Read. Re-read. Re-re-read. And on and on and on. I think I have a problem with this essay. That's the only point on which my doctor and shrink agree. They suggested me to rehab. I tried.
I found a job. The more you work the less you think. That's what I thought before thinking less. The job was great and satisfactory. I gave leaflets on the streets dressed like a french fry. The kind of job someone could kill to don't have one. Yet, I found more than a job. I found feelings. I fell in love with a nice girl. I met her on the threshold of a Mexican restaurant. She was unforgettable in her beautiful Taco costume. We dated several times. We liked each other. We were made for each other.
And yet in a couple of weeks she broke my fried heart. She left me for a Camcorder dressed man. His name was Olympus. He used to work on the other side of the road, advertising for a shopping mall. He was closer to her place than me. The Taco girl -that lousy bitch- told me how she needed to focus more on her life, looking at it from different perspectives. "You know, Olympus is the right person for helping me in that process". That's what she told me. I nodded in that reflective and well mannered way a sad french fry is supposed to do. I quit the job. Afterwards nothing had changed. And that's why I keep on reading the Diaries. I still dream of elves. I need to sit on Santa's lap asking for a woman. Everybody loves Satan.