i named my kid std

i think i have an overactive guilt gland or something. it seems to be located in my ass, because as soon as i feel guilt, i have to shit. it's weird. i admitted to someone at work today that i once or twice took a pack of cigarettes from the shop and paid for them the next day when i had cash. now i'm paranoid that i'm going to get fired. and i only did it twice because i felt so guilty about it. i can only spend so much time in the bathroom, you know. maybe it's not guilt, just a fear of getting caught that i find so distressing. at any rate, the "feeling" i get from doing "bad" things (ie. abusing my "position" at work, lying, cheating, stealing, hurting small animals, etc.) generally prevents me from doing most "bad" things. however, i have a very strange and selective idea of what i would constitute as "bad" behaviour. drinking to excess and doing stupid shit in that context is generally ok. but, not at work. taking drugs and doing even dumber shit is ok-- but, not at work. getting drunk, taking drugs and sleeping with my room mate is ok-- but, again, not at work. you get the idea. stealing, cheating and hurting small animals is never a good idea, even if on my own time. and lying, well, that's a grey area. i sometimes do it, but i always feel shitty about it. exaggerating the truth doesn't count. and you guessed it, i don't do it at work.

i generally despise women's magazines. unfortunately, they're extremely fun to read, so if i feel like i need a self loathing "i'm too fat to live, i will never be as successful, beautiful, rich, etc. as the glossy people" fix, i buy jane magazine. i can at least relate to the writing a bit. anyway, they have a monthly feature called "it happened to me" and if they print your story, you get a thousand dollars (in US funds!) i have several "it happened to me" stories that would make for great reading, and a thousand US dollars would be a great way to start my summer. unfortunately, i am a habitual procrastinator, so even though it would be easy to write a short ditty about some hilarious/tragic episode in my life, i may not actually get around to doing it. it would mean not only writing the thing, but editing, printing and possibly mailing it (i refuse to e-mail writing submissions to anyone. only because i always fuck it up.) why does this seem like a huge task to me? i can't be that pathologically lazy, can i? we'll see. however, i love that i naturally assume it would get published if i sent it. i mean, come on, have you read those things?but, there was this really good one where the author got a moth lodged in her ear just as she was about to kick the shit out of someone. that was a good story.