If you are reading this, then I needn’t apologize for anything I say because you ignored the signage. I ignore signs all the time, so I’m certainly in no place to judge. My foot sets the speed limit, not numbers on a sign. Turbo does what turbo wants. I’m just a puppet.
Or, you know, if I were still allowed to drive I’d be turbo’s puppet.
I could use a good long drive right now. Hop in the car, pick a direction and drive for hours. Music blasting, bun toasters toasting, worries and troubles temporarily left in the rear view.
That worked for me. When I get tired of driving, I turn around and go back to the shit show. It was way cheaper than a therapy session if you look at the hourly rate.
I need something. Maybe a little sleep, or a fucking break. I say derogatory things to myself thinking I can slander my sicknesses into submission. Wear those fuckers down until they trudge off defeated. It’s not working. I’m going about it all the wrong way.
I should say nice things to my apparently now personified diseases. Maybe they’ll be nice in return and leave me the fuck alone, or at the very least let me enjoy a short walk without feeling like it’s raining hedgehogs and tear gas.
I should stop whining so much. I should put on my game face and take better care of myself. I should get out more, and do more. I should be glad that I’m not worse off because “there are people out there who are really sick”(whatever the hell that was supposed to mean). I should learn when to keep my mouth shut, and learn when to speak out of turn. I should not let the man get me down. I should not blame the man for every little thing. I should stop trying to ‘type’ with my boob (dropped my phone right on the ole tit). I should be more appreciative. I should realize while honesty is usually considered a good trait, not everyone wants to know exactly what I’m thinking. I should be more patient. I should be more pushy. I should think less and act more. I should think before I act. I should not mindlessly eat Cheetos, because they are fucking vile turds shat out by ungodly radioactive beasts that stain everything orange. But they sure are tasty little turds.
There are a lot of things I should or shouldn’t do, to include should’ing myself, but I’m doing the best I fucking can even if my best is in a sad state right now.
One last thing…Please tell me I’m not the only one who can’t watch more than 45 seconds of a GOP debate without wanting to drive a railroad spike into my brain. Whew, that was rough.