I can’t go on the bus, not while I still have legs. It’s good to observe though. Most people stand at a bus stop and look stupid. The more people the more stupid it is, all crowded together, occupying their hands, pretending to look at the schedule or in their bag. It’s a little society where you keep your mouth shut and you’re accepted. This procedure happens every ten minutes; empires rise and fall. Then you wait because the weather conditions change, and the bus comes and people start arguing about who was first like it’s going to leave some of them behind.

 I don’t think waiting is a bad thing; I just think we aren’t good at it, and by now we should be. You wait to go to work, you wait for lunch hour, you wait to go home. You wait almost twenty years to show someone your ID and by then they don’t want to see it anymore. You wait too long to use the bathroom and you start saying things you don’t want to say. And I read recently that by the time someone is fifty they’ll have spent a year of life looking for things they misplaced. I intend to never make it to fifty.

 I’m not in a grim mood though, I actually just finished ogling pictures of Disney princesses. Snow White, specifically, who is a perfect ten. She knew it, too, which I like. You can tell by the way she conducts herself. Belle’s a less provocative ten but definitely has her head attached straight and with a book-brain in it no less. See, if Belle was Cinderella, or if Cinderella was Belle, she would have picked Gaston.

 Should I even defend that? Cinderella went sideways years ago, maybe from abuse. She lives in a small world mentally and doesn’t know what’s good for her. Hi, I’d take the walking pumpkin car any day thanks, and I’d keep the mice and bird friends too. I still view that film as a tragedy and not a fairytale; it’d be one thing if she had everything and lost it, but she had everything and gave it up.

 Jasmine did everything right; Pocahontas is questionable in some ways but we’ve done enough to her people. Ariel was a bit showy, but she was young. She’s older now and hopefully refined, maybe even educated. I’d be willing to catch up with her though I’m sure landlife has affected her appearance some. Her once gravity resistant yams have gone haywire, and the prince probably threw her into the street. He wasn’t asking for all that, and has probably since gone back to the well to fish out a fresh one.

 What the hell are you reading right now?

Recently a woman informed me that she suffers from a disease, but that she couldn’t tell me which one because then I’d have power over her. Now, madam, either you are exceedingly clever with jokes or you’re giving the answer away.

 Sometimes I wish I could be alone for months at a time, except truly alone, but there’s no such thing anymore because of television and computers. So where can I go? It has to be remote- no remotes, that’s a given.  I’d eat plant foods and warm my water with something equally as real. I’d likely regret it shortly after, the whole thing, and I know nothing about isolation really, but even hating it would help me out.

 Everything around me is so goddamn convenient that I barely have to think anymore, and the worst part is I’m almost certain that’s what people want. Is it? So what the hell am I doing writing? I should be making plastic storage containers that seal with one touch (now you’re a magician. The prize? Two extra seconds) and don’t cause freezer burn, but I would rather just die. Before that I’d want to write some things down, so here we are again.

Hello paper, hello pen. I hate you both. Only kidding, you’re the only things I love anymore, but that’s not true either. Plus I don’t actually trust either of them since they’re so prone to inventing lies when they get together. Is it pessimistic to consider all fiction a lie? And then again, the pen always does what I tell it to, but I’m not god so that’s no reason to like someone. True, without me it’d be lifeless in a drawer, but even still it’s clear that it controls me and not the other way around. I mean, look at me. Look at my hands, it’s pathetic. Ink everywhere.

 I’m at the library and it’s time to leave as it’s becoming rather scary in here. A man just entered with a backpack large enough to hold a person and I don’t think he’s leaving without one.