Well, my mustang needs a new engine. I hate you, Jesus.
Not good news. if anyone would like to paypal me $1,200 for a new engine and the labor, go ahead.
It’s a really good thing i don’t give a fuck about my life, my future or my cars or else this would be really depressing news. *reads line over and over until i believe it*
At least it’s given me a lot of good content for my upcoming book, titled Would You Like To Save Changes To SuicideNote.txt?
it’s now time to get plan b rolling, which is get my my del sol which is currently in a barn in Mississippi, have it towed to memphis and have someone finish dropping the engine in.
this plan requires my friend in MS not to screw me over, finding a place that can work on a honda in memphis without requiring my first born child, and the money to pay them.
no wonder i’m depressed, typing this out makes it even more depressing then it seems.
i have wine, sleeping pills and tori amos mp3s. This is almost like my apartment. Except it’s my parent’s house.
I’m not sure but this feels like rock bottom. No car, a apartment that im paying rent, utilities and cable at, yet i can’t go there since it’s on the other side of the city. I think of it like my summer home that i never get to go to. Also since i probably won’t have a fucking car until summer, it will be a summer home.
Today i walked to the liquor store near my temp job’s office. You know you’re in a bad part of town when you walk into a liquor store and there is a foot of bullet proof glass between you and the liquor. You point like a monkey at the bottle you want, press your id against the glass and then slid your credit card thru the slot. Then, just like a vending machine, the redneck gives you your wine thru a little drawer.
I walk back into my little corporate world, carrying a huge brown paper bag. My superior, Chad, asks what’s in the bag. I tell him it’s data entry juice.
Chad gives me a ride back to my parent’s house and i walk in with my brown bag. My mom asks what’s in it. I tell her it’s Bibles.
She isn’t fooled.
Now i’m back in front of their computer, playing tori that margo sent me, drinking my jug of wine, eating my sleeping pills, wondering how much longer my mind and body can take this.
Everyone keeps telling me this will work out in the end but i really doubt it at this point. In their defense, when you’ve kinda hit rock bottom, like i apparently have, you can only go up, right? Right? No. It can always get worse. It probably will.
Last night after drinking a bottle of my parent’s wine i had some really intresting dreams. I had access to this portal that could take me in to any time and any place, anything i thought of. I dunno why but i kept asking it to take me to really random things, like “ice cream” and other random words. The little portal finally said “Okay, stop fucking around, why don’t you try something a little more significant?”. I go “okay, give me a suggestion?” It says, “Why don’t you ask me to take you to hell, because after you see that then you’ll appreciate every living moment you have left.”
The alarm goes off. Snapped back to reality.
Is my subconscience trying to tell me something?