you make me feel like a bullet
You know I'm cold as a hired sword
Mike bought me an iPod, and with about 3,259 songs on it right now I've set it to a random shuffle mode. I've heard some songs for the first time. Other's I'd forgotten I had. I mean, it's not like I'm always listening to The Lemonheads anymore.
I've reached a point where there's no food in my home that I desire. For some reason this is what happens when I'm broke. Something in my psyche decides that the first expense to lose is food. I demand that I eat only the food that is in my house, until that food is completely gone. This demand leads to a displeasure in looking at the same cupboard contents three times a day. This displeasure leads to the cupboard being closed and me not eating much more than frosted mini-wheats.
My body has been ill lately, and so perhaps more feeding would have been adviseable, but I feel so weak.
Last Thursday I donated plasma (and got $20 for my gas tank) which is a great condition to put your body in if you're ever expecting a disease to inhabit. That, combined with green-pill feelings of zapped energy has left me nearly imobile ever since.
I live in a roomy 3 bedroom house with only one other person. Three cats. My roommate is gone a lot. Her boyfriend lives across the street. Hours on end I sit in a dazed stare. On a computer. With a television. Contemplating how uncomfortable my body feels.
Interviewed for a job at a coffee shop today. Waiting for a call-back to Peir One. The winery up the road have not selected me. I'm not going to ever make money.
You know why my entries are so dull? Because I have no social interactions any more. But I'm going to try anyway.
Maybe it's just a funk. I really long ass funk.
