Pop and Vic

"We are going downtown!" Pop shouts through my door.

"Okay."

I should have the house till late in the afternoon at least. I really do not want to waste any of these hours on a wank. I'm pretty wanked out, and I do want to get this "Atlas Shrugged" post behind me. I have not put up a book post in days and days.

my injun-nes in the white world

I’ve been struggling hard today with my... heh, how to put it? My isolation, my exclusion, my unfitness, my injun-nes in the white world, my complete failure as a human being. It started first thing in the morning upon waking up, as I was somehow focused on what a pivotal point it was when I got into contact with Dr. G. and gave him my journal, how nothing came of it, dwelling on how things might have gone differently if he could have given me something, a position, gotten me back on track somehow, and how my life could have been turned around. I was only thirty-one. And I haven’t been able to shake off this mood. There is this agonizing sense that: I don’t deserve this. I am better than this. Which makes it harder to accept what my life has not become. The unfairness of it all.

my sole means of exercise

"So much for going wankless today."

Well, it is my sole means of exercise, after all. Maybe I was a bit rash to discount it like that.

a ton of cokes

Pop come homes with a ton of cokes. Pop said, "They had a goood special." We already have a ton in the closet.

"Not a good time to go on your one-coke a day diet, is it?"

Nope.

"Maybe you should put that off for a couple of months."

Ha ha, I don't think so.

food would start to taste better

"Why the long face? Don't care for your chicken sandwich?"

Now that I am tightening down on what I eat, I guess I had this expectation that food would start to taste better.

"And it doesn't?"

Nope. It tastes like the same old shit.

"Not exactly Chick Fil-a, eh?"

I'm not even sure it should count as actual food.