The Struggles of a Zero-Fucks Author (Part III)
Dedicated to all those who say the moronic words of, "Get a real job".
It has been about one week into my excruciating trip down here, in the sunny state of Florida; I have been doing whatever I want and been drinking and eating like a patriarch.
How sinful and evil of me, I know...
It is so depressing, living the life that I lead; I should've listened to all those people I called morons and pieces-of-shit.
I think I even called some of them 'skid marks' on the underpants of society...basically people who need to be wiped off the world's tighty-whitey.
Instead, of having to deal with sun, all the beer I can handle, a golf course in my backyard, endless entertainment and the ability to laze and graze like an Emu, I could've been 'living the dream' like a 'real man'. I could have been a second-class citizen in a marriage or in some CorporateLand glass jungle.
Wow, I have really screwed up.
For instance, my daily 9-5 grind over here is now starting to take it's toll on me; physically and mentally. This morning, as I began my 'commute' to my 'office' (this is so tragic)...I stumbled a bit on the 4th step out of the 5 that it takes to get from my bed to my computer desk. Somebody needs to admit me into rehab or send me to an old-folks home. I'm done for.
It was hard to hold the tears back.
To think, if I had not chose this life as a Zero-fucks author I could've been commuting like the rest and the best; 2 hours a day, compounding over a life-time, equaling years off your life; sucking in the toxic fumes of other vehicles and wasting precious hours trapped in box all day long.
As this thought entered my mind, as I got out bed in the shimmering sunlight that was burning through the window at 8:59 AM, I seriously thought about ending it all...
Like, I got super-duper depressed :( and the image of me bashing my brains against the desk chair, or drowning myself in the toilet bowl, had invaded my mind. Like how an idiot co-worker will invade your personal space for no goddamn reason other than to get attention and to talk, since their wife or husband won't talk to them anymore at home.
Like, that kind of nagging and annoying type of 'invade'.
My 5 step 'commute' to my 'work' is hell on earth. Everyday that I decide to write is like having cancer or no limbs from the waste down. Everyday that I have to stay in my pj's and walk 5 steps to my computer is no Christmas, I tell ya.
It's like the Holocaust....but without the deathly cold winters and the cool uniforms; MP40's and Kar 98's; my Pj's aren't striped, either...
Please, feel sorry for me. Pity is a form of currency I will take in these darkest of times...
To add to my plight, today (and this is so super-duper horrible :( you might not want to read further) I noticed I was running out of beer in the fridge! At the sight of only 10 beers left...I wanted to kill myself, again.
I then had to make the most depressing decision I have ever had to make down here: Should I just go out to the pool (semi-buzzed) or should I drive down to Publix and spend next-to-nothing on another 20 pack of Modelo Especial?
The sad part was, I didn't have time to make a decision....because someone here in the condo had just walked through the door with another fresh case of Modelo Especial. I got so angry at my failure....the failure of me not keeping the fridge stocked properly ( It must have a minimum of 12 beers cold and ready to go),
I began to, again, contemplate suicide; by putting my head between the fridge and it's door; slamming my skull into oblivion and painting the tiles below, red...
A) You can't drink in the office.
B) A modern wife would probably throw all your beer out because you are having 'too much fun' with the boys.
Ah, yep....I sure do wish I would have gotten a 'real job', 'manned-up' and got myself a fat-fucking cunt of a wife who is plotting to screw me over.
If I would have done those things, I wouldn't have to deal with all of these issues I am having down here right now...
Why is God so cruel?....