Pesticide, fatigue, racism, ginseng, pizza

12:43 AM 4/4/2017

I’ve actually got my laptop here while I’m at work on this overnight shift, because I feel like crap. I am not doing well at all tonight. I feel like I can’t do any work and all I want to do is go lie back down again and sleep, or watch TV, or do something passive while resting, anything at all besides standing up and doing an actual job.

I drank another energy drink. I’ve tried them a couple times. The ones I’m drinking have both inositol and sucralose, both of which cause obesity. I insist that the mechanism by which they cause obesity is *not* by means of ‘cravings’ or ‘making you eat more sugar to compensate because your tongue tasted sweetness and tricked your brain into thinking you were getting more calories.’ It has absolutely nothing to do with calories, sugar, sweetness, tricking the brain, or anything at all, and everything to do with some kind of immediate, direct chemical poisoning where the chemical gets deposited straight into your fat cells, probably to protect your body from being harmed by it.

I know this partly because I feel it. I feel bloated almost immediately after drinking these, and the bloated uncomfortable feeling lasts for hours and hours. It makes me wish I had some kind of thing to keep my abdomen in place because it feels like my abdominal muscles are too tired and weak to hold it there. It’s almost painful.

You know what, I just realized another reason why I am useless. They sprayed pesticide. There were ants, they said, under some of the fatigue mats, the black rubber rug things. I saw a guy walking around spraying pesticide a few days ago. That, alone, explains why I am immediately feeling like I need to die when I come here. I don’t know how much longer this is going to go on. The vapor that rises from the sprayed areas will slowly diminish over time, but it takes a long time. If it isn’t killing ME, then it isn’t killing the ants either, and so they will spray it again as soon as it stops killing me.

However, it’s risky for me – if I lose my job, it will matter, because I just moved into an apartment.

I’ll improve when I start actually living in the house and taking showers every day and doing my laundry more frequently. Even though it’s the vapor from the spray rising here that’s killing me, I will also be sickened by residues that get onto my clothing and skin.

The problem with drinking drinks that contain ginseng is I spend the entire night noticing all the cute guys who come in, and there are a lot of them. If there is one, and only one, nice thing about this town, it’s the fact that most of the people here are good looking and healthy, to some degree. In other geographic areas, a large number of people are physically deformed and have very low IQs, because of chemical spills – coal mining areas and chemical factory areas in West Virginia are an example. There are huge numbers of severely deformed people in WV. Also, around agricultural areas where they spray a lot of chemicals.

I can’t go the whole night thinking all the guys are cute. I am diseased and contagious, and have been forced to put off the project of going back to the doctor again. This bothers me so much, I cannot even bear to fantasize about being with a cute guy. The very idea of passing along this disgusting thing to a cute guy is unbearable. But with the ginseng I’m drinking, there are a lot more cute guys that I can see than usual. I usually don’t notice them.

Like, there was a little Asian guy who was an acquaintance of one of my former coworkers at Maki Yaki. I don’t know this guy’s name, but I noticed the other day that he was like, dancing or bouncing to the music that was playing over the intercom. This was so cute to see, I didn’t even care that the particular song he was dancing to was horrible. One reason why so many more Asians are cute than Americans is because they grow their hair a few inches longer.

Every once in a while, I have a strange thought, where I can’t believe that my mom is dead. My real, actual Mom is dead for real. She died. I say the words and can’t quite understand them or believe them, even though I saw her and I held her hand and her forehead while she died. That just can’t be my real mom.

But I saw her deteriorating in the previous couple years when I visited. I didn’t visit at all in 2016, when she had cancer. I just saw that she aged badly in the last few years, and didn’t look so good, and in the photos she really looks all gray and sickly.

I sometimes try to fantasize that life after death is possible, and also desirable in all the ways that we wish it was – for instance, still being able to remember who you were and what you experienced, as soon as you step out of the body that has broken down beyond repair. You remember, ‘Oh, it’s okay.’ You had to invest yourself in the survival of the ‘machine’ that you were ‘operating’ while you were inside it, but as soon as you left, you realize you weren’t really going to DIE, not for real. Then you go and you pick up another body, and you do it again, or you go do something else as a spirit.

This is all wishful thinking that I use to comfort myself. I have no actual reason to assume that would be true. For instance, I didn’t see, hear, or feel anything that would suggest that Mom left her body after she died, although somebody on the internet said that when *her* mom died, she felt ‘energy’ that ‘went upwards.’ I didn’t feel anything like that, and I’m electrosensitive. I have no reason to imagine that some kind of electricity keeps on living after death, any more than any other random assumption, if I didn’t sense anything at all that would suggest it.

The moment when I hate my job the most is when people order food.

We just had the bar rush around 2:00. Several people came in and ordered food. Even though it was just a few people, and just a small amount of food, this place is NOT set up to produce food quickly and efficiently, not like McDonald’s. As much as Ray Kroc ruined McDonald’s, after stealing it from the original McDonald brothers, he still kept enough of the efficient factory production concept to make it relatively fast and easy to work there. It was much, much better laid out than this is.

Here, everything is a challenge, and every move you make adds several seconds to the process of making the food. And you have to keep jumping back and forth to the cash register to take more customers while you’re making the food, or else people will stand there for ten minutes waiting with one single item they want to quickly purchase so they can get out of the store.

I wish I could redesign our food production layout so that we could produce food as quickly as McDonald’s. I can’t describe in fifteen words or less what needs to be done. EVERYTHING needs to be fixed. The whole entire setup needs to be completely redesigned.

Pesticide… I don’t know how I am going to do my job tonight. I have this list of things I have to do, and getting through that list is going to be almost impossible. I’m coping with it by typing this blog right now – that’s my way of standing still and resting, instead of using energy, when I feel sick and exhausted and pesticide-poisoned. Using pesticide in the workplace should be illegal.

I can’t get mad at a cute Asian guy who wants to order food. All the other people are gone now, so he won’t have to wait 25 minutes, unless he orders something weird that I don’t know how to make and then a bunch of people come in afterwards.

The black girl who gave me a big tip, because she felt bad for me, doesn’t know that I’m a racist who dislikes blacks and loves Asians. If she knew what a horrible racist I have been lately, I dunno, she wouldn’t even want to speak to me. Whenever I cure this disease that I have, my attitude towards black people will slightly improve, but until then, they are all the n-word.

So this cute Asian guy is ordering a pizza. I’m okay with that. Nobody else came in, so I can direct all my attention to this pizza. He says he used to work at a different Minit Mart. My computer locked up while I was trying to charge his credit card, but it unlocked after I hit ctrl-alt-delete (without actually restarting – a dialogue box came up and he reached over the counter and hit ‘escape’ and it magically fixed the problem). Our other computer is completely down. We are having a bunch of problems.

I have wondered if Asian people see me as being as inferior as I see black people in comparison to myself. The ratio of inferiority between Asians and whites might not be as bad as the ratio of inferiority between whites and blacks. Joseph from Maki Yaki said that when he was in school in Arizona, he didn’t have problems with the white kids – it was the Native Americans and Mexicans he had issues with. They were violent. He said that one time a Native American kid took the tetherball and swung it so hard that it wrapped around Joseph’s neck, causing him to pass out and then wake up a few seconds later.

I *know* Asians are much smarter than I am. Even the average Asian, doing nothing in particular, just having an ordinary conversation, has more ‘density’ of thoughts.

Somebody fucked up the pizza that they made. Other people put the dough and the sauce and cheese on it, into the pan, and they did something where it was all like pouring off the edge, and too thin on the bottom. The pizza just self-destructed when I tried to remove it after it was cooked. We shouldn’t cook it in those kinds of pans, but even so, I did it just fine before. Somebody made it so thin on the bottom it wasn’t able to handle being pulled out of the pan. He wanted it remade. I am so humiliated and annoyed. This isn’t even my fault. But that’s what an n-word would say, now wouldn’t they? I don’t like seeing myself in the position of the n-word.

The pizza still wasn’t quite perfect by my standards, but it was better than the other one. I remade it. I made sure to put butter on it (‘butter,’ or oil spray, that is) so it wouldn’t stick to the pan.

Argh. The whole night has flown by and I’ve gotten nothing done. I’m ready to get to work though, so I’ll put this away.

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