It's a detailed life update! Onward!
I can't seem to get a job, and this doesn't include anonymous blowjobs in men's bathroom stalls (since I don't get money for that. Just cocaine). It's becoming very disheartening and frustrating. As you know, I have this damned 3-bedroom duplex to myself. This would be rad except for the fact that every time I walk into the place it just sucks my soul away into a screaming black nightmare of loneliness. Wait, no, there's more.
I am broke and can't afford a gym membership so I am becoming fat and slothful. This just in: somewhere else, kids are starving and having to dig up their parent's hastily-dug graves just to feast on their bones. But outside of Boulder being a money-draining hub of misery and my recreational sobbing into my pillow, things are great*!
Also, I like to cut my arms with broken glass.
Oh, wait, I forgot the best part! Did you know that most Teaching English As a Foriegn Language programs only have one-half of an open slot per semester? You have to sign up and then wait for the other .5 to take effect. This is awesome because Laura and I are trying our fiercest to get to Italy and it's just a whole bunch of rejection and overcapacity, like you trying to get into an orgy composed of all of your ex-girlfriends. In Europe.
Do you remember Boy Scouts, and they'd have that Pinewood Derby competition? You'd have to get a wooden model of a car and sand/paint/make whatever you felt appropriate for your car and then you'd race them at the next scout meeting. So if I were to make this an analogy to my life, my Pinewood Derby car would be as much resembling a hearse as possible. All black, the wheels would come off at the start of the track. Totally derailed, things wouldn't be so bad if it also SOMEHOW caught fire and ended up a pile of smouldering ashes that rested at the end of the ramp, until the wind picked it up and flung it directly into my lungs. The mixture of cheap derby car paint and melted plastic wheels would create some sort of uber-cancer of the eyeballs and I'd go blind and wander around the mental ward grumbling to myself and bumping into things before I figured out how to OD on some simple medication they'd give me like pepto-bismol or Pez.
heh! I'm just kidding, of course!*** I'm all smiles over here. No, actually, everything I wrote about my life circumstances are true. So it's not the best of times. However, I know it'll pass and I'm still trying to heap together some plan to get thither.
This letter was sort of biting because I haven't really slept too much. Jamba called and they're not hiring me. This is one of those "EVERYTHING IS SO HORRIBLE THAT I COULD JUST DIE SO WHY NOT LAUGH****?" moments, and I know I'll actually land on my feet. heh. Either that, or a pile of broken glass soaked in gasoline.
cheers!
Jared
*: actually: horrid.
***: no, I'm not.
****: or gargle a round with a revolver.