The Truth

I just took a bath. I took it with a sharp new razor blade resting on the side of the tub. As usual, I chickened out.

I woke up this morning barely able to move. My shitty, inefficient heart is trying to kill me again, for the third time in as many years. One of the joys of this heart condition is that I've gotten very familiar with what it feels like when my body is shutting down. I didn't go into work this morning, and my phone's out of minutes so I didn't even call in. Odds are that I will get fired, and I don't really know how I feel about that.

I'm tired. I don't want to do this any more. I need somebody to save me and take care of me. My last woman made it abundantly clear to me that my health problems were a major inconvenience to her and that she resented them. Well, it's no picnic for me either, sweetheart. She ran away to the other side of the country rather than deal with me any more.

I want to die. I can't find the strength to accomplish it. I think about it nearly every day, except on those good days that are getting rarer by the month.

I am broke. I am dying. I am lonely. I have to move in a month-and-a-half, if I even last that long at this rate.

Then what? Cobble a new existence together so that my body can just up and die again in a few months because I can't afford to keep myself alive?

I need help. I can't do this alone. More the the point, I don't want to.

Mesquite is for Whites

Bus

This is a mural ad I saw on the side of a bus this morning. It's for a resort and spa in the nearby town of Mesquite, Nevada, because SLCers need to go play somewhere, right?

There are some peculiar things about this ad, which I will now point out to you:

  • Everybody is white, first of all. Even though this town is lousy with Mexicans and Asians and Pacific Islanders, those ethnic groups can just go to hell as far as this bus is concerned.
  • Take a look at the two guys, one playing golf, one shooting skeet. They have their hands up to their visors so that they can see where their shots went without sunglare getting in the way even though they're already wearing caps with visors on them for exactly that purpose.
  • The lady playing tennis looks uncannily like Sarah Palin.
  • Next to the lady singing (is she singing karaoke, or is the other lady enjoying her professional performance?  Beats the hell out of me) another lady is serving some fine alcoholic beverages like Corona. Wow, seriously, Golf or Spa Getaway in Mesquite, Nevada? Corona? Damn...that's some exotic shit worth going out of state for.
  • The lady in the bikini drove her Delorean in from 1985 just to come to this awesome spa getaway.
  • Check out that lobster: exactly the sort of fine cuisine I expect when I travel to a resort in a landlocked state.
  • Finally, in the right-most window (my apologies for this terrible phone-pic), there's a silly old guy just hanging out being "funny". That's all. He has no activities, no food, no drinks, nothing. They should show him working a slot machine, since that's what old people do in Nevada, but instead he's just standing there with his arms flailing all about, everybody's wacky, and hated, uncle.

If you're a middle-aged white person, Mesquite's got the Golf or Spa Getaway you're been craving. Bonus: no coloreds!

I Can't Go for That

Halloates

As you may recall reading here, I was growing in a mustache to match my sideburns and longer hair in an attempt to, I don't know, look like the hero of one of those softcore 80's action pictures produced by Playboy. I looked at myself in the mirror yesterday morning after combing my hair, and the combination of the hair and my filling-in mustache made me look exactly like some nightmare combination of Hall and Oates, a creature that should never exist.

Needless to say, I shaved my upper lip immediately. Sorry, ladies.

Now Is the Time for All Good Men to Come to My Aid, by Which I Mean Give me $20

I set up a car payment for the 31st that will take all but about $7 of what I have in the bank account right now. So, I essentially have that much to survive on for all of next week. That is lame.

LAME.

Anyway, if you need me, I'll be the guy eating macaroni and cheese for dinner every day who doesn't even know when he'll be able to defecate next because he's out of toilet paper. I guess now's as good a time as any to kick caffeine. WARNING: I'm going to be a real dick for the following week.

Mintsanity

Thin_mint

This is a pic of the three boxes of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies my roommate has in her freezer. As some of you may know, it's ordering season again, or at least it's very close. Odds are, she will order more Thin Mints without eating any of the ones that she has in the freezer. She hordes them, because she's afraid of running out of them. I have tried to explain the insanity of this position, explaining to her that having them and not eating them is the same thing as not having them at all.

These cookies have been chilling in her freezer for a year!

Heather! Eat some of your Thin Mints! I don't even want any! I just want to see you eat some!

Every time I see those boxes in the freezer, I go a little more mad.

I've Forgotten How to Write

I wrote a couple paragraphs on a new idea just now, and I thought they were going pretty good, but then I noticed that my tenses were all screwed up. I saved the file, and I don't know when I'll ever get back to it.

That's as far as I could get: two paragraphs, and one of them was a pretty tiny paragraph. How can something that used to give me so much pleasure now seem like such a chore? Getting the words out of my head and onto the page was so much easier when I was young and had nothing to really occupy my mind but constant daydreaming. But daydreaming has been replaced with worry and depression, and unlike some of the greats, I do not find depression to be conducive to inspiration.

The mounting realization is that I will never succeed in any creative endeavor.

And I had so much potential in my youth.