Catpiss and loveSatan

I suppose it all boils down to what my religion teacher (Gerald Leonard--profound mentor and so forth) told us the definition of a crazy person was--

"When you act the same way and expect a different result."

So relax, I guess--we're all crazy.

Some reason this doesn't offer me much solace.

I'm doing my laundry--picture it, america: me, doing my laundry. Alright. You are supposed to do trite things when you are bummed because it helps you not stare at the shit stain on the tapestry of your dreams.

Come to think I forgot to put the cleaning powder dust on my load with all the mismatched socks.

I paid two dollars and fifty cents for each machine. That is five dollars. Apparently these machines are better then the other machines, and there is a definite gentrification in this laundry mat but what can I say I save my tips.

But listen, I don't know how to feel, right now. I remind myself that that, too, is a feeling,

but still--

I bought a can of Pepsi. One dollar.

I guess I'll start by stating that life doesn't suck. Mind Congress has reached consensus on this point.

This is not controversial.

These past couple weeks I've relentlessly chased after a wonderful girl and have been rejected. However, I allowed my self to fester on, you know, the one phrase or two taken out of context that would allow me to assume all I needed was to reverboise my love words.

I wonder if I put enough soap in the machine--uh oh woops who cares.

Does it really matter what happened? I mean, whether--can't I just plead insanity and move on? Sometimes I'm going to be just plain wrong. And there is no way around it--sometimes reality is a unsurmountable fat bitch.

But listen, my feelings weren't wrong or anything. My confidence wasn't wrong, either--but my assumption that right methods equals perfect circumstances was, you know, wrong.

I guess I can accept that whole 'shit happens' framing in my head--this way my ego still feels perfect and my delusional spiritual cosmo christ complex still exists and I can just blame love satan for interfering.

Fuck you, loveSatan.

I don't know why it's hard to move on. Well, its cause I am not choosing to move on. I have to move on. Yesterday, I saw this episode of cops where this asshole was just pissed cause the cop yelled at him to stay in his car--kept on threatening to beat him up for he can have some semblence of control.

Yeah alright control is bullshit. There is no hard on that can out fuck lieph. Not even mine.

And Listen I want to swal;ow life whole but sometimes I just forget to chew, and I blame loveSatan.

Fuck you, loveSatan.

Besides, I'm very excited for my clothes to smell less like cat piss. This will, verily, help me pick up more chicks and less cats.