What is wrong?

http://bohemian-me.deviantart.com

I haven't really cried in a long time.

It's unnatural for me, I've always been overly emotional. I cry at movies, books, etc...etc...
I sobbed hysterically once when I lost yarn thing for the thousandth time. I thought Sheri had vacuumed it up, and that it had been ripped to shreds in the belly of the beast.
At one 'o' clock in the morning I cut open the vacuum bag and dug through filth, pet hair, human hair, dandruff, skin flakes, pennies, etc.. until I found this yarn-ish material of the same hue. I was convinced that it was the corpse of my long loved Christmas present from 2006.
All that over a piece of yarn.
(I found it later.)
Now I lost the real thing. And I can't summon up the waterworks. Why?
Am I losing my humanity? Are my feelings numbing as I age? Is apathy an acquired skill?
I find myself wondering about these things in the small hours of the morning.
Maybe my brain is defective. Maybe that's why I'm never happy. Why I destroy the things I love quite systematically. Perhaps.
But...
I don't want to be summed up in electrical impulses and floating chemicals. I don't want to be a flesh-bag waiting to die and fertilize the rhododendrons.
I haven't thought about God in a while.
Maybe I have avoided the idea on purpose. After all, there are plenty of other things to keep me up at night.
I wish I could put the scrambled pieces of my life together and make a meaningful picture. I feel like those awful Picasso women with the hook noses and skewed eyeballs. The nose coming out of my chin and the teeth scattered everywhere.
Somehow I always come back to this ugly place in my head.
How do I fix myself when I don't know what's broken?
Is there really anything to do but survive?
The worst part.
The dream life, the three day a week bestselling author job, the gallery full of my paintings, Mr. Yellow's record breaking album,the thin 118 pound body, boobs that actually match, a straight nose, a strange and wonderful closet, the movie deal, the international travel, and all the cats...I'm not sure if that could be enough to make my life endurable. I don't know if everything I ever longed for/worked for could even fulfill this gnawing awful blackness inside my head.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

My days as a hobo are coming to an end. (Temporarily)

http://misstouky.deviantart.com

So I got a job at Amazon.
Full-time unfortunately.
Oh well. I'll use my money, that I'll first see in three weeks from now, to do the things I have been longing for.
I'll hit the casino with an ever-growing list of lovely people on some balmy night in mid-August.
Alec, Haley, Janet, Eileen, Lauren, Sean, Alec's G-ma, Me...etc.
How thrilling. I'll smoke like a fiend and waste fifty dollars. (Maybe)
Dinosaur park. Here I fucking come.
Prepare yourselves for beautiful images of friendly stegosauri and brontosaurs.
Then, in September, watch out Vancouver!
I'll troll the art museums and theater things and food-ries. I'll find nature and hike through it. Adventures abound.
This is enough motivation to slug through a work week, right?
That and cigarettes.
And gasoline.
And maybe...even a meal?

Pin Up Girl

Miss Shepherd, don't make me remove those little shorts.

Big Companies Blow

http://ariokh.deviantart.com

Yuck. I honestly loathe big business.
And I'm such a liar.
I have to pretend to be a different person at every job interview. Oh yes, I love to bring joy to the customer,
I am VERY organized,
I just love covering shifts and taking overtime,
would I describe myself as a team player? Oh definitely.
Bullshit.
I have no passion for customer service. I won't take extra shifts if I can avoid them. Me, a team player? Craziness.
Oh well. Today will be a blast nonetheless. I'm taking Pin-Up girl photos of the lovely Miss Shepherd. I know you're all waiting with baited breath for those images. Well looks like my unemployment streak is coming to an end soon. (Eventually.) If I don't get hired here I'll be a sad janitor. But honestly? Mopping floors appeals to me more than licking other people's assholes to appease them.
I know, I'm too vulgar.

Happy!

Quite honestly, today and yesterday were some of the finest of the summer. It all began at around eight 'o' clock a.m. I was picked up in a white truck and abducted!
My captor was kind to me, but his cousin forced me to sing silly songs until my lungs were rather tired and longing for cigarette smoke.
After this she let us watch Flakes, a fantastic movie that featured Miss Zooey Deschanel. (My icon and true love) It was a charming film, complete with happy endings and songs about cereal.
Then we all swam about, me ending up with silly bohemian Jesus hair and runny mascara. Still, it was a regular blast. Factor in some Windwaker and you have the makings of a lovely day.
We got back in the white truck and headed back to writer's club. Much was accomplished, but not by me. I lazed about pretending to work on my novel. Alec finished three chapters and I had the pleasure of listening to more of A Fairy Tale, by Mister A.B. Chunn.
And today you ask?
Painting!
We painted until our hands were blistered and sore. Stopped once for a slurpee and Mac&Cheese.
Finally, the alien abduction painting is finished.

Here is a close up of the girl...

And the theme of my happiness, the glorious and wonderful:
"Fuck You"

Thank you God for days like these.

Oh... and I got a job interview!
As the janitor.
At four in the morning.
Yuck.

Oh my Jesus!

I was productive today!
I washed dishes and applied for another job. (As a janitor from 10p.m to 4a.m.)

Things I want to do: (Updated version)
* Go to the dinosaur land in Granger, WA and take pictures/have a picnic
*Paint the animals eat people exhibition.
*Finish my children's book/my other book.
*Possibly give my other book a title.
*Go to the laundromat.
*Have a dance-a-thon
*Get a job and take Janet to the casino

It's a Tuesday night, but writer's club is not to be. I suppose I will work diligently on my novel and illustrations. I have not much else to do. No one to visit. Sean's ant-trap worked. All my old friends are dead and laying in a mass grave.
A hammer fell on my mother's head yesterday. Am I a bad person for finding that hilarious? (She's fine)
It's four in the afternoon and I've only had one cigarette today. I need an award.
I'm rambling. I have no point. The point is I suppose, that I am a pointless and meaningless human being. That I do not contribute to society or plan to. That I am still festering in my little studio half-garage just waiting to go bad and get tossed out. Not unlike the three bags of untouched salad greens that my mother so kindly gave me. (I trashed them today, I think they were composting)
Fuck me.
I didn't mean to be depressing again! I meant to write a cheery lighthearted and mildly hopeful piece about productivity and things I've yet to do and am looking forward to. Then it deteriorated into a sad lament.
I'm so sorry fan club. I promise to write something more optimistic next. Very soon hopefully. No one likes a sad sack.

In which sixty dollars slipped from my hands quite accidentally.

Gambling.
I never saw myself doing it. My thoughts on the subject prior to today were as such; casinos are places where silly people drop their money into blinking machines for the joy of pushing a few buttons. I just didn't see the point. After today, I feel that casinos are places people go to lose a lot of cash. (Or me at least.)
I'm nineteen. On my eighteenth birthday I visited Castle, our local sex shop, and smoked a vanilla cigar. Gambling didn't even register in my head.
Why did I wait so long?
Alec's mom drove me, Sean, Alec, and his Gran Gran to the Toppenish casino tonight. She funded the whole extravaganza. I started with forty dollars and was lured in like a moth by the bleeping noises and shining lights of a Cleopatra machine. All went well, my luck was with me. I turned a five dollar bill into fifteen. It was nearly alchemy.
Then things got bad.
I spent the forty faster than a horde of seagulls eat a chunk of stale bread. Then I moved on to the nine dollars I had in ones. Alec's mom saved the day, and bestowed me with yet another twenty dollars.
Then things got worse.
The twenty dwindled. Until I, remembering the scarcity of cigarettes and gasoline and general-anything-at-all in my life, stopped playing after I lost another ten dollars.
(Oh I forgot to mention that there was smoking allowed in the casino! That was probably one of the most thrilling parts.)

Finally things spiraled into an uncontrollable plummet to the depths of despair.
I discovered the slot machines with the levers. How could I resist? It was a LEVER. And I pulled it. And I pulled it again. And again.
The whole time my money was being consumed I kept desperately hoping that I would win a thousand dollars and live in comfort and luxury.
Needless to say, it didn't happen.
I lost it all. All of Mrs. Chunn's money, and some of my own pitiful stash.
Goodbye money, I will miss you, truly.
Gambling...not a great idea, but a lovely time all the same.