16 September, 2010

I'm fucking losing it.

Opened up the office this morning and saw movement out on the front porch. Informed the two gentlemen outside that check in wasn't until 1300. Three minutes after that, a third guy came ringing the doorbell and I told him the same thing. Why didn't the two guys who were still on the porch tell him when check in was?
As it stands, right now, I've got nothin'.
It's also like this: I need a fucking break.
Why in shit do I do this every day?
I've been doing this for four years, now, starting on *ghlah-urg* Myspace and then moving it over here and you know what I keep seeing? The successful blogs are the tumblr blogs where people basically just go about the internet, swiping other people's original works, and posting it up on their blog, stamping their copyright on it. Or by having folks submit materials and stamping their copyright on it. AND THEY DON'T WRITE ANYTHING! It's why you don't find links to thisiswhyyourefat, failblog, icanhazcheezburger, or any of that shit in the right hand column: They're popular enough already, they have book deals, they make shit tons of money, and do any of them struggle to come up with a topic every day? No.

Pictured: Guilt by association.
I'm on the goddamned clock when I do this, you know that, right? I sit here and try to deal with every mewing malcontent that comes into the office unable to spit out the fucking words, I print receipts for people I just handed a receipt to, and I talk to the French. You ever talk to the fucking French? Jesus, it's like being repeatedly batted in the face with a pool noodle by a six year old at a sense-of-self-entitlement party.
You have to understand that I do all this shit and more, daily, while trying to juggle this blog thing. It's a thankless effort 99% of the time (unless, you know, Ken writes back, that'll make it thankless only 96% of the time). I post even when I have dick-all to post about and even then, I try pretty fucking hard to not make this goddamnable thing a tumblr blog. I try to put some sort of commentary around video madness. I keep kicking myself in the ass to get off of the ass I just kicked myself in and put together some record reviews or some shit. I put forth the effort.
And here's funny part: WHY?
Why the fuck am I doing this?
Coming through the floor at one in the damned morning.
It's pretty unmistakable that I've been running on fumes the past few weeks. Maybe I'm just getting burnt out. I've been smoking more (back off, man), every morning is a struggle to exercise (I was supposed to increase my regimen last month), and I'm just angry all the time. You know what I did last night? I blasted Harvey Milk's "I've Got A Love" at 0100CDT and I didn't give a shit about the folks in the dorm above my room. Fuck 'em. All six of 'em.
Why? Why do I have that much contempt? I don't know.
And then I go to bed and then I get up in the morning and then I pace in little circles because I don't want to do my push ups and then I think about porn and then I remind myself that I have way too much porn and I really should delete it all and then I remember a girl I dated in junior high and think about looking her up on Facebook or I realize I didn't put my phone on the charger and then I have to charge it up or I make a mental note to get the student loan company on the phone even though I don't have the surplus of hours required to sit on hold all fucking day when I'm at work or I decide to get obliterated tonight so that I'm too hungover to exercise the next day because that's a reasonable excuse but most of the time I just go take a shit then come back and start exercising.
And then I come upstairs and open up the office, deal with the flood of idiocy that has never figured out how to do anything for its goddamned self that is fifty percent of the customers, and then I sit down in front of this glowing rectangle and try to figure out what the hell I'm going to say today. Meanwhile, my brain and my dick are conspiring to convince me to just bend the cleaning lady over a sink in one of the bathrooms and just fuck the shit out of her. WHY? Why is my libido doing that to me? She's not even that hot.
And this entire time, the news is on in the background and I'm just getting angrier and angrier at all of the anchors and the expert panels and the only goddamned thing entertaining I did at all yesterday? I played with a rubber band for twenty minutes. That and, sure, I jacked off into the office trash can (Where else was it going to go?) looking at internet porn when I should have been doing some actual work.
I need a fucking break, man.
It's like this: This little old guy asks how to get on the internet because he needs to check his email. So I open up the internet. He looks at me and says he needs to log in to his email. I point to the address bar and tell him he can type in the address of his email server there. He then tells me he needs to be on the internet for that. I tell him he's on the internet. He stares at me, his eyes just burrowing stupid into my soul, so I tell him, pointing at the address bar that he can just type in the site he needs to be at in that box. He says he needs the internet for that. I tell him he's on the internet. He gives me that same gurgling retard look and I say, You're on the internet right now!
He sturmbles - yes, I had to make a word up for it - sturmbles out "Internet?"
Yeah, you're on the internet right now. He sits staring at the screen, if he were any fucking dumber, he'd be drooling and playing with himself, letting it all sink in that he is on the internet where he can check his email, a communication tool that you have to know how to get onto the internet to use in the first place.
I just walked away. I didn't want to handle follow up questions or wipe the snot off his nose for him. I just walked away because I was ready to start fucking screaming at him to die. Screaming at another human being to die. Why? Why would I want another person to die? And yet I just want to push his little eyes in like Ash did to Rich at the end of Evil Dead. Just UGH! Just fucking do it.
I need a break, man. For real. Who wants to sign up for tomorrow? Any takers? Seriously, just email an article to sounddesignandassembly@gmail.com and if it's any good, I'll post it (with full attribution, of course). Put the article in the body of the email so I don't have to do .zips or .rars or any of that shit. I just want to copy and paste the text.

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