Untitled Work #2

It's finally the weekend!! Alas, my exhaustion never rests. Every day is some form of work. Chores are a terrible mire in my existence that I try to avoid but am condemned to wade into eventually. I haven't shaved my legs in about a week and I have no clean leggings to hide my shame in. I am not quite sure what clothes are clean, to be honest. My morning has been filled with resentment toward the artists I know that are not as constantly unkempt and disheveled as I. As I.

I try to excuse myself with reminders that I work and go to school full time, but I know there are human beings that manage to maintain their illusion of being responsible adults while juggling these activities. I should start working out as well. I am beginning to feel more myself on the inside than on the outside. It is a small relief to be feeling more myself at all, I suppose. But I need to work out. My only concern is that I have built up so much momentum and any small goal I add could be the thing that breaks it. I've built up so much momentum I am not entirely sure what I am running toward anymore and if I stop I am sure to die here, lost.

Anyway, I wrote a small thing yesterday, in the midst of reading small things, it is a window into work-place neurosis:

"Cupped over her face- the burning scent of eucalyptus and alcohol, giving way to serenity. She huffed the antiseptic desperately hoping it would wash away the unintelligible chatter of the department next to her and their completely foreign jargon. She could not even imagine what their day entailed, though she heard their venting, and their triumphs, for somewhere over forty hours a week.

She wished it would wash away the soft, lifeless, chuckle of her cellmate. The soulless braying was killing her. His toneless voice permeated the neural transmissions tingling across her brain, biting into her consciousness. Like an infestation. It was killing her. Those bites were destroying her. Limiting her thoughts. Her focus. All she could do was try to separate herself from his voice.

This hatred was unnatural. She knew this. A symptom of a larger problem. She didn't hate him. She would leave, and, over time, consider his awkward shuffle through life less and less. Now, her jaw would not unclench. His buzzing was very real. How could he seem unaffected by the mirthless re-verb in his own voice? How could they all seem unphased? He would surely get a promotion soon. The chemical scent would burn these thoughts away. She took another huff. It would deaden her senses to him. She glanced at him beyond the divider, from the corner of her eye, and deeply inhaled."

Outside of that small foray into creative writing I have some things to show you.
Runnin' (Lose It All) by Naughty Boy, ft Beyonce is one of the things I am feelin today. It's gorgeous. I am sure to draw something inspired by their underwater ballet. These two people are incredibly impressive, possibly because I don't understand "Hollywood magic" and can't accept this was edited in some way that would make it less impressive. This is the truth in the world. People are magic and people can do magical things- like dance in the sea.

In things less magic: Justin Beiber's latest video just kind of proves he would be the worst person in the world to engage in sexual intercourse with. Or any intercourse, probably. Who thinks pretending to kidnap your girlfriend is a cute idea?! Justin Beiber does, that's who.
This video should have ended with this: "OMG, babe" (Justin Beiber would definitely call his S.O. babe) "You should have seen your face!! That was classic- but no, babe, it's all cool, it's all good. Look, there's skate boarders and dancing!! This is totally not sketchy...please don't cry...where are you going babe?! Babe?!"

Finally, Drake:

Just watch it. It will surprise you.

All of this inspired by my youth- I miss when MTV and VH1 were better at exposing people to music videos.


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