Sunday, January 2
Don't you just love spitting phlegm onto other people?

Today at lunch the mother and I had an interesting conversation.

Momma: Are you ready to go back to school tomorrow?
Futureless Whore: No.

And then she starts talking about this business that she'll someday run if she knew enough english, called Dog Pick Poop. Excuse her lack of english with the name. It's a little place in Central Park, New York City, that for only a few bucks will pick up your cat's, dog's, coon's, bitch's poo on the ground that it leaves while you walk it around the park, instead of carrying your own brown paper bag with Axl Rose's face on it. My mother says that she will hire dumbasses who don't go to school. And that's why she wants to start this business just for me.

You're probably wondering, what if someone asks her what her job is? She says she's real damn proud of it, because she's the owner, the manager, the CEO, not one of the workers and won't smell like shit - she'll spray perfume and boss the workers around so they'll pick up as much shit as they possibly can - for only two dollars an hour. Then she says more crazy shit of how proud and original this idea was for a business. And loudly, I mean super fucking loudly - her eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree - proclaims, "I AM PROUD OF MY BUSINESS! DOG PICK POOP! I ONLY I, I CAN THINK UP OF THIS AND NO ONE CAN MAKE FUN OF ME BECAUSE IT'S FUN!" She yells this real fucking loud while pounding her chest and spreading her arms out like Tarzan.

I have never, never had this much trouble with a crossword puzzle before. The chemistry teacher assigned it for extra credit, which I desperately need or else I die in the realms of No More Money Land. It's all this shit about physicists or chemists or some shit and what they discovered. The book is incredibly boring. I'll probably end up not finishing it anyway. Like everything else I do. I felt like ripping my hair out. It's fucking impossible. The last time I wanted to rip my hair out was hearing this stupid song somewhere that goes, "Boom boom boom, I want you in my room." Oh god, that really hurt.

So now I'm going to have to bathe regularly again and have to change my clothes every day. It's not fair. Living like a bum is what I live for. Yes, I am gross. But admit, you do it too. Maybe some of you worse than I.

Tomorrow I'm going to need more lunch money. To buy more chocolate. Because I've been going crazy. All I have left is this croissant. If you put sunglasses on and squint your eyes, it sort of looks like chocolate.


Christina N. @ 6:50 PM