Aaaah

So, I would like to write, because it seems there is nothing better to do around here, and I'm going to lay down a few complaints, since, that's also something I can do instead of sleeping.

Complaint # 1 -

I've been dealing with back pain for the past six months or more and the chiropractor says that it's because of a pinched nerve in my neck, which seems to be nothing less than true. I can hardly sit on my computer for more than an hour before I start wishing for pain medication. Next....

Complaint # 2 -

I fooled around and fell in love. My boyfriend lives 12 hours away.

Complaint # 3 -

Said boyfriend has a lot of ex-girlfriends. He's younger than me by about 6 months, and like any 19-year-old, he goes to parties, where, these ex-girlfriends are probably lurking around. And, how would I know the difference? I haven't spoken to him all day, save a few scattered text messages. I trust him, but I miss him.

Honestly, I feel like a little bitch writing about shit like this, but I'm doing it, because if I don't I'm probably going to go crazy.

I love monotony. Routine is my friend. I like knowing what to expect. I mean yeah, things get old sometimes and you want a little variety, but damn. Maybe my boyfriend is just an idiot. All I really want is to know what's going on. When you are really really really in love with someone, you get a little crazy. A brief phone call would be nice, or maybe, a follow up, or something like that. But I feel like I deal with this shit all the time, and I don't want to bring it up and sound like an obsessive crazy person.

I need a direct line to Dr. Phil or something. I just feel so shitty wondering what he's up to at 2:30 in the morning on a Monday. Is that not reasonable?

Fuck, I guess I'll just send a really pissed off text message his way and then go buy a shit load of candy from the grocery store after Robot Chicken is over.

Savages

I don't know what my problem is. Usually, and I've always had this problem, I go back and read over the past few things I've written. But, the trend seems to be that I'm disgusted, and only the first thing I've ever written do I still like, and if I were to read it again today, it may fall directly off the pedestal. Well.

Today, I let it get me. Or, just now I should say. Depression, ever present, but sometimes dormant, has been a reliable friend who has walked with me since birth. Usually, I tell people that I only can account for the past decade, but in truth, I think it may be much longer that I've been this way. I wouldn't know. Thankfully, some things in the past were a blur because I just let them pass me by. I don't really regret those lost memories. I still remember a lot, and, I assume the few things I've forgotten aren't notable enough to make anymore impact on my life.

Living for me is no longer numb. Numb is just a word people use because it's the closest thing they know to nothing. Numbness would probably feel nice. It would be something. I'm not projecting this shit, by the way, to make anyone feel sorry for me, etc. This blog is for my own personal use and I frankly don't mind who reads it, but, I would just like to keep to myself these little cracks in the glass so to speak. Maybe it gives me character.

I am heavily influenced by the things around me I've realized. It's unfortunate, because the world isn't exactly brimming with kindness and love and good will. Once again, not trying to be dreary, just truthful. I take the good with the bad. I try not to let either persuade me one way or another. I want to be in reality when it hits hardest. Things go up and they go down.

Down, today, is just another day. It has led me to this. Every once in a while, I decide to write something, and it's getting easier since less of me is concerned with the lack of readership. Thank goodness my words are seldom read.

The reason I'm so scared that someone should decide to pick up my writing, is because outwardly I project a very optimistic and personable facade. I feel like this is getting overly dramatic, but, for me, this is just another day. If I could paint it out, it would be nothing more than an approaching Wednesday, in bed, writing, alone, drinking a beer. That's exactly what it is. Nothing fancy. But everything.

I get doubtful sometimes. Often. I worry what I'm going to do for money, like everyone. I worry about my friends, I talk myself into thinking my lover loves me less. Time keep on tickin' tickin' tickin' into the future. Tomorrow I have to get up and go to work, just like you. Well, hopefully you have a job unlike so many Americans. I don't work enough to really save money. I just work to eat and put gas in my car, and pay a few bills.

I'm going away soon. I'll be in another part of the world. I'm thankful. I'm going to miss the people I have to leave behind, and I'm sure they will miss me, but I don't feel like I'm really here anyway, so what does it matter?

My wish, is that I could get a bit of consistency. I like routine because it's easy. I like knowing how to feel. Now, I don't know what to feel, or who to talk to, or when to be sad or happy. And, the bad part is, it's for no real reason.

I had to quit my biggest vice. I miss smoking. It gave me something to do. Something to feel. It was an excuse to go outside, isolate myself, and spend my money. I don't think it ever filled a void, but now I certainly feel that somethings missing. Maybe, it just masked the hole because I was too busy shopping around for my next carton. Either way, I liked the way it felt in the winter. I would freeze my ass off just to smoke. In the beginning, I would hide out by the lake and stare at the moon.

Maybe some good came from it? I don't know. I know some of the reasons why I feel so terrible, but they are all hard to articulate and seem meager compared to kids without homes or good food, or an education.

I'm going to make a phone call and go to sleep. I don't want to face my own consciousness.

Operator (That's Not The Way It Feels)

I'm sorry.

I'll try not to be vague.

I'm going to have to quit a man. I use that word loosely.

I might not be a muse, but I'm also not dust to be swept under the carpet. (Big gap, I know.)

Sorry pal. I tried. I'm so angry and disappointed that I'm numb. I almost feel like I'm in air. Suspended or something.

Boys tend to take their women for granted. Men tend to be sparse.

Ah, there are more stars in the sky. (I don't want to date a fish)

As Neil would say, "It's better to burn out than to fade away." Who knew your wick would be so short?

तिरेड.

I want to start over. I want a new life. I wish I could leave it all behind.

I can see the sunset in your eyes
Brown and grey and blue besides
Clouds are stalking islands in the sun
I wish I could buy one out of season
But don't hesitate
'cause your love just won't wait

I don't want to wait. I love all of you, but it's time for me to get out of here. Sorry. But I must be movin' on.

Me and my old lady
Ain't been getting along
If things don't get better
I'll soon be long gone

The situation is driving me insane
Somebody fetch me my hat and coat
And hand me my walking cane

Maybe we will meet again.

Hearts & Bones

I am not much of a writer. Honestly, I am not much of a thinker. However, I do think about some things, and with my luck, those things tend to come around two in the morning.

I think people take for granted the effectiveness and availability of daily inquiry.

"Hey man, can you hand me my telephone?"

"Yo, do you mind waking me up in the morning?"

"What's the score?"

Answers are increasingly easy to get. Arguing with your friend whether that was Harvey Keitel or Joe Pesci? Look it up! IMDB that shit! Wiki it! Google it! Hell, Twitter it and let us all know who was right! Why not?!

Think about how much better life would be if you could get an answer as quickly and completely as the information on a news ticker. That would be badass.

For starters, going out to the movies or dinner would be like clockwork. There would not be any lengthy dialog about how you don't want to go see Batman or eat Japanese food. You just do it.

I guess I am being a bit of a dork here, but you would spare the bullshit and make a decision. Praise God! Hallelujah! It would be simple. No picking an outfit for 30 minutes. No stops for gas or plans for later.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I wish everyone was a little less indecisive. I know I do it. I'm horrible about making a quick decision. I need time to consider my options and make the best choice. I check and then I double check. I ask around for other people's opinion. I read up on it.

Maybe life would be a little more interesting if I just made a decision. I just don't think I will ever be able to pick a path and stick to it.

I'm tired. I'm delirious. I'm barely aware of what I'm writing.

I think the older people get, the more tired of the bullshit they get. You've heard it all. You know every trick in the book. I feel old. I don't feel warn or frayed or physically altered... it's just something else. People take the fight out of me. It's not so much a fight to do what I want, it's the exact opposite.

I spend an absurd amount of my time not being myself so that I can be socially accepted and don't have to deal with the bullshit. I really feel like some days I go especially out of my way so that no one is offended or upset or uncomfortable. After all this time though I am just starting to care less and less about what other people think. I don't know that that is a good thing. Some people would be all for not giving a damn, but its something different. It's not that I don't care, because I do. It's just that I'm tired.

Think about it this way. If all the gays came out and all the assholes and perverts and lovers and mothers got over their shit and just were themselves, everyone would be a lot less exhausted and a lot more comfortable with each other.

"Dan is a real prick."
" Well yeah, I know. We just hang out with the for the XBox."
"What does he hang out with you for?"
"The tits."

Easy. You hang out with Dan, the ass, for a little Halo, and Dan hangs out with you to gander at your rack and flirt with your roommates.

There is no veil there. It's just an open compromise where everyone involved is aware and happy with their situation.

There is nothing wrong with being human. Equally, there is nothing wrong with wanting to relax and play a few games. Want to play games for six hours at a time? Why not? You only live once. If you are happy spending your time leveling your paladin, so be it. Just don't bitch about being pale and not having any cash to pay for your water bill.

If people know what to do with the truth then they won't ever be disappointed, no matter what that truth may be.

Accepting the facts, or the truth as it may be, as a whole is not that difficult. It's a black and white decision. Either P or Q. Not and, or if, or only if. Just one or the other. Once you accept the truth, the hard part is done.

I am tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open.

From this day forth, I am going to cut as much bullshit out of my life as possible. If I want to sleep until noon then that's exactly what I am going to do. My life may be in a mold, but it certainly does not fit so that the plaster of my life pops out as seamless and smooth as it went in.

I put a lot of value on my brain. Unfortunately, it's like an artifact I display in a glass case. Worth millions to someone, but unused, on exhibit, serving no purpose other than that of aesthetic requirement.

What's the point in having an idea or a vision if it will never be illustrated? If I want to be entertained I'll kill some Nazi zombies via Call of Duty.

I could write more totally absurd gibberish, but I'm very much looking forward to passing out on the pull out couch.

Today was a wonderful day. I remembered the love I have for four very dear family members, who memories are yet to be made with.

I have a sunburn, brain zaps, and ADD, but I appreciate and adore the Walkers. Let the record show I haven't taken them for granted.

I am going to start living. Hopefully I can throw in a little more truth and sweep out a little more poo. I'll let you know how that turns out.

I Hate You

I am writing this to let one mother fucker in particular know that I hate every sinew and length of nerve in his body.

In particular, I hate the way you are clinging to my life.

Because of my disgust for you, because of my contempt for the way you infect my brain with your image, I am almost completely compelled to end my relationships with a handful of people that make me guilty of knowing your name by association.

I remember being accused of wanting to spend my time with you because of luxury. Because of the house and the electronics and the seclusion. Well the simple god damned fact was that I enjoyed your company, I loved you, and I cared enough to exile myself in the fucking woods to be with a man with twice my experience and half my intelligence.

No matter how much I remind myself that you are milking every last sweet drop of my love for you from the people that I once introduced you to, the comic value doesn't quite destroy the voodoo doll I've got splayed in my brain for you.

My friends, my life, my teenage entourage, now have to be obliterated because you don't have the fucking balls to make friends born before the Power Rangers.

I could be the cold hard bitch I fashion myself to be in these situations, but at this point I am much more comfortable dropping a nuke on the memories and the people that helped shape the sensible person I am today. That debauchery, or fuckery, as I would rather call it, can't be taken back. The trips to Vegas, the joints, the cartons of Marlboro's, the downed bottles of schnapps, they aren't going anywhere.

It's simple. I just have to find a way to manipulate my brain into remembering the things you weren't there for. Vegas? You weren't there for that. Sleeping under the pool table in Tennessee, you weren't there for that one either. Orlando, Edisto, Boca, fucking Manhattan, I spared you all those memories too.

Today. Now. I raise my 50-foot-tall middle finger in a final "Fuck You!" to you and all those cock sucking bastards that want to suckle on your hand me down house, your hand me down life, and the dregs that I have left behind out of haste in what you would only wish to call a "home".

I am thankful for you and my old friends. You are the bricks in the foundation of failure. You drop outs, and pot-heads, and perverts, and dependents, and trust funded, closed minded, pieces of shit, help people like me get the fuck out of a one road, one horse town, and to towns on the Gulf of Mexico, where the women are pretty, the weather is pristine, and the life is more golden in one-week, than in one year of your nine to five, filthy, and perfectly ignorant, existence.

Take the friends, take the memories, take it all. I won't bother kicking you out twice. I'm creating a new life so I don't have to ask you again to get the fuck out of mine.

If I never see you again it will be much too soon.

On a side note, APA Style can lick my nuts.

Sunshine

I am writing in haste from Apollo Beach, Florida.

I very much wish that I had the natural talent to "live by my pen" and swallow myself up in whatever I thought was worth documenting at the time.

Today I learned that my good friend, my best friend no doubt, has been diagnosed with "Lewy Body Disease". What is there to say? There is no cure. Old age, inevitability, etc. I reluctantly, but very honestly, admit my fear of this affliction. The disease itself doesn't scare me. It's the flag that reminds me. It is kind of like someone is tickling you against your will. You laugh. It makes you uncomfortable. It doesn't kill you. It doesn't make you angry. It just annoys you. It reminds you.

I don't like being reminded that the truest friend I will ever have is in the twilight of her days. I don't know if I should be thankful that I have been blessed with the intelligence to recognize that friends like this are rare, and often nonexistent to a large majority of the population. Arguably the bigger curse is ignorance, but I like to think that this curse is only winning by a small margin. Smart men are much more conniving than those that earn their bread breaking stone. Poverty, even of the mind, is much more forgivable a sin than those sins that are advocated by the wealthier of men. That battle of the lesser of two evils may never be won. Ignorance may be bliss to some. I hate being convinced that I am not so fortunate.

The wick of my interest is burnt out. I have my own afflictions to investigate.