Five minutes to ten... I think I'm going to come out of my skin if I have to be here one more hour, waiting for that megalomaniac to finish his fucking client! At this point I hate how loud he talks. I hate his celebrity clients that I wish I'd never met, and I hate my position in their world. The phone rings. Probably another entitled prick! I say to myself. Unexpectedly, it's a man's voice on the other line. He's making an appointment for his boss, who works for a major production company. I'd be lying if I said that didn't excite me a little. I've only been living out here for five months, and the place I moved here from is nothing glamorous. Probably never will be. He tells me I'm the nicest person he's talked to all day. I'm not surprised. Many people here freak out on me for shit I think makes me seem ordinary. They can't believe I'm not rail thin with an eating disorder, or that I don't care about dressing to the ...
Hansa bosbach (@Workinghans), from the Twitter Writing Community, asked me this dreaded question: What does happiness look like to you? I had to think about this one for a while. It hasn't been easy to find my natural voice to write the answer to this. How does one who's lived a terrible life for so long, answer such a question? I've had to rewrite it several times. I hate this fucking question! It's worse than when people ask me where I see myself in five years. I almost blew the most recent interview I did when they asked me that question, because I told them I can't see myself in five years. It hurts my brain to even try. They also asked me: What gets you out of bed in the morning? I have to pee, you fucking twat! And so that sets the tone for how I plan to answer what happiness looks like to me. It doesn't look like anything. I'm just now learning happiness for the first time in my life, and it's so fleeting, it's like chasi...
This poem is now dedicated to one of his truest fans: Cyclone Alan @SnapeyWapey who has given me permission to use his sketch for this post. I was going to meet the great Alan Rickman while he was still alive I guess I thought he'd live to be at least one hundred and five We would have met at Hogwarts for a picnic lunch and tea Then spent our evening pulling pranks on that chick who plays Nanny McPhee Into the night we'd have long talks with good Sense and Sensibility I'd ask, "Have you enjoyed your life?" He'd say, "Truly, Madly, Deeply." To meet someone who lived life so well- a Die Hard fan can dream Did I really run out of time to meet him? Unfortunately, I did it would seem You see, cancer took our beloved Alan before his time was due No magic wand can bring him back so we don't have to face this as true I guess it might be selfish of me to want him still around Possibly haunting some school...
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