Down

I thought high school was the lowest point, but there are some nights when I come home from work and I feel like I'm falling deeper than ever. Time is the source of my sorrow and as more time passes, the more I realize how far away I am from the happiest days.

My happiest days were as a child, when there were no worries and just love. As a child I loved so much. The more I learn about the way things truly are, the more I hate this world. I see how other people hate and it takes away my enthusiasm. I used to have so much more excitement within me.

People, myself included, are becoming more disgusting every day. We are a disease on this earth. The worst part is that there are so many people who don't realize how destructive our species is. All they can think about is their own pathetic existence. This life is not about you or me. Why does everything feel so pointless?

I have always wanted to leave but I could never figure out how.

Nothing

Getting over a sickness now that had me breathing like death rattles. Asleep is the best I ever felt. I cough up green gobs of something, but it doesn't taste metallic like it used to. As I first showed symptoms of sickness, people at work told me I must have bad allergies. They tell me this to make themselves feel better. They're stuck in an office all day with me walking around, carrying my germs so close to their precious sterilized cubicles. I am the living incubator.

A sticky note was posted next to one office door ordering me not to enter. It is okay with me. I can cough on my hands and touch the copier. Whatever it is, it will go around anyway. You will be exposed no matter how hard you try.





I'm pretty sure this was the illness of the bagless vacuum dust; most likely an infection from something evil I sucked from my carpets. As I emptied the canister the weekend I got sick, I marveled at the dust strata, the different shades of gray running parallel in lifts. I wiggled the dust cakes and they released puffs of white garbage, which proceeded promptly to my lungs.

There is a smell of dog that lingers in my bedroom, probably from the previous tenant who locked some poor poopy-pants in there all day, slobbering and scratching stink particles all over the room. I proceeded to attack the smell with my empty vacuum. Thinking clean thoughts, I willed it to go away. The vacuum would work, I knew it.

The smell is still there. I don't know what to do.





I had almost recovered from the illness when I decided to mix root beer with something awful. It made me so sick to my stomach that it felt like I was trying to digest knives for days.


Baby, yes, it's good to eat dinner. You're silly. Did you forget, or were you not hungry?