So tired. So so so fucking tired. Just trying to get through one. More. Thing and eventually get to bed and get to sleep for a minute before being woken up again by involuntary vomit filling your mouth and waking you up to the burning lava before you drown.
You reach to close the slats of the blinds against the night and the neighbors' eyes. And the stupid twisty pole-stick thingy just comes right out into your hands. Just quietly detaches to add to the futility and you just let it drop. Just let that useless-ass stick that gave up functionality just drop the same way you drop your tired puffy aching stupid fat head and slap your whole face down into your too-small hands that just can't even begin to carry all of the weight you've accumulated and saddled yourself with.
One bill at a time. One fork at a time. Another fucking night at a time.
Is it true that some people really wake up ready and well-rested for their day? How does one get that to occur?
All I know is this fucking stick-wand-thingy is still going to be here tomorrow, on the fucking floor on a bed of soft decaying piles of my shed head hair, right under the window where everyone can see in and knows I am an old bitch-ass sloppy-as-fuck sack of shit.
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