Oct 15, 2009 (yesterday)

Running Oh, shit—is that my motherfucking bus? Shit, shit,...

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Running

Oh, shit—is that my motherfucking bus? Shit, shit, shit—I’m a whole fucking block away. I’ll just start walking really fast. Ah, fuck. I can’t be late again. I can’t. I’ve been fucking late the last two days and they’ll fucking fire me. It’s a stupid temp job, but still—I have to make rent this month. I can’t ask Mom and Dad to spot me again or they’ll think I’m a deadbeat. Oh, shit—this bag is so fucking heavy. Why the hell did I have to bring this fucking mammoth Philip K. Dick anthology? And my flask. Maybe I should run? Oh, fuck, I look like an idiot. I will not pump my arms like some kind of obese power walker. I will not. Hands at sides. Hands at sides. Shit! Stitch in my side, stitch in my side, stitch.in.my.side. I can’t breathe. Maybe I should stop smoking. Maybe I should stop drinking. Maybe I should, like, start exercising somehow. Oh, fuck. My feet hurt. These Vans are not made for running. Gonna stop now. Hands on knees. Breathe. Shit. Goodbye motherfucking bus. Oh, fuck that fucking job. Seems like a good day for some day-drinking. I deserve it. I fucking exercised.

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