Tag Archives: plan

Good Job, Amanda. Good Fucking Job

Let’s recap. I’m 25, I’m a fucked-up barely functional pretense of an adult, and I’ve moved back in with my parents.

I got my heart broken — which I deserved. I developed a drug addiction and massive credit card debt, and lost all my friends — who, honestly I barely had in the first place. So I ran home.

Fuck me. Fuck me fuck me fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme FUCK. ME.

I don’t remember the exact date that I left Winston Salem and moved back in with my parents, but I know that I’ve been here a few days short of a month.

I know that honestly, I probably saved my own life. I know that… I know that I would have eventually… It was getting to the point of being irrevocable. And after seven years, not worrying about money has been nice. I got a $100 haircut yesterday. Because I could.

I really couldn’t care less.

I hate this.

I hate my new job.

I fucking hate only being able to smoke a cigarette about twice a day.

I hate not knowing where anything is in town and spending an insane amount of time driving around half lost.

I hate being sober. I’m going to say it again. I hate being sober. I hate it! I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT GODDAMNIT I WANT MY DRUGS. Fuck you, America. Fuck you, Republicans. Fuck you and your fake separation of church and state. Fuck you and your fucking anti-drug legislation. Fuck you America for being so broken and greedy and fucked up. Where are your priorities America? You want to fix the economy? Let R J Reynolds sell packs of joints and tax the hell out of them. I’ll sure as fuck pay for it.

They’ve got the machines ready. RJR has machines in their warehouses that are ready to roll up a pot cigarette right next to their regular cigarette rolling machines. That’s not a fucking joke, either. R J Reynolds knows. They know it’s coming.

I hate not having a single fucking sane person to talk to and I hate living in this batshit-crazy-for-Jesus house.

I’d forgotten, honestly. Seven years; it’s not so long but it’s, eh… 28% of my life so far. Long enough to forget. Long enough to forget how fucking repressive and revolting it is to live with hyper right-wing Jesus freaks. Seriously. These are people who read (and believe and agree with!) World Magazine. Who play Sean Hannity’s entire radio program every afternoon. Who — no fucking lie — have recordable VHS tapes labeled Close Encounters of the God Kind and Bibleman and Prayer Bear 3; who have the entire Left Behind series. In Hardback.

I’d forgotten that my middle sister is a loud, obnoxious brat who thinks cruelty is funny and my baby sister is prone to frantic melodramatism is order to retain some of the attention. I hate it. I want them both to shut up and go away and never talk to me again.

I’d forgotten how dutifully my… family buys into the pretense of consumerism. I’d forgotten about the sheer amount of money they spend on material crap that settles into a constant patina of clutter in the living room and kitchen and hallways. It disgusts me. Fuck your possessions. Use your money for something meaningful.

A month.

Occasionally it’s very nice to have the memory/attention span of a squirrel. Time passes quickly when you can’t remember it.


There is a plan. It’s flexible. Timing is… at this point, a little vague. But there are ingredients:

  • Move out.

This one is not going to happen immediately. I’m going to have to see how much money I’ll make when Famous Anthony’s opens up and I start waiting tables for them. I’m going to have too see if I can handle working at Target and Famous A’s at the same time. Or rather, I should say, I’m going to have to see if I make enough money at Famous A’s to justify quitting Target. I know I’m going to have to quit Target anyway when I start school in January.

  • Finish school.

I actually filled out the paperwork today at the community college. I have an appointment with an adviser on Tuesday. I’m going to hate it and I’m going to be scared shitless but I’ve got to do it. I’ve got to quite fucking around, and I’ve got to get my Web Development degree.  So I can quit fucking around with jobs like Target and support myself in a way that doesn’t make me feel like a fucking extra in Attack of the Clones. And for the money. And the money is so I can:

  • Get A Place

Which is different than moving out. Getting a place involves actually having a modest little old house of my own — and it will be modest and will be little and it will be old, because even if for some reason out of bizzarro world I actually make a decent amount of money one day, I don’t need more than a bedroom and a bathroom and a kitchen and a living room. You know why? Because consumerism is fucking disgusting. There are enough perfectly functional little houses out there already. Who am I to think I’m so special as to use up ever more of our earth’s resources to build a new little house.

And I hate housework.

Having a little place of my own means not having a roommate.

It means having either a yard that is private enough to grown my own pot, or having a modest little place with a second bedroom to use as a growing room. Considering the climate around here, it’ll probably be the second one. But it still has to have a yard. And a backporch where I can sit on the steps and watch trees and listen to birds while I smoke. Because if you want to know what I consider an ideal moment, it involves a backporch, some trees, some weed, some sun, and either some birds or my iPod.

And possibly:

  • A passport.

Because you have to have one to get into Canada these days. And we all know why I want to go there.

Notice that nowhere in that plan did I mention find a new girlfriend or make new friends. Because, seriously, my heart is broken. I’m done. Finished. I played that game and as I result I very literally wake up crying almost every morning. If I need to get laid I’ll go to a bar. But my heart is damaged merchandise and I am not lending it out anymore. Fuck that game.

And as for friends: I’m going to be growing the weed. I’m not going to have a shortage of people who want my company. If they entertain me they can hang around. But never again will I put myself in a position to get hurt like I’m hurting now.

In other news, I’d really like to be a vampire.

GodDAMNIT I have to be at work at 4am tomorrow.