I've been doing a lot of "soul searching" lately... I don't know if it's just that I'm in the middle of a manic phase or what but I'm thinking fairly clearly. Well, I think I'm thinking clearly. Et tu brute. No... Damn, what is the cool latin for "I think, therefore I am." Cogeto ergo sum. Yeah, I'm college educated. Yet, I work at Little Caesars, home for infinite losers.
My basement smells like shit. No, literally. It's because my family dog, Chickie, uses this place as her bathroom. There is literally shit lying on the ground two feet away. Why didn't I pick it up the moment I first noticed it (24 hours ago)? I'm fucking lazy, first off. Also, my not doing it is a form of protest that no one else will see. I feel like constantly picking it up makes it my responsibility. Like I owned the shit picking up job or that the dog shit down here for me to pick it up. Like it was an expected part of the circle of life that is "my house." I hate that. I eventually do pick it up, of course. It's just fucking sick, otherwise. But, I leave it there for a day or two (or fucking more if it's far enough away from the places I habitat, in all fucking honesty) just so if someone comes by they will see it and think "Stephen is definitely not the dog's bitch. He is a hardcore man."
Eh, my life needs a serious overhaul.
I was going to go all out as I sometimes do and write like five pages of all my current problems and proposed solutions to those problems but I think that this anecdote about my dog's feces is enough for tonight. I save the really good stuff for a later entry.
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