Moving Diary

18 Nov

Stock photo

Maybe today will be the best day of my life but somehow I don’t fucking think so. Have to move. Have to move to a new place I now hate and I just want to fucking relax. Even typing this is a distraction from what I should be doing. The activity I like least in the entire world. Which will be my entire day. And my tomorrow. And my tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. While working. While waiting–while having to follow up on my cover art, my copy edits– OK. I accept that God wants me to be miserable. He wants me to not finish the book. Not sell it. Whatever I want, is what God does not want. God does not want my ass to not hurt. God does not want my eye not to rot. My penis to not fall off. God wants my landlady, who is evil, to have money and happiness, while I languish in obscurity. God wants me to move.

Not to the fucking Philippines to dig out underage beach teens– God wants me to move to Highland Park near the freeway where the fumes and noise drift up and up and erase whatever brains I have left. God wants me to cut myself moving today, I can feel it. God wants me to drop my fish tank on the bones of my foot. God wants the movers to overcharge me. He wants my internet to not work. God wants the new internet plan I was forced to sign up for by moving to cost more than previously, not less, as the liar on the phone promised. He wants me to die in a flaming wreck on the way to pick up my new mandatory Spectrum modem and turn in my outdated Time Warner Cable equipment. God wants the utilities not to be turned on as promised. Work to not slow down as promised. The movers– well the movers not showing up would be a blessing. Fuck.

When this is all done will I feel better. I can– I have to fucking do laundry as well. Am I insane. Movers showing up between 1 and 5pm– fucking four hours, that’s fine, that’s fine, except I have to go– what is it, 9am now– I have to go get the god damn modem. No one else ever suffers consequences for anything. My stepmom wanting a conference call regarding holiday plans– good Lord man. I can’t have my home life be like work. Can’t have it be scheduling a fucking conference call to prep for a meeting. I can’t fucking do this anymore. What happens if I just stop.

Relax man. It’s one shitty day. Followed by another and another and preceded by thousands of nothing but– just stay alive, it doesn’t matter. Just stay alive. Penis.

4 Responses to “Moving Diary”

  1. Atlanta Man November 18, 2018 at 2:02 pm #

    Everything is going to be alright the tell me- I reply everything is going to be, the alright part is debatable at best.

  2. dickycone November 18, 2018 at 8:45 pm #

    Sorry, Tacos. I wouldn’t wish moving on an enemy.

  3. DrGoldfootsy November 19, 2018 at 10:03 am #

    Moving sucks、always too much shit.teamwork helps. You’re not rotting、more like colorful..ask that know-it-all bitch Alexa. That longest journey begins with the first step..future-one day at a time. Everybody’s got to leave the darkness sometimes..Ebb and flow. Penis and vagina… that feels good

  4. Choad November 19, 2018 at 11:36 am #

    When was this written, DT?

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