I heard somewhere recently that people are the most creative at the times they think that they are utterly useless: like in the morning before getting coffee or while surrounded by ******* co-workers who won't shut up about their stupid gun collection (cause seriously, no one cares about how big your **** isn't, Phil.)
The amount of ***** anyone can give in a day varies based of many factors - the amount of sleep someone has the night before or if they ate breakfast that morning, for example, can determine how many ***** a person has to spare.
It is in that spirit - despite my better judgement - I am writing to you at four AM. Sitting in my underwear, Forcing my eyes to stay open, licking my dust-dry lips. and realizing that I forgot to brush my teeth - I'm writing that tid-bit that down in hopes it will embarrass me into making a proper oral hygiene choice sometime in between when I finish writing this and before I pass out from exhaustion.
If someone deems a person or a situation not worth their emotional effort, they can choose to not give a ****, despite having ***** they can give.
Today at work: Everyone kept asking me if I was alright I told them that I think so - because, that's the truth. But also because it's easier to say than "I don't want to be here, and your face annoys me"
A **** is approximately two damns. A **** is two *****, and a **** is two rat's *****.
I don't have much to say in this piece So I'm hoping that self-deprecation and artsy-fartsy stream of consciousness still passes for decent poetry these days.