Everyone's A Critic

"Don't let the wolves get you, love."

Is it me, or was there a great deal of blood, vomit, and man-on-man kissing on SNL last night?
I can't think of three things that go more perfect together.

I lost my rubber band while in a department store yesterday. No one understood why its sudden departure from my wrist made me feel sad. I suppose it is stupid;
Associating feelings with a rubber band.
"Maybe you'll be given another one."

Yesterday may have been the greatest thrifting misadventure I have
had in quite some time. $20 bought me some amazing things.
No one seems to like anything I bought.
They particularly don't understand the glasses without lenses.
But then again, I never asked them to understand.

I had a flat tire yesterday.

We had our first snow today.

While at work today, some strange man (not employed by Forever 21 and quite possibly not employed by anyone) walked into our "Employees Only" room. He came out a few moments later. Then, while I was in our stock room, he walked in again to use our drinking fountain, wearing a fedora with the censor still on it. I don't know who he was or what made him think he could just walk back there, but I loved it. (I later asked him to meet me in the fitting room for a good ol' fashioned fuck. He agreed and it was spectacular.)

I had someone read my 15 pages of novella.
"It's a work in progress."
I feel like I'm wasting my time
and I certainly feel people doubting me entirely.

Wouldn't it be fun if we could wake up
and be whoever we wanted to be?
I mean, imagine the confusion.
New skin, new thoughts, same bed.
You greet the day and no one knows who you are.
How refreshing.
(Tomorrow, I hope to be Paul Rudd so I can spend the entire day touching myself. Actually, regardless of who I wake up being tomorrow, touching myself will probably take up the better part of my day.)

Oy vey.