God, i hope i am not stuck with this one.

If there is anything i have learned about life then that is it: LIFE FUCKING BLOWS.
Who the fuck seriously wonders that the majority of young girls out there is seriously depressed and trying to kill themselves for the past fifty years please? Life blows. It blows ass. It blows mine and yours and the only thing that could ever ever ever EVER save me is the true love of my life. The one boy or girl who will sweep me off my feet, kiss my tongue and climb up my mind. The person who will derange my mind to an extend that will murder and master all these wrong, disgusting thoughts inside my pretty little head.
It sure is a pretty little head apparently. I have never been pretty but am now. What a weird coincidence crashing together with having graduated and my step-dad fucking out of my life.
My skin is still the same spotty little dirty bastard and my hips are still large, my belly fat still growing. But I am pretty now. Pretty pretty, that is. I am aware I have been some form of beautiful my whole life. But i have not been pretty until now.
I`ve got this glowly cutes-y smile going on that only dreamy girls have stuck on their face and I smile in a pretty way when a boy lurks at me from behind the books at the store I work in. It is an unperfect, slightly wicked kind of smile and whenever I use it the boy of interest ( in me, not me interested for him. My sexual drive is non-consistant these days ) ..well, the boy of interest ( in me, again. Not the other way round), he just smiles and on his shiny big forehead there is "She is well of a pretty lad!" written on it. It is in German most of the times but sometimes it is not. Sometimes it really does say just that sentence I just typed.

Wether it is in English or in German it both means I have suddenly developped and impact on this weird weird species with dicks and balls. They are everywhere in book stores it seems and their reading priorities are a bit weird to be honest. It is either the tabloids ( apparently nowadays spotty 20somethings are interested in flat-breasted models. It does not keep them from staring at my D-cups however, though while I scan their dirty little Penthouse magazines. ) or if it is not the tabloids it is weird, weird books about Physics and not the pretty ones with the cute covers. It is massively confusing Physics books.

Sometimes, anyway, a lot of times whenever one of those boys comes to my desk and needs my scanning abilities ( sometimes even my wrapping skills. Dear readers, whoever you hate do not give them Physics books for their birthdays. It is no fun. Kiss them instead. )  for their ugly mathematics statics I take the book and flip it round and say the name of the author mumblingly. And then I say "cool, cool." in my prettiest accent pulled off.

This little gesture brightens up their day apparently so much they keep on returning to me. Or so I pretend to believe. The geeks, they like me scanning their books.

However, LIFE STILL BLOWS.

There was this one time I had a midly life crisis ( #2382392 that year... this year. ) and i sat on the train ( tram! ). One of those old ones we still have, with the wooden chairs. They only drive the unimportant rodes. They are also higher than the rest of the trains ( trams! ) and the old and preggers hate them cause it is hard to get in.
It was day-time still and  I was crying already in the train ( tramtramtrammm...! ) but silently and then , cause I was having a life-crisis, then I asked the lady in front of me : "Lady, can I ask you something? Have you ever regretted something so bitterly past in your life? Has it had much inpact on your life now?"
She was beautifully old, in her 70ies probably. With perfectly curled hair and a fur coat wrapped around her slim, yeat meaty figure and I had fallen in love with her the moment she turned around. I was well sure, too that if anybody could solve all my problems and give me the right answer to my question of life ( like you get them when life tumbles and turns ) it would be just her. Just and only her. And i loved her to death and back cause she was so perfectly made for me in that situation just.
I won't tell what she said cause I promised myself never to tell anybody about this incident. For one because it is well crazy to ask a stranger and old lady in the tram what to do with my own life and base important decisions on her answer and for the second reason: It is well crazy to do just that without being drunk.

Still, LIFE BLOWS.
And i just really want to die. It is not to deny and the thought is still constant in my head. It comes in the dark and comes in the day and it only really vanishes for a bit of time when I am really busy. It never even goes away when I am having sex. Which is why I do not have any at this time. How deranging is it to be underneath a sweaty, groping bloke and thinking " I just want to die." ?