I like butthole.
I live with the kind of false apathy that can only be created by living in a constant state of self-loathing. Of constantly believing that nothing you do will ever be good enough.
I screamed at this guy at the store today. He just wanted some fucking jello, and couldn’t find the kind he wanted. So I got pissed for no real reason, and walked away. Obviously, I won’t get in trouble, I wasn’t on the clock, but sitting here, I just hate myself so much. Just thinking about the Jell-o. What if the kind he wanted was needed, because it was his wife’s favorite kind? What if she was dying of cancer, and he was just trying to make it for her, so she could die happy? What if she died tonight, dead, unhappy, because I was too worried about my own shit to care about helping this angry an impatient man fin some fucking jello? What if the taste of that jello would’ve been enough to keep her alive? Does that make me a murderer? Am I responsible for her death? If so, what about her kids? What if she has a daughter, age 6 or so, who grows up full of resentment, living in a world where her mother was stolen from her at the worst age; old enough to remember her mother vividly, too young to comprehend what had happened at the time. Did I ruin her life as well? Why is a piece of shit like me even allowed to exist?
He just wanted some fucking jello.
That’s all he fucking wanted.
I’m just that shitty of a human being, I guess.
I wish I hadn’t woken up at all.
Knowing your girlfriend is going to her exes house, again, to pick up her shit. It’s kinda terrifying.