Anja and I'm attracted to men mainly, but inside I'm mainly a man too despite having tits. I'm not sure what I am, really, but I know what when I have to wee, I do it standing up." And he looks at his pint and my pint and says, "Will you get this round? I'm gonna need another few after that chit-chat." Or I get punched in the fucking head. Either way, it ends up with me back on the sofa at home (with or without ice over my eye) watching Netflix and drinking diet cola.
Why the fuck can't I just be normal? Why can't the way I am be the right way? I don't want to exactly fit inside the box, but I'd like to have an idea of where the fucking box is. I don't feel a part of the straight community, nor the trans community or the LGBTQ community. Where the fuck do I fit besides a spaceship going back to my home planet?
This also part of the reason I hate public toilets. Not only are they usually skanky and or dirty, I just feel wrong going into the women's one. The men's toilets always feel more comfortable and right for me. Women look at me strangely in the women's toilets because I look like a boy 9 times out of 10 while in public. I'm used to the hairy-eyeball treatment, I'd just like one day where I could do this and it wouldn't matter; that I could walk into the men's toilets have a wee, wash my hands and fuck off back to what I was doing. I hate this body. I hate this curse.
4 years ago today:
"I'm glad there are cigarette machines in train stations. This way I can buy a pack without dicking off with some cashier who wants to know all about my day. All I want to do is light up, scar my lungs a little more and complain about how these aren't killing me fast enough. Is that too much to ask?"
I don't smoke anymore and I haven't for a good while now. I don't miss the smell, the taste, the waste of money. What is miss is the connection I felt when I wrapped my lips around the filter. I miss the connection I felt when the carcinogens danced with my alveoli. I miss the exhale of breathing out all that was consuming me.
🔪LINKS 🔪
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/anjathesickboy/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ichliebebillah
Instagram: instagram.com/anjathesickboy/
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ichliebebillah
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