The Make Believe of Barbie Dolls

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One day, I have nothing to say. The next day, I can't say enough. And now that I have a slight case of writers block, I have do admit that I have time to write. I also increased my human exposure again today. I went for my walk. It was good, and it knocked me the hell out when I got back home. But it felt great to start up on my exercising again. The hardest thing to get done is exercise. For some reason it's like anathema to me. I know, some people pop up out of bed and hop over to the gym for hours of exercising on end, but I'm not that kind of guy. I'm the more cerebral type, who get's fat and wears glasses.


I think though. I love to think when I walk and shit. I do find walking addictive, like I do shitting. Did you ever marvel at that shit? You do your best thinking, when it's 1) quiet and you're sitting, 2) walking, or the hybrid 3) shitting. It's amazing, that your thoughts run so wild and rampant while you're shitting, that many times you plain forget what the fuck you were thinking of when you get up off the bowl. That's what I have to say to myself. When I'm walking, I'm Writing. And when I'm shitting, I'm Writing. I do my best work while sitting on the fucking bowl.



But that's besides the point. I hazard walking down the street again amongst my fellow New Yorkers, and maybe I don't know or have never known, but New Yorkers can be a rude bunch of people. If you are a person with a short fuse, you must find it hard to deal with the average New York idiot. People do some stupid, selfish shit under the guise of ignorance. When you call them to the carpet, they turn to you angrily and have the nerve to say, "excuse me," as if you just cut THEM off. I don't let them bother me though. I could get angry and rail against these fools, but first, I'd have to generate the desire to care for them enough to get angry.



It's kinda like amoeba (I told you that NOBODY or NOTHING escapes my wrath!). Those fucking amoeba. Who the fuck do they think that they are? Going around sticking their fucking pseudopods everywhere, swallowing up shit. They don't even ask you if they can take your bacteria, they just come along and take it. Fucking amoeba are assholes.



Now this may be perfectly true, amoeba may be perfect assholes, but DO YOU GIVE A FLYING SHIT? Even when these little shits inconvenience you, you really don't care, because it's just hard to generate the emotional energy to do anything more then shrug your shoulders and go "Oh well." Well, that's what happens to me when an asshole does something stupid. Such as this asshole New York Meter maid today. This chick, must be under the impression that since her uniform looks like a New York City cop's, she must be one. The truth is, if you socked her in the fucking nose, you go to jail, like FOREVER in New York now for assaulting a Federal employee.



But that's a point that's beside her fucked up ass. I'm standing behind this old man buying shit, and I have to tell you something that I'm going to rant about, maybe tomorrow, is the fact that old people have to buy one or two things, with exact change. Then they have to try to count it, count badly, and hand the job over to the cashier who has to count the change all over again. But more on this tomorrow. Needless to say, this old fart is counting out change, and it's too easy to pull your hair out and shout, but I get behind grand-daddy dirt, and patiently await my turn. So I chill out and let the old geezer gather his wits about him, because all the change counting has gotten him discombobulated. Then this GASH walks up in front of Mr. Old as a dinosaur's best friend, and puts her shit up on the counter and hands over her money to the cashier. Now, first, I can blame the fucking cashier for just taking her money, and not telling her that the line is behind me, but so what, who gives a shit. Then I should have blown her ears off telling her I was waiting for grand dad, but selfish fucks tire me out. She gets her shit and runs out of the store and I know, and this is the rub, that this woman will never grace my life again, ever.



That's the beauty of New York that's important to realize. Your chances of meeting the same person twice is 1 in a million. A person can be allowed into your life, or be allowed to vanish into the ether from whence they came. If I would have told that bitch off and she turned on me and forced me to sock her in the nose, she would have made it her life's goal to find me and have me brought up on charges. Therefore, because of my actions, I would have brought her satellite into the orbit of my life.



But I'd rather she vanish into the sea of faceless nobodies that walk past me daily as I head upstairs to  my room. Grateful to close the door and shut out the world. 

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