Add Title Here

Just about finished a thousand word essay on being a holier-than-thou piece of shit because I no longer work a thankless job, hence have no need for mind-numbing alcohol and cigarettes to get through my day, as I wake up every morning at 4 AM to brew my last vice, a pot of coffee, waiting for my sweet spot to go spend an hour at the gym when the fewest amount of humans are present there.

No beers, no smokes, no women, just an insane focus to lift weights, clean my room, do laundry, wash dishes, design murals, clean my truck, fiberglass my solar panels, and plan my best strategy to do the things I love to do without ever considering engaging in thankless pursuits for the sake of earning a meaningless paycheque from shitty fucking restaurants who giveth not a fuck how much I actually sacrifice my mental well being to do a job better than every idiot who lacks pride in their efforts.

Proofreading that piece yesterday, ready to hit the fucking publish button, waiting for my KittyKat to come home to feed him so I could hit the gym again.

And then KittyKat didn’t come home.

And I don’t need to hear any bullshit from anyone about being irresponsible over my animal, or any bullshit about what I could have done differently to keep him prisoner or microchip him or treat him like a fucking slave.

Kitty loves going out every morning, patiently allows me to put his collar on, and enjoys the fuck out of whatever he does for 4 hours before coming home and feasting on tuna or salmon or whatever awesome food I provide for him so he doesn’t end up like a fat slovenly fuck eating dried shit that the pet store tells me is good for his fucking digestion and omega 3 balance.

Kitty didn’t come back yesterday, and I fucking hate this.

Kitty is not stupid and he knows where he lives. I’m trying to tell myself that maybe he found a better place to live, stay, eat, fuck, but all I can picture in my stupid brain is some asshole snowplow hitting him as he crossed the road to go bang his Calico pussy girlfriend, and leaving him buried in a snowbank until I find him in the spring, while I continue hating myself for not protecting him from this shit-hole planet we live on.

Kitty was always meant to be my independent friend, with free will to enjoy the outdoors and experiences that were his God given right.

I let him explore the grass, I let him explore the snow, I let him make his decisions to learn about the machines and assholes and other stupid animals that he encountered.

And Kitty learned, and came home if he was cold, or hungry, or just wasn’t interested in taking a dump outside.

And now I fucking hate myself for not knowing where he is, or if he’s alive, or whatever else I can do besides facebook posts, or flyers nailed to trees, or combing the fucking neighbourhood 3 hours a day, or going outside every 20 minutes and yelling KittyKat in a falsetto voice, or ringing his dinner bell in the hope he’s hiding under a porch eating a fucking squirrel and ready to come hang with me again.

So what now?

Back to drinking and smoking.

I don’t give a fuck anymore.

I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of feeling like some fucking loser who tried to improve or be better or give a shit about anything on this stupid planet.

Kitty’s dead, and everyone else I love is heading down the same road.

Fuck everything. Fuck the effort to be better or improve or care or inspire or any other meaningless shit that’s supposed to make me a better human.

In the end, we’re all dead, and nothing means shit.

This entire reality is bullshit, and I care not to participate.

End fucking transmission

Miss you Kitty. Was secretly hoping you’d outlive me. Fuck everything.