The Obscure

I saw Lon Cheney walkin' with the Queen, doin' the Werewolves in London. I saw Lon Cheney Jr. walkin' with the Queen, gih! Doin' the Werewolves in London.

I don't have anything to write about right now, which can be the worst way to write something most of the time, and the best way other times. This time there is the potential for writing something worth writing, but I doubt I will hit it because I have a complicated morning in front of me.
I have had a strange couple of days, I missed to days of work on account of a terrible headache that I am still feeling the aftershocks of (though I will go to work feeling them, they aren't that bad, comparatively speaking) and yesterday I could've sworn I was getting fired via IM, except then something weird happened in the conversation, so now I don't even know. I'm going to go into work today, if I AM to be fired, it'll all come to a head there.
It's not like I want to be fired, it's just that I know I should be and that I am being held on to because of sympathy. I won't try and decieve myself into thinking that when I am there I am worth it, because I can't do almost all of the shit they do there very well except packaging, and I could train anybody to do that within two days, I just haven't been given proper time to do so. That's one of the reasons why me calling in is so bad, I think. I don't really know.

Yesterday I had a day that was unlike any other day I've had in a very long time. You see, right now I am abdicating all psych meds because they almost killed me and because every now and then I decide I hate medications and stop taking them, usually to my detriment. So yesterday, around 1 o'clock, I am suddenly reminded of why I sought out psych meds to begin with. I won't describe how, but it was pretty bad, I almost went to the emergency room so I wouldn't do anything terrible, but then I just took some sleeping pills and ate some pizza and conked out pretty early; I feel much better this morning, such is the life of a nutcase.
I'm listening to the one AC/DC album I have, which is Back in Black, and I am wishing fervently that I had more AC/DC albums. It's not that I don't love Back in Black, but the earlier ones were better, before Brian Johnson (I think that's his name, I got it wrong on like a daily fucking basis when Tim and I were in this big AC/DC kick like four years ago).
My how time flies, one day you're all alone, just delivering your papers, with a couple of friends you see at church and one friend you hang out and drink with a lot (and a girl who you hang out with who wants to have sex with you but you are both infatuated and terrified of her so you never do it. Aren't I a manly man? Cut me some slack, I was like twelve.) At night you always contemplate the knife and never sleep. The next day I have a little group of friends who all like good music, all like video games, and all like reading (Tim was a slight anomaly, he liked watching us play most video games and beating the Utter SHIT out of some very strangely grouped ones. He's the Mario Master, and you give him the controls to Driver and he can do some crazy stuff, but then some games others would find as easy as hell, nothin' happens! It's really strange, I think it has something to do with the height and/or size of the main character's head. He also liked reading only half of a book, I think he did guesswork on the other half, we never really figured out his technique, but he could philosophize with the best of us, and the rest of us, which is good. We were just the rest, there was no best. Moving on!) and you guys have some fun fucking times and make jokes that would set a catholic priest's hair on fire and you crack up for hours at a time every time you meet and everything is cool.
Next day, you're back by yourself, contemplating the knife. The next day you've wasted that chance you had and now you have to make a new one out of the scraps of the old one. The next day you barely ever see your friends, and it's your own fault. The next day you've once again fallen into complete and utter self-loathing and isolation.
Yeah, my how time flies, how much changes but still remains the same. That's why I've got to get the fuck out of here. My back-up car plan isn't going to work, I know that now, I'm thinking of just getting a quick job done on my truck so that it's legal enough to pass and then just fucking leaving, fuck money. It'll work itself out or I'll starve to death, I don't care either way. I'll buy my smokes on the cheap and eat Ramen every day, that's less than 5 dollars a day to live off of.
But, who the hell knows? Maybe something cool'll happen, like one of those manuscripts I'm "working on" might get published, and then I'd have a reason to go, to write more and get published more, and I'd have way more bread than I had predicted. Who knows what could happen in a couple months?
Nothing will if I don't get the ball rolling. Off to work, tonight--to Write!