God. I hate the universe right now. Words can't even begin to describe how much I want everybody and everything to go and drop dead. Right now. Right. The fuck. NOW.

So I just worked until like, midnight, and I didn't get home until one and I get to wake up at six and be back at work by seven. Work this work that work work work fucking work I want to fucking die I'm too tired to even bother with grammar too bad deal with it this fucking sucks I need coffee lots of coffee right now.

Coffee is man's greatest invention. Ever. In the history of the universe. Ever. The end. No questions asked. Coffee and cigarettes are all I need in life, up until I get lung cancer and I'm laying dying in bed, then I'll probably need a cigar. And a gun.

I'm a really pleasant person, I know.

Shut up. I'm not usually this bad. I just hate mornings and I hate where I am right now and I hate hate hate how I'm living and where I'm living and how it's like I work my fucking ass off at this stupid job and I'm not getting myself anywhere and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon and I don't know anybody and I'm single and I'm practically broke. Fuck. I tend to think in run-on sentences when I'm tired and pissed and trying to drive to work and drink my coffee and chain smoke at the same time but some stupid fuck keeps swerving in front of me and you know what, fuck you buddy, you're not the only one on the road. And yeah, I know I'd have more money if I'd just quit smoking, but I'd lose my mind if I quit smoking, so too fucking bad.

Besides, I've cut back.

Sort of.

I'm down to a pack a day.

Shut up. It's an improvement. I'm working on it, okay?

FUCK I wish I was sleeping. I should be sleeping. I have absolutely no idea why I'm not. It's summer. I'm a college kid. I should be sleeping. I'm not sleeping. I'm not at home. I'm in a shitty apartment and it's hot and I'm working in a mental hospital with a bunch of teenagers who like to try to interview me about my sexual orientation.

What is it with people and their fixation on my sexual orientation? What is it with the expression sexual orientation? Like what the hell. Where did that come from. It makes sense, but I don't care. It bothers me. It always makes me think of oral sex. What is it with me and my fixation on my sexual orientation?

I'm gay. Big deal. Whopty fucking doo. Good for me. Good for everybody who knows it. Good for anybody who cares.

Yeah. It's kind of a new thing. It shows. And by new, I mean I came out 3 or 4 years ago, but it's being gay, for chrissake. It's a big deal. It's still new. I'm still not used to it and it still bothers me when people call lesbians lesbos. I'm crazy, I know, but whatever. I kind of went through hell. Like a lot. I went through fucking hell to be somebody that a pretty good part of society hates me for and nobody seems to understand that I didn't chose to be this way and if I could just be straight, I probably would, because it'd just be so, so much easier.

But then again, I don't know. No, I wouldn't. I don't think I can ever with a guy. Ever. I don't even want to think about it. I don't want to think about getting married to some guy and going off and having kids and yayy straight sex every night. No. I sound like a total jackass, but I love women. Love. Women. I don't want to be with a guy. I don't want to not be with a woman.

I don't know how to explain it. It's not a choice, and yeah, fine, I'm hated for it, but I'm glad I'm 's not right. I don't know how to put it into words.

Oh, jesus christ. I hate bad drivers. That's another thing I hate about this job--getting there. I'm gonna get myself killed just getting to work. I can't deal with this. I'm barely awake. I'm not awake. My eyes hurt and I must look like I got punched in the eye, even though I'm wearing makeup, and I feel like a shitty piece of shit. Fucking. Shit.

I curse a lot when I'm pissed. Go figure. Pissed and tired and oh my god, no, do not tell me that was my last cigarette.

Yeah. That was my last cigarette.

Please let me die.

OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT ASSHOLE FUCKING THINKING I'M RIGHT NEXT TO HIM GOD IF YOU'RE REAL AND YOU DON'T HATE ME FOR BEING A FAG I DON'T REALLY WANT TO DIE PLEASE LET ME STAY ALIVE FOR NOW. PLEASE.

Oh. Hey. I'm not dead.

No accident yet. Okay. Life is good. I'm not dead and I have coffee and I'm almost at work and there's a cute halfie seventeen year old at work and--

What the fucking fuck. It's like I have a crush on her or something. Wow. I just said crush. I haven't called liking somebody a crush since about the fifth grade. I just said crush. Wow self. Nice job. No wonder people think I'm a freshman in high school sometimes. A lot of the time, actually.

At least I'll be able to laugh at them when I'm 45 and I look 30 and they're all sagging and wrinkly. If I haven't gotten lung cancer and blown my brains out by then, anyway.

I really want some potato chips. Oh my god. Chips. Right now. Need chips.

Fuck. I'm addicted to everything.

Mmmmm. Addiction.

--

"Spencer?" She's looking up at me and she has the cutest little puppy dog eyes.

Her being Ashley. And yeah, fine, I did just say that she has the cutest little puppy dog eyes. Hey, I'm not gonna lie. She does the whole "I'm so cute look at me" thing pretty well and she.

Shut up. I would've lost interest right now if it wasn't for the whole bi thing.

I'm completely ignoring the fact that the girls could've just been drunken hookups or something.

Whatever. Too bad. She's cute. That's it.

"What?" I'm glancing up from my clipboard and my pile of point sheets. What else do I ever do around here?

"My pancakes are cold," She's telling me, twisting her scrambled eggs (at least, I think that's what they're supposed to be) around her plastic fork and poking her pancake hopelessly.

"Be happy you get pancakes for breakfast," I'm telling her, shaking my half empty cup of coffee around. "This is my breakfast."

"Be happy you get coffee," She says back, chugging her little plastic cup of overly sugarified (is that a word?) apple juice and then she puts it back down and stares at me like I'm supposed to feel bad for her. Which I do. Sort of. I think.

I can't live without coffee.

I feel bad for her.

"You smoke, right?"

She nods. I'm watching her drum her fingers on the table and she's chewing her lip and her eyes are darting around the room.

Christ. I can't imagine life without coffee and cigarettes at the same time.

"Here," I'm pouring what's left of my "breakfast" into her empty plastic cup and smiling at her just the tiniest bit. I can't help it. She knows my stupid addictions. I wince at her agony.

"Can I have a cigarette too?"

"No."

God, I love this girl. She's like me minus everything.

That made no sense. I mean she's the girl I wished I was when I was in high school, except the part where I was always trying to be the good kid and the bad girl at the same time because I was scared of getting in trouble. Or something.

It seemed important at the time.

She gives me the look, and then pushes herself back in her chair and balances it on two legs and sips my coffee.

I feel like a good person. It feels good. Go figure.

--

I've only known that I'm gay for four and half years. I mean, I should've known for much much longer. I've had crushes on girls since I was in kindergarten, but I never really called them crushes. I'd tell myself that I just thought whoever she was was really pretty or that she was nice and I wanted to be her friend.

Friend. Right.

Well whatever. I figured it out eventually. That's all that matters. I was actually stoned at a party and this girl that everybody knew was gay or bi or whatever she was started flirting with me. I think. Or something. But I kissed her, she kissed back and we ended up.. yeah. So at first I thought like, "Oh my god, this bitch took advantage of me oh my god," and I was freaking out and everything. Then the next day I was making out with my boyfriend and I decided I wasn't going to tell him what happened because it didn't matter because I was stoned.

Yeah. Didn't matter. Right. I saw my boyfriend and I tried to kiss him and I gagged and I thought I was going to puke. It was awful. I told him I had a hangover.

Then I dumped him.

He outed me, for the most part. He didn't even know, he just heard about the party and started telling people I dumped him for her. Which wasn't necessarily true, we just started making out in bathrooms every now and then. I didn't dump him for her. I dumped him because he was disgusting.

I don't know. It sucked. The whole thing just sucked.

Then my brother found out. My good old homophobic brother. He's a total sweetheart. Sweet enough to out me to my mom.

Good old mom. I was almost eighteen when she found out. She just sort of.. kicked me out. Told me I disgusted her. Told me she never wanted to see me again. Told me I was dead to her.

It sucked.

The only good thing was that I already got accepted to college. I had my own money for college. So I bought a plane ticket and flew out to Los Angeles and now here I am, 21 and I'm working and going to school and I'm okay.

I'm as okay as I can be, considering, at least. And hey, that has to count for something, doesn't it?

I'm okay. It counts for something.

But yeah, that's why I'm working at this god awful job and I'm spending more than half my summer in here. Half, being that I'm spending the other half sleeping and bathing.

I feel like such a sob story. I actually spent a little while in a hospital like this one. Nothing long term or anything, just a couple of months because I was cutting myself when I was nineteen. No big deal. And I'm not like a cutter or anything. I stopped doing it. It's not like I'd done it for years and years up until then. I just.. I don't know. I was sad. I was stressed. It made me feel better, at least for a little while. It stopped me from blowing up at everybody around me. Apparently it's bad for you though. Shocker.

I still have contact with my other brother, Clay. Which is good. He's the only family I have left, really. I don't really think my dad hates me either, but it's not like I can call home. Not with my mom there. She's probably changed the number by now anyway.

Wow. I really need to stop. I'm acting like my life is horrible. It isn't. It really, really isn't. There was just that one little blip. Everything else was fine.