Tuesday, May 31, 2005

It Has To Be Better Than This

Okay. Like everybody else in the blogiverse, my blog is my personal diary. Lately, my stuff has been about things I've observed, but I'm taking a purely fucking selfish fucking moment so I can bitch, and fuck anybody who doesn't like it. Here goes.

I feel completely powerless. I live in a nice enough apartment. I have a decent amount of space, but come summer, my neighbors remind me of two things: never have a bedroom on the front of a building unless you're on a high floor, and never live on the first floor. Ever. Oh, and as a bonus, don't live next to people of color unless they're not collecting public assistance in any form (welfare, disability, social security, worker's comp, or just free fucking money from the government). I've renewed the lease on my apartment, which will have me there just about 10 years. I'm sick of it. The fluorescent lighting makes me ill, but I can't put lamps in because most of the rooms have ONE outlet. At least once a year, I have to climb up on a ladder, take down the grill covering said lights, snap out the 3-foot long bulbs (yes, I said 3-fucking-feet long), and replace. The grills are always dirty, they don't go back in that easily, and it's a miserable job. If I wasn't such a cheap fuck, I'd pay someone to do it for me. My heathen-ass neighbors are so loud sometimes that I can hear them over my tv. And then there was the time that I almost took a beat down because I called the cops (also POC's, lazy-ass, don't wanna work, useless as a one-legged man in an ass-kickin contest coons) after fireworks were lit in front of my bedroom window. That's one set of low IQ'ers. Then there's MC Talent-Free, who spends his days sleeping off his blunt high from the night before instead of getting a goddamn job so my tax dollars don't have to feed his stinkin' ass, and his baby. Oddly enough, a woman who looks suspiciously like his mother, called the cops 2 summers ago to complain about the baby in my building because he was crying. Yup. That fat sack 'o grease is now a grandmother, God help us all. MC Talent-Free likes to practice his shitty rap lyrics (thus the name MC Talent-Free) on the stoop; his stoop, in front of my house, on the sidewalk with his boys, where-the-fuck-ever. I thought living in a White neighborhood would keep me from having to live the ghetto experience. I can't even say at least there's no gun violence, because there were shots fired at about 6:30 on the morning of Memorial Day, followed by several police cruisers in pursuit. Fuck me, twice.

I can't stand feeling like a total asshole. I make a decent amount of money, but can't buy shit in the New York metro area, and fuck if I'm gonna try living in Charlotte or Memphis or some other growing city where they don't fucking like queers. I'd love to have a summer share on Long Island, but goddamn it, I can't fucking drive -- thanks, Mom, for making me feel like shit at 16 when I got my learner's permit without your fucking permission. I've now gone 24 more years with a minimal effort at trying to learn how to drive. And thanks again, for making me scared of my fucking shadow -- thumbs up! And even if I could drive, I can't afford a share. Fuck, if I can't find $20,000 to buy a fucking shoebox apartment, where the fuck am I gonna find $8500 for something that isn't a fucking deer tick incubator on Long Island? My wife is turning 40, our 5th wedding anniversary is 3 months after, and my 40th birthday is 3 months after that. I haven't planned a thing. Haven't planned any celebration. Haven't bought a gift. Adulthood, my stinkin' ass. Fuck this. I'm ready to sell my soul to make some money. What the fuck has integrity bought me? And is it really integrity or fucking laziness? The truth is there is no honest (read: no one gets hurt in the process) way of making a lot of money. There is no sure thing. You have to spend hundreds of dollars playing Lotto in order to win. You have to work hundreds of hours a week to make a lot of money, and I haven't found a fucking thing I want to spend that much time doing. Okay, maybe there is one thing, but I still have to sell my ass to do it.

My wife swears that's the key, but she doesn't know what she's talking about. She says "sell your songs; that'll do it. Start a band." Who the fuck am I going to sell my songs to? You don't just run into people on the street and say "Here, hope you like this." Opportunity doesn't knock. You have to kick the fucking door down, and it isn't in my fucking nature. I'm not half as good as she, or anyone else thinks I am. There are way more talented keyboardists, singers, and songwirters out there, who are much younger, and have nothing to lose. I barely have 30 grand in my retirement fund and I'm fucking forty. Forty, for fuck's sake. What the fuck am I doing?

It's all my fucking fault. I've pissed away my whole adult life, and now I'm picking tacks outta my ass. Who the fuck told me to sit on the goddamn cactus? Why can't I just pick up and do what-the-fuck-ever it is that everyone else seems to think I should be doing, but I don't fucking understand? And why am I singing the same woe-is-me, I'm a worthless piece of shit, song yet again? I'd shoot somebody I heard pumping this bullshit.

Maybe I should just fuck it all. Drink myself to death. I have life insurance. The wife can drop me in the ground since we have a burial plot. I'm just not fuckin' happy, and that's that.

Please, somebody, shoot me or save me. I'm open to suggestions, fuck-a-duck.


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