Not My Job

Guess what I learned at work today?

No, it is not my job to tell a campaign worker, administrator, or former staff member that she does not belong in a room.

This is what happens when you create associations, they stick around after the person is no longer in the room.  This is what I learned from Michelle Obama, her proxy, and former staff:

What I learned is that the story my mother told me about the House of Orange was something that was told to her to see what I would do with the information and not based on fact.

Guess what I associate Coors Light with?  My mother’s fake funeral.  My mother who I no longer have any feelings about concerning all those years I spent.  Gone.  Nothing but sadness for my loss of life.

While at an ATM, a Hispanic man in the line with me, there is never a line at the ATM, yet this day there was a line.  He started to make conversation.  I didn’t like it.  There wasn’t anything to dislike, he was well-groomed, clean, hair-cut and clothes, but nothing added up, nothing made sense.  Soon after he started talking to me I left, went to my car where my mother was waiting, locked the doors, and left.  He had a tattooed tear under his right eye.

So, nothing is real.  No person I’ve met is real.

Too many cooks in the kitchen.  Not one man.  Not one man in how many years has been real?!

It’s all been a lie.

What reason does that than give a woman like me to want to continue.

I wish I had never moved to Florida.

That man at the side of the road is to be removed immediately!  I want him gone!  He was not outside!  I want him gone!

I will not be returning to the same number – The White House has proven to me to be a complete sham and fake.  That is what I learned last night.

I will not be coding anything else for you anymore!  I am beyond disgusted!  Look at what Michelle Obama did to my face and hair.

I am blaming someone.

The wood-burning stove in a Coffee and Breakfast post is no longer there or allowed in any way.  I will not mention it again.  Beyond disgusted.  They did this to my face and hair.  I will not be returning to the movies anytime soon until this fake fat is off my body!

They care more about that damn car than me, or what I want.  I do not want to live like this.  I want another job.

I am not removing my belt or changing my pants.  Fuck off!  You will have to suffer!  Fuck off!!!!!  My Velcro belt is no longer suitable to wear, I am not buying another.  I will blame the teacher from last night.

I am going back to driving in whatever route I want!  Fuck off!

Nothing in my head, no person ever in my head have I EVER reciprocated any feelings for.  Both the outside voice and my inside voice, or in my head, are me.  Fuck off!

Not my job!

I don’t have to talk to anyone!  I don’t have to say anything!  FUCK OFF!

I will not be buying any more clothes until this fake weight is off my body!  FUCK OFF!

What I learned last night is the events including gas stations were not real, the information was planted in my brain and other tricks, or they would not be working SO HARD against me, disproving me every time I am correct.  This is the reason for art because those events were a complete fake and sham not real in any way.

Before moving here, I used to get Grounds for your Garden from Starbucks.  Every bag they had, I would take and put around my yard.  Then, reuse the bag in some way usually as a trash bag.  It is just smart to reuse something when possible.  This is something that the teacher has taken away from me.  Creating greater waste and hurting the environment.  Let alone not allowing me the freedom of choice.

Not my job.