moving.

the intimidating first recent post is going to be about my move. i've been chewing it over & over and can't find satisfaction here; it is still only because of the nice weather that i live here in san diego. that is no reason to stay somewhere.

the most important reason i have to move is, of course, to save money for surgery. i need to move somewhere where i am not completely impoverished because it's so obscenely expensive. san diego is horribly expensive, and what do i have to show for it? very, very little. a suntan. good weather. a stupid car - i never needed a car until i moved to this hellhole - and a cat. i love the cat, but i didn't ask for the cat. it was forced on me - you can't just have a cat around and then decide, 'oh, i'm gonna leave the cat with some shelter or something'.

i am also infinitely better than i was. i worked on my health since i don't have much in the way of friends here and i'm doing really well, i think. i've got bad weeks where i'm just suffering, but most of the time i'm good.

so now i'm feeling better and realise how much i hate this town. there's no culture here, it's just pond slime growing on the community. there's this huge and beautiful park and beaches and museums and the laziest, rudest, most effete people i've ever encountered in my entire life get them. i think i might have seen some people in the museum that has the dinosaur exhibits in it, but that's about it.

i'm sick of it. i always knew that san diego had good weather and if i was going to suffer and such i might as well do it in a place where the weather was lovely; well, my suffering is over and i'm going back to where people can make complete sentences if they have to and own clothing that isn't jeans and a ratty t-shirt.

i've never met such a contradictory collection of psychoses in my life: everyone is so image-conscious and obsessed with showing how manly they are by showing off the biggest, most tricked out, deafeningly loudest vehicle they own, or how womanly they are by showing every inch of skin possible but do so in the very skankiest outfits available. jesus, just take off your clothing and burn that spangled cut-off american flag and let your eyebrows grow back, you fucking freaks.

if there could be one word of advice for me to give to san diego, it would be this: stop taking drugs, you tweaker bitches, you not-funny-anymore drunks; you'll find you won't have to catch lethal diseases hooking if you do.

fuck, the hookers are everywhere. and the tweakers. there are all these really 'nice' neighbourhoods that are just riddled with rich methamphetamine addicts and streetwalkers who are out at 3 in the afternoon.

it's appalling. i'm not just a conservative new englander. i was fine at black's beach, where clothing is not recommended; i neither gawked nor avoided. i didn't care. naked people? fine. sexy outfits? fine. but no more of this drugged-out town, where crazed-high lunatics try to run people over in front of my building, where most everyone is up at 4 am. and screaming. i'm tired of these horrific neighbours: they're in every neighbourhood, even the best ones, and i can't stand it anymore.

if people learnt some fucking manners as a child we'd all be living in paradise. instead, it's creepier than the Disney Alice in Wonderland movie around here. you want to enjoy yourself, you really do, but instead your soul is curled up inside your body in horror and revulsion and your eyes bugged out at the terrible things you see, things that were never, ever meant to be seen by man. fucking cue the cthulhu music (whatever that is). vive le nostromo; le nostromo est mort.

i'm writing this for me. so if you are bored, fuck off. no one asked you.