End of my rope
Lord A'mighty, does it ever end?
I'm constantly seeking answers to the perpetual dilemma of dying in my life. Getting by by killing myself just won't hack it anymore. People can see I'm searching, hoping against hope, ripe for the picking. All they ever offer is shit.
"Hey, Harry, I know where they're hiring: over at the Gold Standard Toilet Paper company." Is he shitting me?
"Shaft" is the one telling me this, a big black burly guy just like the movie character. Don't know his real name as we've never directly come across each other before though we have mutual acquaintances. But is he fucking with me or not??
"Yeah, man, you know everyone need their ass wiped, rain or shine. You won't never get laid off there!"
The future is shit. Long live the future.
What I'd be doing is hand rolling the toilet paper by turning a crank, counting the sheets until it reaches "400 or some shit like that." Then repeat for eight hours of my soul's life. Maybe because he's seen me around doing so many other crap jobs he thinks I'd be fine with this one. Scariest part is, after a lifetime of losing, I don't know what else is out there for me.
Not that I know everything.
Have I given life a true chance? There's a reason shit like this keeps happening to me as I keep drawing it in. I need to give up the old ways. It's true I do blame a justly wrong world for many of my woes. But how much am I the architect of my own demise? That part I conveniently leave out. Would I be happy even if not stranded on a dying planet? The fool on the hill can never know.
I apologize to Emily, her dear heart should be praised and preserved at all costs. It sure brought out all my insecurities, no doubt.
I've never allowed anything good in my life. Guess I didn't want (and feared) the responsibility. I snipped those flowers like a possessed madman. To really say something about a God-forsaken world I must not be forsaking myself. Oops.
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