i should probably stop this

this constant "write a post" "make post a draft" "read post again later and decide it's cool to publish" "pull down post again".

sorry.

there's this constant noise in my head telling me to do things.  some of them are "take out the trash" and "do you have clean clothes for tomorrow?"

some of them are "write gross porn" and "watch gross porn."

still others are "are you sure you've got that red blood?  maybe it's worth checking it out.  you know, just to be safe" or "huh.  breathing is just this constant thing, you know?  like a chore you have to do all the damn time.  plastic seems like it could help us here.  let's check out what plastic's got going on, right?"

i guess it's called "intrusive thoughts"?  like, you know you can't just stab the waitress who just gave you a sharp knife for your food, but your brain still tells you that, like, you know, it's an option if you're up to it.

it certainly doesn't help that i get drunk.  a lot.  sorry.  but drinking dulls that noise.  the that part is all "whatevs" and the other is all, "do what you want" and the amethyst is "or just nap all day, it's cool."

so again, sorry.  i have work shit to do tomorrow, and i have people coming to my apartment this week, so i have to hide all my trash and alcoholism for that.

but i so want to get this part done.  the tender parts i wrote while drunk are kind of good.  i think i need to just stop trying to get a "writing mood" and just write.  just make the words come out.  i can fix them later if they're not good.  but getting the ideas down in some form seems like the most important bit.

honestly, what is up with my space bar?

fine. i'll admit it.

it's taken me years to accept it, but i can't deny it anymore.

takenoko no sato are superior to kinoko no yama.

they're simply better.

what's wrong, sammy?

this.

like.

all this is all wrong.  you need to be that far away.  but you're not.  so.  get back a bit?

is this  a style change on blogger?

i think i might have gone crazy this week.  like "things don't work right now, because my brain model of things doesn't match the reality model" kind of crazy.

so.

i've actually been (kind of) doing ok for the past few weeks.  coping with the usual sanity-deficient parts of my life.

and these constant shit-ass hurricanes.  like, ok.  if you're going to try to do a thing, don't be like, "hah, i gasped at the barricade before me and died a hero!"  bitch, this is taco bell, and you didn't fucking pull up from the menu board to the order board.  i hate you so much, i hope you light on fire so i can just pull around and be like, "dunno.  bitch lit on fire.  number 8 please.  no lettuce.  that shit gross."

so i guess regular stuff.  i finished the super stressful shit at work, and today my boss was all, "hey, you haven't done this shit, but why don't you look at it a  bit too.  because your coworker is a hot fucking mess."

he didn't say that.  but she's such a fucking mess.  and this is me.  sammy "drunk till tuesday" worker-chan.  honestly.




anyway, i neededed to vent a bit, so thanks for being ventable.  i thought i'd have to pause my tumblr queue, but i reblogged enough.

also, hey!  Mr. Christopher!  if i reblog at you a thing, and you look at it, any chance you could tell me how hard such a thing would be?  it's this face mask/gag/hood that is so super wonderful.  just a, hey, i know people who know stuff about things! ask the questions!

sorry.

druknk sorry.

i will stay offline until less so now.

love,
sammy

good on me for rectifying the video

and then watching like an hour of my grandfather's youtube.

and then taunting particular views into the trash.

sorry.

wow.  so sorry.

i do what i can in the reference i can handle.  i'm sorry that's not perfect.

32

32 bottles.

just

fyi.

so. yay. psychological revelations that come up when you listen to 80s new wave.

you won't understand this.

because the backstory i'd have to provide is far longer than my currently drunk mind can provide.

here's the shortest version i can come up with.

this song played a lot when i did things i regret, and that shame has stuck with the opening piano in the back of my brain for years.

if you can sort out reasons why, just keep your damn mouth shut.  i know my reasons.

hey there. first up, i really want no one to panic about this. just, calm everything down, and don't get too worked up about it. let's all take a step back, ok?

i'm suicidal again.

whoa, whoa, whoa, read that title again.  i'm drunk. and i'm super slow about everything, so this isn't an imminent threat.

but honestly.  suicidal thoughts are back in full strength.

i've been kind of coasting on a wave of panic and anxiety that made me feel like if i killed myself, then i'm just pushing burdens onto other people.

but that's kind of been relieved.  i could totally kill myself today, and it'd probably annoy a bunch of people, but they wouldn't be super burdened.

so, wow.  this is fucked up.  "if i'm stressed beyond comprehension, i can push that into a balloon that represents my sanity, but if that stress depletes, the balloon deflates, and only death awaits."

"you should go to therapy, sammy.  this can be fixed".  thanks, my brain.  telling me the things that are true.  jerk.

so, hey,


think about things.  i write some more cool porn.  you like it.  but then, six decades later, we're dead, and just a disgrace to your descendants.  and then think a million years from then.  no one cares.  i'm not like some sort of porno-jesus.  i've been forgotten for a million years.


and then like a billion years from then, the sun is going to ignite everything into a burnt cinder anyway.


so why does anything matter?  if i killed myself, why is that some sort of tragedy, when after everything, we all end up as ash under an angry sun?

"but we could help people, sammy!"

yes.  we could.  but a major political party is suggesting that "mexicans should probably just die" and "or blacks.  pretty much anyone not white"  and "like, literally, anyone not white.  they can just get shot if you feel the desire."  also, "gay people are demons who need to be expelled."

we could help people.

if any cared.

understand the first sentence of this post now?  if not, try reading again.

i know i'm a baby, baby

wanna know what's fun?

playing disney roulette.

it's super simple.

listen to disney song videos on youtube until you break out in super gross ugly crying.

challenge: start with frozen videos.

"fuck you, i can 'let it go' forever!"

sure, whatever.  can you "first time in forever (reprise)" it?

yeah

didn't think so.

so i'm going to wipe out a bunch of gross tears that are all over right now, and give an update that i totally wrote some stuff last night while drunk.  it's pretty good, actually, and that's my assessment from not now, but when i was not drunk.  the next part is literally the bit of the story that is the story and isn't this stupid awful prologue i had to write formyself.

11671 characters

so it's slightly bigger than "food".

i think i'm ready to go back to following the notes.  i had a big excursion of "write this now, sammy, because otherwise you'll forget it!"

and also, this is still out of place, chronologically.

i'll try to fix it later.

i kind of want to write the end piece.  probably because i'm a jerk.

i often

wish the Annie from my stories was a real Annie in real life, so i could have some sanctuary from the thoughts that constantly fight me.

"oh, pop-tarts!"

"i haven't had pop-tarts in a long time.  i'd kind of forgotten about them," said checkout dude.

"yeah.  huh," replied sammy, realizing suddenly that her shopping list was nothing but junk food, vodka, and grocery store sushi.

"did you see they make carmel combos now?  those are a bit weird," he continues, as she tries hard to find something to add to the belt to fix the situation.

"get some reese's cups!" shouts her brain, and she grabs them from the candy rack and puts the package on top of the sushi.

"yeah, i saw those, but yeah...weird," sammy stumbles out as she faces the fact that adding candy doesn't fix the junk food balance on display.

==

this has been a barely fictionalized version of the horror that happened this evening.

"what have you done this weekend, sammy?"

mostly masturbate.  a lot.  because i'm totally got things in order in my life.

last year, i mentioned sumomodou, with a link to a post that i took down during the porn purge at blogger that didn't happen.  the stories in that post are this one, and the sequel.

and i think i linked to this before, but here it is again.


so yeah.  a lot of terrible garbage porn, all weekend long.

this is like the same story, told three times.

time one.

time two.

time three.

original pixiv source.

it doesn't really have an ending.  in none of the three parts.  i guess that's the point, though.

at the grocery store today

me: "what else do i need to buy?"
cart: "i have this stuff in me.  i don't seem to have any soap.  do you need soap?"
me: "tooth paste!"

surprise! the correct answer was deodorant. :-/

hey. odd question i have today.

i went to talk with my boss today, about deadline stuff.  boring shit.

and the end of the conversation was like:

boss: "do i have an insurance policy on you?  yeah, i think so.  maybe i should increase that."

me:  "....so i'm going to go back to work now...."

duh, i don't think my boss is going to kill me.

question:

wtf?
do you think this means my boss is really worried i might kill myself?
or like, whoa, i know i'm fucked up, but i thought i've been hiding this pretty decently, so maybe i should work on hiding better?
or like, maybe, he's worried i might die and fuck shit up and he has to deal with it, so money?
or like, he's probably thinking about murder stabbing me, and i should avoid situations where i could get murder stabbed.

i hate myself, and this is a reason why.

last time i visited my parents, we went to get groceries.

"no, sammy, what?  get this meat, it cheaper."

that's the meat from the discount bin.  like, "hey, this rots like tomorrow, so buy it cheap today and use it or freeze it."

and today, i was at the store, buying stupid shit to eat when i'm drunk.  "no, sammy, what?  get this chips, it cheaper."

because then i save 39 cents.

"what do you do with your money, sammy?"

mostly?  i just waste it on shit i never eat, or clothes i throw out because i don't like how they look, or on gas to drive around the island and avoid my brain by making it not crash the car into people who aren't awful wastes of space.


i don't even know how to describe this feeling.  "i make more money than i need, but waste pretty much all the excess on stupid shit to dull the pain i feel from living my life."  ennui?  "sure, sammy, if you're some sort of fancy-pants from 1927".

so.

"stop being such a selfish stupid cunt, you fucking horrible selfish cunt!"


brb.

going to drink enough to kill this feeling.

--


dear this feeling,

if i could hold you under water, i would hold you down until you stopped making bubbles, until you turned a delightful shade of blue.  i hope i find some way to set you on fire, just so i can make smores while you roast away into glorious heat.

i fucking hate you forever,
sammy

but seriously, this is fucked up shit.

sammy sees something that triggers one of those random things that make her furious.

sammy realizes a few minutes later that maybe that was super aggressive, and dials back a bit.

sammy points out that this probably wasn't the best venue for such random anger.

fuck james hinks.

this is going to be the all-time champion of "seriously, no one fucking cares, sammy, just shut up"

ok.  toothbrushes.

a while ago, i was grumpy that my toothbrush sucked, and i was like, "tell me how i can get like a dentist toothbrush," and Mr. Christopher was all, "sonic care is pretty cool and clean-y" and then i looked it up and those are like a bajillion dollars and the replacement heads are like $10 a pop.

so, i continued on, using my shitty toothbrush that i hated everyday and silently wished would just die.

or.

inanimate objects can't die.  so.  um.  explode.  but like, where it doesn't break my bathroom mirror.  i'm already not getting my apartment deposit back.  "sorry, my toothbrush exploded," is just going to sound like a lame excuse.

but then:  i went to longs, and was like, "fuck it, let's get a fancy toothbrush."  and i looked, and saw this like $20 thing from somebody name brand.  oral-b or tooth-police or i-made-up-my-second-name-so-why-did-i-think-i-had-a-third.  but there was a cvs version next to it for like $11.

cvs is what long's is called everywhere else.  they bought long's a few years ago, but since everyone here has been going to long's since forever, they keep all the stores here long's.

also, this was for two toothbrushes.

that's important on the cost-benefit analysis thing.

so previously, i'd brush my teeth in the morning because i'm not like an actual monster.  but this new vibrating super brush.

that's also important.  this is some vibrating super brush shit.  not like "wtf is up with this toothbrush that makes it $5.50?"  it has a left and a right side, and they strapped them both to a vibrator, so you push the button, and it's like you're masturbating your teeth.

and it's wonderful.

now i'm doing the whole "brush at night too, gross-face" and thinking about how i can justify just always having this purple vibrating stick in my mouth all the time.


yes, in case you were wondering, i'm feeling a bit weird today.  but my teeth are super clean.

also you can bold-italic-underline text.

The Exhibition: Interlude

Impromptu.

dear me,

maybe our hurricane preparedness kit should contain more than two bottles of vodka, a case of water, and four boxes of pop-tarts, two of which you've already opened and started eating.

just saying.

love,
me.  you.  you know who i am.  you are.

ps. fuck this whole brain.