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2018-11-30 09:36:21 (UTC)

Rained for the most part ..

Rained for the most part today. Dun colored clouds. Hints of blue sky could be seen once in a while. Sun did not shine through. Cooked (perhaps the shortest time I've cooked it) chicken marsala before work, but did not eat it for lunch. Rather, I had the squid for lunch which my father cooked. On my way to work, some small hard object dashed against my windshield, which cracked it. Now my windshield has a straight line, about the size of a ruler, just behind the rearview mirror. Met A. at the parking lot and showed her the crack on my windshield. A. sported a new do; a black and golden brown braid, full and volumized. Y. came up to me at one point, talking and bringing up again about R. and M. Y. firmly believes that R. and M. did really shagged it up at a hotel. "I don't think it did happen," I said, just to put a lid on the steam, though she believes it otherwise. "For Rick seemed embarrassed," she said. "Whether or not it is true does not really affect or concern me," I said. This I divulged to R., A., and M. "Y. is like a dog with a bone," I said. Anyhow, M. surprisingly ended up crying, which surprised A. Perhaps M. cried because I might have said how R. was embarrassed to have slept with her, if it really did happen. Anyhow, all this drama exhausts and drains me. I wish Y. could put it to bed. "I feel like I'm being used," I told R at one point. "Y. is abusing my nicety," I told A. In any case, I've again entangled myself in the middle. R. would seem to hump anything wet and warm. He knows his good looks and desperately uses it for his own suiting. He must be truly unhappy in his marriage. Surely, I feel sorry for his wife. How he would eye women passing along the hallway. His empty brain makes up for his muscles. A. a desperate, barrel-shaped, shadow; discontented and insecure with herself that she holds on to whomever pays even the slightest attention towards her. I bet in quietness she is all but misery, unable to withstand her own existence, dark as she is; gapped toothed, and with teeth as if sandpapered; made-up at all times to cover her insecurities. Bare, to be sure she is without eyebrows. And underneath her wig probably lies a thin, shameful, hay of a dark straw hair. M. a junkie; short, squat. Luckily she has lost weight. The gastric bypass she had done Mexico did her somehow good, excepting that she could not eat most of the food-- the good ones, at least-- known to human, in exchange for dropping twenty or so more pounds. Never a more pitiable existence. She harks continuously, as if anybody cared about what she'd say, which are mostly futile to me. Y. heavily painted, a vain attempt for beauty and youth. Her face resembles like an Incan mask. She has heavy, angular features. She could be a drag queen. She married a man twice her age; had kids with him, but now desperately seeking for someone even remotely more doable than her clownish, lizard-like husband...but even to talk about her bores me, for she essentially is unsubstantial. Nonetheless, I feel somehow better having written about them. Perhaps it is true that the greatest revenge is to write judgmentally about people. Though I don't dislike them, I don't quite like them either.