Pickpocket Blues

So some fucktard stole my wallet today, and as expected, I’m fucking pissed. Moreso at myself than anything else, though I don’t know how I could’ve have more careful, I had the thing in my hands as I got out of the car to walk into Pillawoos. After placing an order for a 20 pack of Gold Leaf and two limecokes I realize it’s no longer in my hand. Fuck.

Rummaged through the vehicle only to realize it wasn’t there, not in my bag, the cubbyhold, glove compartment, under the seat, under the mats, nothing. Fuck again. Got back home and called HNB to have my card locked, now I have to go back to my branch to get a new card. Fucking hell. And, along with my card and NIC, there were also some rather important bits of paper, concert tickets, and drafts of letters I’ve written inside. All of it gone, all of them past.

I guess in a way it’s a good thing, kind of like a fresh start. But for fucks sake, why like this. Why the fuck does shit like this happen? You start off on a good note, have an almost perfect day, and then this shit happens. I would shake my fist in the air if it changed anything, but since it won’t I’ll just stick to typing this piece of crap post on this shithole blog about the ego-radiated-mass-of-useless-grey-matter-within-my-skull.


Hopefully a good dose of endorphins will do the trick, because I seem to have found myself in yet another anxiety attack, which, left untreated, would only lead to another bout of seemingly neverending depression that I will mope over and write crappy poetry about. Hopefully you will be spared. Hope…

is a fucking joke.

2 Responses to “Pickpocket Blues”
  1. magerata says:

    That sucks.

  2. Chavie says:

    Sorry to hear about your wallet man. One of my friends went through the same thing, but his got returned sometime later, thankfully. Hope you get at least your ID back, because getting another one is a pain in the arse. 😦

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