Update

A great egret, unruffled by nearby American coots

Monday was a bad day. Because Sunday I went out with a pretty girl. She didn’t like me. Tame date at the duck pond; I’m trying to not get girls sauced and rawdog them on our first meeting. I’m old now. I want a wife. I spread out my blanket and she sat turned slightly away from me and I knew. I learned about girls’ body language cues from PUA message boards. I used to read that stuff all the time. Had to leave because of the politics. Misogynists are wrong about everything, except women.

She didn’t like me and she took off. I spent a few minutes on Tinder desperately trying to call in the second string. I failed. When something like this happens I start to think I’m a malodorous mutant who will die alone of some crippling illness. In this case, early onset Alzheimer’s since that Julianne Moore trailer came out. That lasted 36 hours.

Tuesday was a good day. I got fired. My company merged with another company, or bought some piece of them, or they bought some piece of us. That meant they needed to cut a bunch of people. One of them was my boss. That meant another one was me.

I did nothing at my job. My job was to read MRA’s and SJW’s yell at each other about rape on Twitter, then quickly look up at my monitor when someone walked by. Waiting to be told what to do. My boss was nice and they had free granola bars but no hot girls worked there. It was a wash. When there was a task I gave it 110%. Completed it ahead of deadline, to perfection. If there’d been a hundred times more work it would not have consumed a tenth of my energy. The company gathers data on advertising. Analyzes it. Sells this analysis to Market Leading Brands. I studied cognitive psychology at a good school; I sold ads, worked in TV, produced commercials… on paper I was the most qualified person on Earth to have my job. They didn’t use me. Most of the time I sat there feeling bad for fucking off.

Anyway, now I have enough cash to live for three months and all the time in the world. It’s always nice out where I live and there’s a duck pond. My plan is to write for four hours per day. Masturbate three hours per day. Lift weights one hour per day. Play guitar one hour per day. That STILL doesn’t eat up the time I’d spend working. I’d have to add another hour of jerking it.

And I will.

I’ll be afraid. There are always bills. Weird bank levies for old debts, huge expenses out of nowhere. Massive impending hits to my credit, the car will break, etc. The fear will come when it comes. For now I feel relief.

And what about career, the future, what about get a wife have a kid buy a house, credit, private schools, etc. I don’t know. Money– your life just expands with bullshit to suck up whatever money you make. Fuck money. Women– the misogynists are right about them. I have a better shot at meeting my future wife being a bum.

Yesterday I went to the duck pond and tried to write for four hours. I made 5,000 words of pure shit but I saw two different kinds of egret. It’s December, but young girls with jiggly asses were still out in yoga pants. I tried to feel bad about my luck and couldn’t. Maybe tomorrow.

Tags: ass