Papa May Have

Billie Holiday.

Can we all just, not?

Must people come through at 5 minutes to close and order something, then bitch about it? Maybe it's just me, but sometimes I truly hate people. I miss Ryan. Fuck feelings. My chest hurts. I hope that egg was okay. Hm. Hm. Paranoia. I just can't seem to sleep until late late at night. I paint, read, watch shows, write, sit, whatever, but it doesn't work. My stomach is growling and I know I'm in a horrible fix. I think about death when I read, sometimes. How odd it would be to not be. Be to not be. I adore thoughts of passion, of lips and legs and hair and coffee days. It's all too good for me, but I will better myself. Drugs? Okay. Alcohol? Okay. I just can't sleep. Don't you see: this life isn't all nine to five work five to ten zombie ten to six sleep six to nine pretty up. It's two: love; three: mistakes; four: crash the car; five: drive me home in the rain. I'll never be the same. Not after Joe, my first boyfriend, Zach, my first love, and Ryan, my first friend. I'll remember these people when I'm old and have nothing to talk about but my past. I'll talk about Jenna and our 6 years of friendship. I'll talk about Gmo, the first real asswipe I ever got involved with. I'll talk about Richard Gamez and his conspiracy theories and Vietnam stories. I'll talk about Kelly and Becca and Rayna and all the people I didn't like at first then did. I am so so so tired. I will only get 4.5 hours of sleep tonight. At most. Maybe only 4. This isn't good. I want physical touch, want to cuddle, just unwind and fucking watch Netflix with Ryan or go get a fucking massage or whatever. I hate the public. I hate middle aged women with dyed hair and frosted highlights and purple jackets and big chunky jewelry and a constant need for white mocha sauce. I hate little kids who scream into the voice box, I REALLY hate awkward, snooty, unsure-of-themselves-overly-happy teenagers who think every moment is their big moment. I hate feeling so much pressure to do my work a certain way when I know if I was just left alone like I am with good shifts, I'd be able to get stuff done quicker. When I'm losing my shit, I'm not more productive. Hell, tonight I was slow and cranky.  Yes. But fuck, I'm a human. If we've lost that concept in retail, I'm confused. I don't go to restaurants and treat waiters like shit. I don't go to coffee shops and think that I am fucking owed free shit or heavenly service just because I'm shelling out several bucks for a drink. Yeah, treat me with respect. Yeah, do your best. Cool. But don't fucking dehumanize me, or come around telling me my coworkers "paid" you for a drink that was always (really, ALWAYS?) made wrong... first, fix your fucking grammar. You paid them. Fuck. Seriously? Don't waste my time, please. There's people behind you in line. It's like, I'd love to give you free shit, but yeah, not really. You don't fucking deserve it!! You really expected me to give you something. And when I didn't, you ASKED for it?? Nerve. Wow. Ugh. And you, fucking sprawling out all over our lobby with your kid and his PSP making noise every 5 seconds, PLEASE LEAVE. SERIOUSLY. YOU DO NOT LIVE HERE. YOU ARE NOT DOING ANYTHING PRODUCTIVE LIKE WORK OR STUDY. YOU'RE JUST TAKING UP SPACE IN THE NICE LOBBY CHAIRS. KBYE??? Okay this is moving to Tumblrrr.