I guess since this place hasn't been visited by anyone (myself included) for quite some time I can say whatever the fuck I want, so here goes.
Nothing fucks with my head quite like girls. In a span of a week I went from infatuation to spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you love. And now I'm alone. I'm not built for one nighters, and the fact that my headspace isn't where it should be only compounds the problem.
I was always a sucker for a pretty face, and she was the prettiest, not to mention the funniest and craziest girl I had met in a long time. I went out that night with her square in my sights, and told her as much when we got back to my house. It was the happiest waking up hungover for work I've ever been. And yet I'm not sure if I should be happy with how things went down. Would I be better off if this had never happened or should I be happy with what I got and move on? Is there any possiblity of this developping into something or was she just scratching itches? This is why I hate one nighters, I'm always asking myself these questions the next day, but I digress...
It seems I'm dealing with yet another bout of crazies that is only compounding the issue. Once particular thoughts get into my head in this state, they tend to stick around. I haven't taken my pills for quite some time and now every thought/emotion/urge that I've covered up with alcohol or mania is back and cranked to eleven. Instead of jumping from hot topic to trendy emotion like I have for the past few months, all I can feel is sadness and despair and it won't go away.
I find myself (as I often do during these times) wondering what MY identity is. Am I that far off that all I can do is spew quotes and regurgitate pop culture? Am I so destitude for personality that I'm just a mosaic of everything around me, adding nothing of my own substance? Sure, Alex Rodriguez makes 25.2 million a year, they say "fuck" 182 times in Scarface, and I can name the last 3 people Paris Hilton dated. WHAT FUCKING GOOD IS THIS STUFF TO ME?
As Tyler Durden would say:
"Is this essential to our survival in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word?" The answer of course is no. The ideals in that book/movie appeal to me like no religion ever could, and yet I can't seem to adapt my life to even remotely match. Society seems to have trapped me into a box in which I am destined to be a faceless, following, schill. Maybe that's what's getting me down. I need to bust out and travel, own a unicycle, skydive, appear on Jeopardy!, climb a mountain, play in a band, find a soul mate, leave a legacy, and all the things I want to do with my life. Does anybody ever really do everything they want to with their life? I sure as fuck am going to try.
Here's to Twenty-odd six.
Nothing fucks with my head quite like girls. In a span of a week I went from infatuation to spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you love. And now I'm alone. I'm not built for one nighters, and the fact that my headspace isn't where it should be only compounds the problem.
I was always a sucker for a pretty face, and she was the prettiest, not to mention the funniest and craziest girl I had met in a long time. I went out that night with her square in my sights, and told her as much when we got back to my house. It was the happiest waking up hungover for work I've ever been. And yet I'm not sure if I should be happy with how things went down. Would I be better off if this had never happened or should I be happy with what I got and move on? Is there any possiblity of this developping into something or was she just scratching itches? This is why I hate one nighters, I'm always asking myself these questions the next day, but I digress...
It seems I'm dealing with yet another bout of crazies that is only compounding the issue. Once particular thoughts get into my head in this state, they tend to stick around. I haven't taken my pills for quite some time and now every thought/emotion/urge that I've covered up with alcohol or mania is back and cranked to eleven. Instead of jumping from hot topic to trendy emotion like I have for the past few months, all I can feel is sadness and despair and it won't go away.
I find myself (as I often do during these times) wondering what MY identity is. Am I that far off that all I can do is spew quotes and regurgitate pop culture? Am I so destitude for personality that I'm just a mosaic of everything around me, adding nothing of my own substance? Sure, Alex Rodriguez makes 25.2 million a year, they say "fuck" 182 times in Scarface, and I can name the last 3 people Paris Hilton dated. WHAT FUCKING GOOD IS THIS STUFF TO ME?
As Tyler Durden would say:
"Is this essential to our survival in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word?" The answer of course is no. The ideals in that book/movie appeal to me like no religion ever could, and yet I can't seem to adapt my life to even remotely match. Society seems to have trapped me into a box in which I am destined to be a faceless, following, schill. Maybe that's what's getting me down. I need to bust out and travel, own a unicycle, skydive, appear on Jeopardy!, climb a mountain, play in a band, find a soul mate, leave a legacy, and all the things I want to do with my life. Does anybody ever really do everything they want to with their life? I sure as fuck am going to try.
Here's to Twenty-odd six.
2 Comments:
welcome back mr. Kotter, the antics of M. ling have been sorely missed.
Much obliged.
Makes cleaning out the tumble weeds and crickets worth the effort.
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