Dear diary

 

Dear diary. I'm calling you diary, so that people won't think I'm borderline insane -I'am- and talk to my imaginary friend. Not quite trailer park Fight Club, more like a Walmart Mr. Brooks minus the serial killing. So far...

 It's Saturday night after a long week.  Loneliness creeps in. Feels like I'm living on a movie. Not the right kind of movie, not the thrilling kind. I feel like an extra in my own life. Under paid, insignificant and completely expendable. Who the fuck is the screenwriter?

Nowadays every place you go is a place full of people with bad mental health. Specially home. The weekend is a bukkake of depression, self pity, cynicism and boredom. I watched all three Pitch Perfect films in a row. Well, it could be worse. Watching Godard and posting quotes from his films on social media, to show my intellectual superiority and exquisite taste. I read an article on a shitty film site, where talentless pretentious people who can't write, praise talentless pretentious people who can't direct or act. The author was saying something like "now that Godard is dead, I must watch all of his films, so that my brain-damaged Pokemon hipster friends won't think I'm an uncultured swine". So it's just French arthouse films, of teenagers fucking chickens for you huh? You art connaisseur. Jesus Christ, not even Godard has watched all of his films.

I'm tired of reading meaningless crap from people who think you're an awful person, just because they are vegan and meditate every day at four in the morning. I miss how cigarettes functioned like clocks, carving out time. Better times. I hate my job. My boss is sexually aggressive with me, always inappropriate touching. I’m self employed. I just need DILF. Days I'd like to forget. Last girl that liked me, was a bisexual guy, he works at a noodle place on weekdays. I can confirm drinking enough makes you forget. Drink even more and you suffer just enough brain damage to lose memories. But not fast enough. Feel dead for four lives or more. On good days.

I just want somebody to laugh at everything, specially sarcastic memes. Sending memes is a love language. There is probably an alternate universe where this world salad makes sense but this isn’t it. Horniness is an illusion, an alienation. We have to take repossession of our means of reproduction. My midlife crisis has an existential crisis with extra steps. Last time I had fun, was doing chores on LSD. Then you wake up and feel horrible because the only place where you are happy are in your dreams. Is emptiness also a feeling? The only one on the menu?

What should I watch next?