...

Maybe, just maybe, I won't suffocate in all of this mess before I deal with it. Maybe the hole in the crotch of my jeans won't get bigger by the time I realize I'm wearing the bad pair outside? I threw out one of my bad pairs today, only to find out later I had a hole in this one too. At least this one has a smaller hole, I can live with that for now.

Here's a short piece called "Fuck These Pants" I wrote on the bus yesterday, I dedicate it to the pants I threw out this morning:

"Man, I really need to throw out these stupid jeans. I keep putting them on and realizing they've got a hole in the crotch after it's way too late. Other times I got lucky and I was wearing black underwear, but nahh, not this time. Now some creep can say I was wearing red plaid boxers...

Executive dysfunction is awesome, invite all your friends! They'll just love the tiny accommodations they'll give themselves, the too much that's never enough."

I went to the store and bought trash bags and laundry pods, I finally did it, and yet I still feel sour because of these stupid fucking pants. I seriously only get the chance to be aware of these things, like, for 5 minutes out of every 24 hours. Sometimes I'm already indisposed for those 5 minutes, sometimes...

I'm throwing out these pants the moment I post this.