I'm an idiot...

And foolish, and hopeless and hopelessly in ___ and what can I do about it? Mmm nothing but be depressed and lay in my bed.

United Blood was insane. I'll post about it when I'm happier.

1

We’re a fucked up species. Simply put.

I hate many, many, many things. I am a very small and very hateful person. I’m sure it’s relatively unhealthy to have so much pent-up rage going on in my system, but I can’t fucking help it. People are generally idiots, and I don’t tolerate idiocy well. Correction, ignorance, bigotry, an overall lack of common sense all fall under idiocy as subcategories. I hate crocs shoes, and the people who typically wear them. I hate most everyone with a tribal tattoo, or flame tattoos, or barbed wire, or anchors or ships or octopuses. I hate people who drag their feet, who take thirty minutes to put together a cohesive sentence to contribute to a pseudo intellectual conversation. I hate pseudo intellectuals, though I fear I fall into that category sometimes. I hate Republicans, I hate Democrats, I have less of a distaste for socialists and anarchists only because I pity them a little. I hate people who wear jeans to a play, and girls who wear “the half shirt.” The half shirt is never OK. I hate women with knuckle tattoos. I hate compliments because i never know how to take them, as harmless as they may be. I hate desperation. I hate inability to be totally honest with oneself. I'm guilty of this all the time, or just delusional, who knows.

I AM SO FRUSTRATED.

No more text messages.
No more cryptic emails.
No more married men.
aka
NO MAS SENORS.

I don't want to go to work. I only want to lay on this rented couch (I'm house sitting) and watch Anthony Bourdain all night.

Responsibility can suck it.

is $1000 worth one picture?

A picture worth 1000 words? $1000 dollars to do my recovery?
Do you remember when we were all friends? And spent late nights wandering around, talking about strange things and stranger dreams? Do you remember when everyone was in on every joke, and a disrespecting remark was a disrespecting act to everyone?

Back before address changes and attitude changes? Back before everyone got tougher and evidently stupider? When the phrase "the realest" meant something to everyone, not just those that coined the phrase.

Back when it was 100+ degrees in that shitty hovel with 300+ people hopping around like idiots because there was nothing better on a Saturday night. And I don't mean nothing better like our lives were boring, I mean, it was something we all looked forward to all week long?


Yeah, I remember those days.

And I don't have the pictures to remember them by.

Lithics

Groundstone and flake.
How one professor can make a potentially interesting subject snore inducing is beyond me.


Talk is cheap.


Have you ever been introduced to someone and known in that moment that things wouldn't be the same after? Been uncertain as a relatively certain person? Yeah, that defines my weekend.

Silence

The silence and loneliness can be deafening. And it just presses in from all sides.


No more.

It hurts sometimes to think about how far away this is from what you'd hoped for. The way things were supposed to stay. And though you learned a lesson and you took it with grace, I wish I could stop the cold hand of reality from hitting you in the face. But there is no sparkling clean solution. And shit isn't just gonna get resolved in a half an hour, with special guest stars and pearls of wisdom. So let's not kid ourselves here. You and I were swindled by an image that was so tantalizing and real that I could almost taste it. But now the stench of failure is worse than anything. It permeates everything I do. And I'm starting to realize that I'd rather have nothing than have a lie, and sitting waiting for a life that's already passed me by.

I just got home from Paris (on the Platte). From "doing homework" with Kyle, and by doing homework, of course I mean gossiping like the girl I am, and the girl he wishes he were. (Jokes, jokes). He's wonderful to spend an evening with because he does have real insight into why people do what they do.

The general consensus is that "it's not allowed..." and now it's a matter of taking it into my own hands and putting my foot down. It's happened before, and it will happen again.

Last chances have come and gone.

Supernova

The magnificent restraint that it takes to stay away. I've no control at all.

Three weeks from today I will be on my way to Virginia for spring break and for United Blood.

Instead of studying I am watching episodes of Eastbound and Down online. Danny McBride has the best delivery ever.

I am unsure of whether or not I am being sent mixed signals, or if I am just such a mixed up kid that I'm receiving them. If that makes any sense at all. How am I to differentiate between how things were and how things are?

Who do you need to show me off for? I'm nothing to you.

Ugh. Is 11:30 too early to have a beer with lunch if I've been up since 5:30 and won't get home until after ten?

Vices

-Eavesdropping
-An ice cold coke
-French fries
-Long naps
-Sidekick LX
-Film cameras

snooze

Endless nights bring on endless days...

I will see the fading from midnight to sunset, the reverse darkening that happens every day. This so called sleep schedule that had been so successful is now failing me at it's basest duty. Recharge and renew. An owl til now. I look forward to little else in life as much as I do the crawling in bed at the end of the day, which always includes a few chapters of whatever book I'm currently immersed in that is accessible in bed. I'm one of those people who are in the midst of pages of several books at one time.

I know what keeps me up at night, but it's one of those things that you dare not even think. Confessing it even to yourself is treason. Remember that whole mantra of I don't trust, I don't feel. Yes, that mantra. You're failing at it quite well.

The difference is, that here there are no millions of regrets. No admissions of guilt to be written out as an affidavit for past mistakes. The single, solitary mistake was a confession. Oh, confessions. Admissions. Terrible, loaded words that at the end of the day just mean you're selling yourself out. No confession of acts or guilt, just a confession of something everyone knew already anyway.

So this bed, which is too large for just me keeps me up at night. The inescapable feeling that I would be miles deep into REM sleep with a personal space heater sharing a pillow is a little overwhelming. And besides that, contemplating potential nuclear holocaust at the hands of our fearless leaders wakes me in a cold sweat some nights.

Nuclear holocaust, near misses of automotive collisions. Say something had happened. Would that keep you up at night?




All this psycho analytical bullshit that I say keeps me up? Sure, it's all true.
But the number one stimulant is the physical ache I feel at 23, that it's all down hill from here.




This is not a competition, and I am too old.

Coming Soon