I really hate middle-aged, upper middle class, blonde women. HATE. I don't think there is another word for it. I cringe when I see one approaching. AND YOU CAN ALWAYS TELL.
And their bratty children too. Yeah, fuck you too, kid. Ugly kid with stupid eyebrows. Motherfuckers who think I'm not good enough, but are too chicken to say it to my face.
I love it when I mention that I'll be attending art school this fall... then when they don't like the picture, I know exactly what they're thinking: damn, those schools must accept anyone with money. Because that's really funny! Really funny! Seeing as we don't actually have the money... and had I not been given a scholarship, I probably wouldn't be going there. Hi-fucking-larious. Because I'm not upper middle class... I'm middle middle class; I'm not po' white trash, but I don't live in fucking suburbia either. And the next few summers I'm going to have to kiss the asses of people like you so that I can have enough money to get the education I need to make a decent living when I grow up. I want to be a great artist; I'd love to be able to publish my own books or comics or even graphics that people will see and buy amd consume like the locusts they are... but that's not going to happen. Best I can hope for is that I'll be designing the Coke ads you watch on television in ten years.
How depressing. I'm supposed to be ecstatic drawing caricatures, but it's just awful. Opportunities to use my creativity and the few skills I actually do possess don't get me paid. It's boring drawing the same people over and over. There is no unique. Everyone falls into a pattern. There's a pattern of responses to certain stimuli, and probably fewer than five times all summer has someone stepped out of the boundaries. How fucking depressing. It's so... disheartening to see person after person do exactly the same thing. I weep for the species.
I hate my job. I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate the way it strips me of my self-worth, of my self-image, of my confidence. I hate myself. I hate my life.
I still want to be hugged and petted. It's been a full month since someone last hugged me, and that someone was my mother.