Parallel Universe: Day 1.5. Anyway. I have no vision, really. No contacts. No glasses. It isn't too hard to see. I can do it. I can pass. But today when I went to Wal-Mart, which I hate doing, and asked the lovely fuckin lady if I could get some contacts, and she said "no," because it was the law, and I said, "well that's a stupid law," I felt very helpless and vulnerable. Something about realizing how little you can see on your own, makes a person feel like their dying. My body is already deteriorating. Everything is giving out. Knees, hips, lungs, eyes, and intestines. It's really sad. How long am I supposed to live if things are already falling apart. Not sixty more years, I'll tell you that much. If I even make it that far, everything in my pathetic body will have to be made of metal and plastics.
I was thinking today about what it would be like to have a robotic arm. I decided that apart from having to tie a trash bag around yourself while showering, it would be pretty neat. An arm full of microchips and blinking red lights. And when you went to bed would have to wear a long glove over it, because the metal would get really cold, and you'd wake up if you touched it to your body. That was the other thing I thought, just having this dead, while simultaneously alive appendage, would be bizarre. A cold steel arm. Weird.
I was feeling better today about everyone. Maybe it's because I'm in a dream like state right now. But everyone seemed pleasant and kind. Or maybe it was because I slept in my own bed last night, which was delightful, but empty. I slept a lot too. I love sleeping next to windows, especially when they have wooden blinds. When the sun rises, it projects these little slits of light onto your body, and it's really beautiful to wake up to that.
I need more money, and am thinking about getting another job of sorts. Who knows what I'll do. I feel like I have been trying to take up every opportunity to make cash, not every one, but most. I sorted yarn for six hours. I am going to paint my grandma's ceiling. I need to call her about that. I don't know. I need to stop spending money in little amounts. Like on packs of cigarettes. I need to quit smoking. I don't want to, but should certainly cut the fuck back. I feel like I need some sort of break too. Which is why I am going to drink this weekend. I looks stupid in writing, it looks simple and pathetic. But seriously, if I don't loose myself for a few hours, I might freak out more than I am right now. OH man... I think I should work now. But it's been nice talking to you. I am always a lot better at explaining myself in writing form, as opposed to verbally. Then I just don't make sense, and sound irrational and scatterbrained. But I know what I'm thinking. It's just hard to look at someone and tell them exactly what you're thinking in an efficient, effective and poetic way. I'd like to though.