Haven't written in a while. Trying to make a habit of expresing myself in a few different ways.
Cold shave on a dead snow winter Sunday. Overlooking the once was an apple tree. Does an apple tree cease to be an apple tree when I doesn’t pro due and apples? I sure as shit stop getting paid when I stop going to work. I’m no longer a design, and that’s no apple tree.
I fucking hate winter. The element went bust on the hot water heater. The cost was a hundred bucks to fix it so I told the electrician to get the fuck out of there. He charged my 35 for the trouble.
I guess hating winter is bullshit though when I also hate summer. Sunburn and mosquitos. Jesus H.
I’m not some misanthropic deep son-of-a-bitch. I like plenty. I like legs, I really do. I like then feeling in your hand of a cold beer, knowing the first sip will be good before it gets there.
Some people wouldn’t know what they liked if you slapped it with them. Put a million bucks in front of them and like a low hussy they’ll grab it. But give them an opportunity and they look at you like a dog you’ve just shouted at for shitting on the carpet. No idea, just like a dog. Never give a kid carte blanche, it’s just beyond them. They’ll bitch and moan about their jobs, their boss, their whatever. And there is not reason for them to be there. For what - a buck? Fuck a buck.
It’s only eight fifteen and I’m sick of this day already.