The last flight was hell! HELL! I had a baby in one ear screaming and this other guy behind me trying to pick up the chick sitting next to him. I wanted to turn into a velociraptor and bite into his thick juicy skull. And eventually remove his head entirely.
He was dropping celebrity names, saying he goes to all the Hollywood parties and can take her next time she visits. I swear to god, I’m not an evil person. I’m not, I’m almost sure of it. But I want to see this mans spleen. Why his spleen? I don’t know, I’m a dinosaur.
I’m sitting at the N gates in SEA. Unlike LAX, this place is cake to navigate. There’s signage everywhere, maps and even real-life people to direct you (even though you don’t need them because it’s a well laid out airport). I actually needed direction since I forgot to print out my last and final boarding pass.
I want a coffee so bad. There’s a fancy coffee shop straight ahead from where I’m siting and the dude working the register looks exactly like Josh from My Crazy Ex Girlfriend.
I chose to plop my fat ass at this location specifically because it was out of everyone’s way (I’m sitting on the floor again), and there was an outlet! An outlet! But the god damned thing doesn’t work! I’m on 45%, I need a fuel up. My flight doesn’t board until 8:05 and it’s only 6:34. I’m hungry again but I already spent $17 on a bottle of water, a bottle of vitamin H2O, and a roast beef wrap. No, no, I spent $18 dollars!
Have I mentioned that I’m broke? I pee dust. I poop dust bunnies.
Speaking of pee, I wasn’t moist this time around. A two hour flight doesn’t have the same magic as a 6-hour flight. I still don’t know what happened down there.
I gained like 40 or 50 pounds over these last few years and maybe big people just sweat more down there? But why is it so HOT?!
Some lady just tried to fuel up her cell with this jokester outlet next to me. It’s a cruel cruel joke.
Fuck I can’t do this. I can’t spend $6 on an iced vanilla latte, I’m broke! Fuuuuuuck. If I do spend money, it needs to be on food.
44% is left on my mac.
Do I have to poop? I keep thinking like I have to go but then I don’t. I’d like to get it over with before I’m on a plane again. And besides, the bathroom is the only place where I can vape.
I think my blog makes me want to shit. I know this for sure because it also happens when I think really hard, not just when I blog but when I think about stuff. I guess that’s why I have to shut off my brain when I’m around others.
I literally have nothing to write about besides having to poop, wanting an iced latte, and my battery slowly dying on my laptop.
I hope I have fun in Alaska. It’s just that I love my bedroom so freaking much, plus with my new video game that is waiting for me when I come back, and my dog, I never want to be anywhere else.
Problems, we all know I have problems.
It’s not that I won’t have fun in Alaska, it’s that I’d have more fun staying home playing my game.
I think I really have to go to the bathroom, not a false alarm. I’m going to brown streak it off to the poo palace and walk around some more, maybe eat.
You can’t tell from this pic, but I’m vaping behind that newspaper.
I didn’t make it to the bathroom. I saw a sign for a bagel with smoked salmon and cream cheese and made my way over. I swear I’m Jewish.
Anyway, it sucks. It’s a sucky shitty bagel. $15 for an ice tea from the tap and a shitty bagel. I’m getting a damn refill.
This is a dead airport. It’s dead because it has no working outlets. LAX was loaded head to toe with free outlets. They promoted them like penicillin.
But not here, not this place. This place is dead.
It’s 7:20PM, my flight is soon, thank god. 8:05 I leave.
Let me just tell you that I’m miserable without my blog! I’m freaking dull eyed, hateful, misery in a handbag without writing.
How can I keep forgetting that?
I’m down to 34%
I feel lonely without my blog, that’s what it is. It’s like if I stop writing now, I’ll feel like I serve no purpose. I forget who I am when I don’t write exactly what I’m experiencing at every fateful moment. Like right now, I just got the hiccups and I finished my bagel. I didn’t grab napkins so I probably have gobs of cream cheese around my mouth and I’m hunched over my laptop tap tap tapping away – literally not stopping. Shoulders are starting to ache.
I gained weight, but I like the way it looks on me. Is that weird? I’m not saying that out of denial, or that other thing people do, you know, when they say: “I don’t care what people think!”
People who don’t care what people think NEVER say they DON’T CARE WHAT PEOPLE THINK!
I like the way my boobs look in t-shirts. Is that weird? Be honest.
I’m wearing my white ably t-shirt, hiking pants, and a blue hoodie. My hair looks like a rats nest, I haven’t slept in 33 hours but I got to say damn, I still look good. But do I look good because I don’t care what I look like?
Like when my mom makes me dinner when I’m famished and I always say that her food is delicious. What if I’m only saying that because I don’t care if it’s delicious or not? My mom made it and I’m hungry and that’s all that really matters.
I mean, it’s a scary thought, no?
I do care about how I look but I put it away so quick that I barely glance at myself. I rarely take selfie’s, never go clothes shopping, I wear the same jeans and sweatshirt over and over again.
But I like how soft my boobs look in t-shirts these days. They make me feel feminine and fragile and it’s such a contrast to my actual mannerisms and attire. I’m both yin and yang.
I’m getting the shakes. Is that a symptom of sleep deprivation? I never had the coffee.
It’s 7:50. I’m going to try my luck at the bathroom and swing by my gate to see if my flight is still there. I got about 15 minutes.
I’m publishing this crap.