Day 6- Mustard Gas and Roses

Finally made it through chapter four of “Slaughterhouse-five.” Good grief this is taking some time. I know I keep saying that I am going to read more than a chapter at a time, but dammit, I can’t. I keep getting distracted by “Buffy” or Ebay, or Esty or facebook and MISDIRECTION. Basically anything is distracting me from Vonnegut. Could it be possible I’m just not enjoying this book? My inner intellectual snob shall not admit it.

I will finish this goram book. I WILL. >.<

I am liking the idea of “mustard gas and roses,” however. Morbid and delightful at the same time.

It occurs to me that I say terrible things that make people awkwardly uncomfortable. Such as, “my cat Piggy ate and nestled herself in the corpses of her dead kittens. Never felt so connected to an animal.”

Yeah. I don’t like children.

However, saying the above makes people super uncomfortable.

In other news, I drank a whole bottle of wine tonight. I shouldn’t have because on Wednesdays I go to take care of my grandma. I have to be up early in the morning. However, I got home from my second job and thought of how delightful it would be to have a whole bottle of wine to myself. So I double tapped it.

I am a connoisseur of cheap wines.

I would probably enjoy Vonnegut more if my attention wasn’t pulled in every direction.

Today at my second job, my boss informed that it was okay to dance behind the counter when customers weren’t in the store, but that I have to stay still when they’re present. I am sure those who witnessed my heinous acts of dance moves were terribly offended. I am shockingly Caucasian. I call it “Shockasian,”

That is a terrible joke.

Sometimes I feel that people just need to lighten up. I feel the beat. Give me a break.

That being said, I do know the lyrics to an unsightly massive list of songs. I can’t help myself. Taylor Swift, Toto, Journey.




and KISS.

Today a customer informed me I wasn’t old enough to know these songs. All I can say is, “Well you can tell by the way I use my walk I’m a woman’s.. woman? no time to talk.”

That’s alright. And it’s okay…

okay then. Vonnegut. Retrace steps. I was writing about Vonnegut.

“Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.”

Sometimes I feel like Vonnegut is obsessed with incremental moments. The orchestration of the moment. The amber of the moment. Why is each moment accounted for? It’s driving me nuts.

Stop it Vonnegut, you’re bad for my mind.

Anyway, it’s time for me to turn off “Buffy” and get some sleep. Tomorrow I have a hectic ride up to a cancer treatment center for my grandma. My grandfather is driving and honestly, I would like him just to pick a lane. ANY LANE.

Until tomorrow, midnight-6amish.



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