I've decided that today's indicator of bedtime is when the general quality of the Anonymous blog site thing's posts starts to increase immensely.
When you start to actually enjoy the depressing little poems about accountants dying without fulfilling any of their dreams, it might be getting late.
I'm glad there is a weekend soon. On weekends, I can usually have a day to do whatever I want, which usually consists of catching up on all my sleep under the most comfortable, perfect conditions imaginable. Yay!
I had something rather amusing to put here, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. Oh well, tomorrow!
24.1.14
I've been looking around the anonymous blog site. I'm having a little trouble understanding how that is really any more anonymous than this, really.
I mean, there is only one person who can access this. I've already told her what I'd probably consider the biggest secret I'd have to keep from her. Even if other people could read it, it turns out much of my readership was from Germany, where I know very, very few people.
But I have noticed a trend going through many of the Anonymous posts - they read like really bad soap operas. Someone's getting dumped by their two week boyfriend. There's women having affairs in the vaguest of terms, shy guys working out and wishing they could talk to pretty girls, and 14 year old kids making themselves puke to be skinny. I mean, there's blogging. Then there's blogging for an audience! This feels almost like the latter.
I refuse to believe I share the earth with people who are actually this stereotypical.
The guy's name is "Counce" for Christ'sake, why are you expecting much? I don't even know how to fucking pronounce that. It's probably a blessing he skipped out on supper with your parents, they wouldn't be able to say it right either.
If you actually talk to girls, you'll find most of the interesting ones don't lift weights either.
If you talked to you husband instead of fucking all his friends, you would not feel guilty all the time. Everyone makes mistakes and if you guys care about eachother, you should let eachother go off and be happy, maybe.
If you puke to get skinny, you'll lose all your teeth. You are not supposed to understand the world at 14.
Such terrible, terrible ennui, I tell ya.
So, I of course decided that such a clichéd group of personalities could only really be assembled for my entertainment.
I have started an experiment. Should it go as planned, I'm going to end up posting the link here. Should it go south, it will be entertaining for me. Should it not work out, it's not really worth looking at.
I was thinking about something someone said to me a long time ago. I can't quote them anymore, but the general idea was somewhere along the lines of "simplicity is bliss."
I've been more and more inclined to agree as of late, and am beginning to think I should spend the summer living in my van in the middle of a forest somewhere.
Oh well.
I want more liquor.
I mean, there is only one person who can access this. I've already told her what I'd probably consider the biggest secret I'd have to keep from her. Even if other people could read it, it turns out much of my readership was from Germany, where I know very, very few people.
But I have noticed a trend going through many of the Anonymous posts - they read like really bad soap operas. Someone's getting dumped by their two week boyfriend. There's women having affairs in the vaguest of terms, shy guys working out and wishing they could talk to pretty girls, and 14 year old kids making themselves puke to be skinny. I mean, there's blogging. Then there's blogging for an audience! This feels almost like the latter.
I refuse to believe I share the earth with people who are actually this stereotypical.
The guy's name is "Counce" for Christ'sake, why are you expecting much? I don't even know how to fucking pronounce that. It's probably a blessing he skipped out on supper with your parents, they wouldn't be able to say it right either.
If you actually talk to girls, you'll find most of the interesting ones don't lift weights either.
If you talked to you husband instead of fucking all his friends, you would not feel guilty all the time. Everyone makes mistakes and if you guys care about eachother, you should let eachother go off and be happy, maybe.
If you puke to get skinny, you'll lose all your teeth. You are not supposed to understand the world at 14.
Such terrible, terrible ennui, I tell ya.
So, I of course decided that such a clichéd group of personalities could only really be assembled for my entertainment.
I have started an experiment. Should it go as planned, I'm going to end up posting the link here. Should it go south, it will be entertaining for me. Should it not work out, it's not really worth looking at.
I was thinking about something someone said to me a long time ago. I can't quote them anymore, but the general idea was somewhere along the lines of "simplicity is bliss."
I've been more and more inclined to agree as of late, and am beginning to think I should spend the summer living in my van in the middle of a forest somewhere.
Oh well.
I want more liquor.
23.1.14
"Do you want to know what's really behind the painting in my living room?" she asked, those burning eyes drilling straight into the back of my skull.
I looked around the table at the other "guests", my cheeks tear stained and my hands still bloody.
These people terrified me. What they had done tonight, and what was going to happen terrified me, more than I have ever felt before. And they were terrified of It. That One was not spoken of, or invited, amongst this crowd of specters.
I knew that what ever happened next, no matter what, I did NOT ever, ever want to see what It really was. I never, ever wanted to know what was behind that picture. I had figured it out by now, and made peace with these other things that did not belong, as much as I could anyway, and I wanted to wake up.
"I think, now that we understand eachother a little better, that I'd rather go around the table and hear all your names again. It's hard to keep them straight because you haven't all picked the proper genders, you know."
Wake up.
"Fine. We will do that. But first, come with me."
Come on. This has lasted longer than they usually do, and it's about time. Wake up.
We went into the study, though it was miles and miles away in the real world. She looked at me, and smiled, though the rest of the room was pale. I could feel my eyes start to bleed as she slowly picked up the picture.
COME ON, FUCKING LET ME WAKE UP!
Seconds before I laid my eyes on the One that even THEY didn't invite for their night of fun, and before my growing sense of dread could find a release in whatever was about to happen, my alarm clock went off.
Sometimes, it's actually really nice waking up to a boring life and having a shitty day at work. Sometimes it's even nicer being the scariest thing in your dreams, especially when you consider the alternatives.
Either way, I don't work till noon tomorrow. I think I'm going to go see the boys, and not sleep until the sun comes up at least a little.
And because I can't remember if you actually watch the videos or what you find scary, here is something far opposite. I'm quite unsettled by remembering all of that and then watching that whole video in the dark while getting stoned before going over to the boys' on foot during this cold and windy night, to be quite fucking frank. So, this!
I looked around the table at the other "guests", my cheeks tear stained and my hands still bloody.
These people terrified me. What they had done tonight, and what was going to happen terrified me, more than I have ever felt before. And they were terrified of It. That One was not spoken of, or invited, amongst this crowd of specters.
I knew that what ever happened next, no matter what, I did NOT ever, ever want to see what It really was. I never, ever wanted to know what was behind that picture. I had figured it out by now, and made peace with these other things that did not belong, as much as I could anyway, and I wanted to wake up.
"I think, now that we understand eachother a little better, that I'd rather go around the table and hear all your names again. It's hard to keep them straight because you haven't all picked the proper genders, you know."
Wake up.
"Fine. We will do that. But first, come with me."
Come on. This has lasted longer than they usually do, and it's about time. Wake up.
We went into the study, though it was miles and miles away in the real world. She looked at me, and smiled, though the rest of the room was pale. I could feel my eyes start to bleed as she slowly picked up the picture.
COME ON, FUCKING LET ME WAKE UP!
Seconds before I laid my eyes on the One that even THEY didn't invite for their night of fun, and before my growing sense of dread could find a release in whatever was about to happen, my alarm clock went off.
Sometimes, it's actually really nice waking up to a boring life and having a shitty day at work. Sometimes it's even nicer being the scariest thing in your dreams, especially when you consider the alternatives.
Either way, I don't work till noon tomorrow. I think I'm going to go see the boys, and not sleep until the sun comes up at least a little.
And because I can't remember if you actually watch the videos or what you find scary, here is something far opposite. I'm quite unsettled by remembering all of that and then watching that whole video in the dark while getting stoned before going over to the boys' on foot during this cold and windy night, to be quite fucking frank. So, this!
22.1.14
Insomaniac, or I Really Actually Am My Own Favorite Person To Hang Out With Sometimes
And now, unrelated things!
In all seriousness, as much as I'd like to leave the evening off at what I think it's a pretty honest and pleasant thought, the simple truth is today's events have prevented me from getting my nightly bud. Not that this is a big complaint, as I'd say the trade off was a pretty good one, but still, weed is what lets me sleep without any overly fucked up dreams to keep waking me up.
I have a pretty bizarre form of insomnia. I get horrifically realistic and vivid dreams, which is great when you're just having a dream about a nice day at work or whatever, but really lame when you're having some kind of heart stopping lovecraftian shit going on in your head. For ever pleasant dream, there is a novel's worth of shitty ones.
So, rather than go to bed and spend the rest of the night scaring the everliving jeebus out of everyone and everything else in the house, I end up smoking a pile of weed and then immerse myself in something requiring output for a few hours, in order to make myself tired. I then fall asleep pretty exhausted, and usually have a dreamless sleep, or at least not remember them.
Usually, this works like a bloody charm, and I get a TON of stuff done. Mostly, I will clean the house, but sometimes I do something fun, like build bookshelves or read the Bible (lots of effort with the King James version), or learn rubberband tricks, or write an incredibly indepth dungeons and dragons tabletop RPG type campaign that I don't really have any interest in actually playing but was a GREAT timekiller, or whatever else can suck up a lot of mental energy and is remotely interesting. Generally, a few hours of straight on immersion in a task, coupled with a bit of bud, will put me right out. It also gives me the claim to be a rare productive stoner.
But some nights, like tonight, I'm a little late on the punch. And other nights, like tonight I do fun but stupid things like play 4X videogames, or give myself something to think about. Then I end up with far too much to do to sleep - I just NEED to play videogames, or sit and stare and scribble shit down furiatively as thoughts blaze past. Because, you know, I forget what the empire's doing when I save and the whole Selukid dynasty will fall turns after I load it up the next day, or because the thoughts will be long gone when it's not 3 am and I'm piping them straight from an Incan monkey god and I won't be able to translate his beautiful but simple language in the morning (usually a fuckton of scribbles and some leery drawings).
So, tonight's a doozy, boys!
As an aside here, I feel like I think wayyy too much at once some times. Sometimes I wonder if this is maybe what A.D.D. is, or if maybe I'm just wired really oddly. Everytime I tell some one I think to much, I think they kind of misunderstand what I'm saying. The response I usually get is "well, you're just smarter" or something similar. I'm 24 in a little bit, and have met all kinds of people. I would certainly not say I'm really above average in intelligence, but I do think I've got a really, really quick mind. It's like computers. Let's say I have a computer that runs twice as fast as yours. That computer isn't really any smarter, it's just quite a bit quicker. And I find that usually, this drives me nuts. When I'm in a good mood, or feeling well, or a little drunk or stoned, then I can organize everything and I think it's actually kind of useful, because I can usually do two or three things at once without going nuts. When I'm really drunk, or kinda stoned, everything slows down to what feels like is probably normal, and I can do a much better job of conveying myself and getting the general point of what I'm trying to say across. This is generally a great place to be during social occasions, because I'm actually pretty fucking charming in a "fuck you" kind of way, or at least am drunk enough by this point to think so.
Anyway, on most of these nights where I am thinking and scribbling (or, playing really interesting videogames), weed somehow stops putting me to sleep, and starts waking me the fuck up.
And then I start to get bored, but not tired. I can't express how shitty I start to feel when I get really bored, and there is nothing to do but just sit and think HARD. I honestly think I'm depressed some days, but maybe a post for some other time.
So I smoke a bunch more, which wakes me up more, which causes me to smoke more.
Once this happens, my little lizard brain pops over into addict for addict's sake mode, and I get stuck in a horrendous loop. Oh, things still get done, let me tell you, just not always good things. It's one thing to joke about the 3 am Incan monkey god. It's another thing entirely to start to take it seriously, and start to build little shrines and appoint your cats high priests before sacrificing a pomegranate to feed your gods, then like six more because YOU ARE THE INCAN MONKEY GOD, AND YOU ARE HUNGRY!.
Or, being stuck so awake that you develop a sport based around the buttload of empty cans your roomates have around the house, some dull toy katana swords, and some really conveniently positioned windows.
Or, you know becoming so bored with insomnia that you draw up intricate plans for survival and gradual rulership of every century from the year 0 onwards, because you never know. I'll give you a hint - avoid Poland, don't be Jewish, and live about as far west as you can, and you're likely to avoid anything really terrible happen to you. Then starting to think about gathering supplies to inact these plans, because you never know when you'll somehow get accidentally sent back through time and a bunch of shit and trival knowledge from 1231 might be useful (hint: seriously, avoid Poland).
Or, worst of all, you get so wired, burnt and foolish that you record yourself playing an assortment of instruments made from shit around the house to the classics of the 80s and 90s.
Really, as much as the whole thing is almost always a little immature, it's actually pretty amazingly fun to go to work in the mornings knowing you spent the evening lording over some cats and looking up really old maps and playing beerskeetball and generally just kind of fucking around in a way that you just can't when people are around watching.
There are a couple pretty big downsides, though. For one, beerskeetball is a sport of only the finest of gentlemen and is quite exertive, often leaving one tired and exhausted. Planning the ultimate chronological survival guide is ALOT of fucking reading, checking, and occasionally even crosschecking if I'm alert enough. It WEARS A GUY OUT!
So, usually, I will pass out on my nice, big couch, which is quite frankly far nicer than anything I've owned bedwise in quite a long time. I will wake up an hour or two later fucking exhausted, late for work, and previously, with one or more of my roomates asking me why I'm shirtless, wallowing in my large mammal-hood, and covered in red juice. The second question is usually why the cats have leaves and shit taped to them, and why RCR is on instrumental repeat. Or, where the fuck did all these latters come from? Or, etc. etc. This is of course not exactly always fun depending on what exactly I was doing at the moment I shut down, and leaves me exhausted all day.
So, thusly, rather than just do the smart thing, knowing full well that much had be thought out before I could sleep and that I should smoke the bowl and write or something for a bit, I decided to smoke a bowl and TAKE A FUCKING BATH.
Now, something you should know about me and baths, just so it doesn't surprise anyone when it turns out I've drowned someday. I do not take baths in the sense that a mere common mortal "takes" baths. No, my baths are the baths of men, nay, of great bearded men, nay OF GREAT BEARDED MEN OF YORE.
My baths are not baths. They are fucking events, with a full band, chocolate fountains, and three course meals. My baths are so fucking awesome, that one time, I shit you not, my neighbour's propane tank exploded and blew up a good chunk of forest, rocking the ground as though I was under the feet of titans, and still, I did not move, such was the glory of that bath.
In all honesty, my baths usually only have a one course meal, unless I really feel like TAKING the bath around the house and making a mess. But they certainly are epicly long baths in which I tend to lose track of time reading or thinking or sitting in the dark pretending I'm in a sensory deprivation chamber. There are indeed musics, as I have a mo-fo'ing speaker system in here, and there was both a vodka fountain, back when I drank steady and loved stinking like vodka, and a variety of tasty chocolates, until I realized that it's just a fucking terrible idea the minute you spill it into the tub a little.
Anyway. So here I am. Like six fucking hours later. And you know what I'm doing? No, goof, I'm not sitting on the couch or in bed writing this!
I'M STILL IN THE GODDAMN BATH, WRITING TO YOU STRAIGHT FROM THE MOTHERFUCKING GODDAMN 3 AM INCAN MONKEY GOD!
So yeah, that plan fucking failed. At least my pot roast is nearly done!
In all seriousness, as much as I'd like to leave the evening off at what I think it's a pretty honest and pleasant thought, the simple truth is today's events have prevented me from getting my nightly bud. Not that this is a big complaint, as I'd say the trade off was a pretty good one, but still, weed is what lets me sleep without any overly fucked up dreams to keep waking me up.
I have a pretty bizarre form of insomnia. I get horrifically realistic and vivid dreams, which is great when you're just having a dream about a nice day at work or whatever, but really lame when you're having some kind of heart stopping lovecraftian shit going on in your head. For ever pleasant dream, there is a novel's worth of shitty ones.
So, rather than go to bed and spend the rest of the night scaring the everliving jeebus out of everyone and everything else in the house, I end up smoking a pile of weed and then immerse myself in something requiring output for a few hours, in order to make myself tired. I then fall asleep pretty exhausted, and usually have a dreamless sleep, or at least not remember them.
Usually, this works like a bloody charm, and I get a TON of stuff done. Mostly, I will clean the house, but sometimes I do something fun, like build bookshelves or read the Bible (lots of effort with the King James version), or learn rubberband tricks, or write an incredibly indepth dungeons and dragons tabletop RPG type campaign that I don't really have any interest in actually playing but was a GREAT timekiller, or whatever else can suck up a lot of mental energy and is remotely interesting. Generally, a few hours of straight on immersion in a task, coupled with a bit of bud, will put me right out. It also gives me the claim to be a rare productive stoner.
But some nights, like tonight, I'm a little late on the punch. And other nights, like tonight I do fun but stupid things like play 4X videogames, or give myself something to think about. Then I end up with far too much to do to sleep - I just NEED to play videogames, or sit and stare and scribble shit down furiatively as thoughts blaze past. Because, you know, I forget what the empire's doing when I save and the whole Selukid dynasty will fall turns after I load it up the next day, or because the thoughts will be long gone when it's not 3 am and I'm piping them straight from an Incan monkey god and I won't be able to translate his beautiful but simple language in the morning (usually a fuckton of scribbles and some leery drawings).
So, tonight's a doozy, boys!
As an aside here, I feel like I think wayyy too much at once some times. Sometimes I wonder if this is maybe what A.D.D. is, or if maybe I'm just wired really oddly. Everytime I tell some one I think to much, I think they kind of misunderstand what I'm saying. The response I usually get is "well, you're just smarter" or something similar. I'm 24 in a little bit, and have met all kinds of people. I would certainly not say I'm really above average in intelligence, but I do think I've got a really, really quick mind. It's like computers. Let's say I have a computer that runs twice as fast as yours. That computer isn't really any smarter, it's just quite a bit quicker. And I find that usually, this drives me nuts. When I'm in a good mood, or feeling well, or a little drunk or stoned, then I can organize everything and I think it's actually kind of useful, because I can usually do two or three things at once without going nuts. When I'm really drunk, or kinda stoned, everything slows down to what feels like is probably normal, and I can do a much better job of conveying myself and getting the general point of what I'm trying to say across. This is generally a great place to be during social occasions, because I'm actually pretty fucking charming in a "fuck you" kind of way, or at least am drunk enough by this point to think so.
Anyway, on most of these nights where I am thinking and scribbling (or, playing really interesting videogames), weed somehow stops putting me to sleep, and starts waking me the fuck up.
And then I start to get bored, but not tired. I can't express how shitty I start to feel when I get really bored, and there is nothing to do but just sit and think HARD. I honestly think I'm depressed some days, but maybe a post for some other time.
So I smoke a bunch more, which wakes me up more, which causes me to smoke more.
Once this happens, my little lizard brain pops over into addict for addict's sake mode, and I get stuck in a horrendous loop. Oh, things still get done, let me tell you, just not always good things. It's one thing to joke about the 3 am Incan monkey god. It's another thing entirely to start to take it seriously, and start to build little shrines and appoint your cats high priests before sacrificing a pomegranate to feed your gods, then like six more because YOU ARE THE INCAN MONKEY GOD, AND YOU ARE HUNGRY!.
Or, being stuck so awake that you develop a sport based around the buttload of empty cans your roomates have around the house, some dull toy katana swords, and some really conveniently positioned windows.
Or, you know becoming so bored with insomnia that you draw up intricate plans for survival and gradual rulership of every century from the year 0 onwards, because you never know. I'll give you a hint - avoid Poland, don't be Jewish, and live about as far west as you can, and you're likely to avoid anything really terrible happen to you. Then starting to think about gathering supplies to inact these plans, because you never know when you'll somehow get accidentally sent back through time and a bunch of shit and trival knowledge from 1231 might be useful (hint: seriously, avoid Poland).
Or, worst of all, you get so wired, burnt and foolish that you record yourself playing an assortment of instruments made from shit around the house to the classics of the 80s and 90s.
Really, as much as the whole thing is almost always a little immature, it's actually pretty amazingly fun to go to work in the mornings knowing you spent the evening lording over some cats and looking up really old maps and playing beerskeetball and generally just kind of fucking around in a way that you just can't when people are around watching.
There are a couple pretty big downsides, though. For one, beerskeetball is a sport of only the finest of gentlemen and is quite exertive, often leaving one tired and exhausted. Planning the ultimate chronological survival guide is ALOT of fucking reading, checking, and occasionally even crosschecking if I'm alert enough. It WEARS A GUY OUT!
So, usually, I will pass out on my nice, big couch, which is quite frankly far nicer than anything I've owned bedwise in quite a long time. I will wake up an hour or two later fucking exhausted, late for work, and previously, with one or more of my roomates asking me why I'm shirtless, wallowing in my large mammal-hood, and covered in red juice. The second question is usually why the cats have leaves and shit taped to them, and why RCR is on instrumental repeat. Or, where the fuck did all these latters come from? Or, etc. etc. This is of course not exactly always fun depending on what exactly I was doing at the moment I shut down, and leaves me exhausted all day.
So, thusly, rather than just do the smart thing, knowing full well that much had be thought out before I could sleep and that I should smoke the bowl and write or something for a bit, I decided to smoke a bowl and TAKE A FUCKING BATH.
Now, something you should know about me and baths, just so it doesn't surprise anyone when it turns out I've drowned someday. I do not take baths in the sense that a mere common mortal "takes" baths. No, my baths are the baths of men, nay, of great bearded men, nay OF GREAT BEARDED MEN OF YORE.
My baths are not baths. They are fucking events, with a full band, chocolate fountains, and three course meals. My baths are so fucking awesome, that one time, I shit you not, my neighbour's propane tank exploded and blew up a good chunk of forest, rocking the ground as though I was under the feet of titans, and still, I did not move, such was the glory of that bath.
In all honesty, my baths usually only have a one course meal, unless I really feel like TAKING the bath around the house and making a mess. But they certainly are epicly long baths in which I tend to lose track of time reading or thinking or sitting in the dark pretending I'm in a sensory deprivation chamber. There are indeed musics, as I have a mo-fo'ing speaker system in here, and there was both a vodka fountain, back when I drank steady and loved stinking like vodka, and a variety of tasty chocolates, until I realized that it's just a fucking terrible idea the minute you spill it into the tub a little.
Anyway. So here I am. Like six fucking hours later. And you know what I'm doing? No, goof, I'm not sitting on the couch or in bed writing this!
I'M STILL IN THE GODDAMN BATH, WRITING TO YOU STRAIGHT FROM THE MOTHERFUCKING GODDAMN 3 AM INCAN MONKEY GOD!
So yeah, that plan fucking failed. At least my pot roast is nearly done!
21.1.14
You couldn't see foreshadowing, because there has never been any. So here, this one is for you.
Tonight was a really, really good night. I'm still left thinking maybe I'm misunderstanding something. Maybe it's just trained in there. Or maybe I'm still seeing what I want or don't want to see. Or maybe a pile of other stuff. In the end, I'd like to think that I'm not the only one going to bed with a pretty blown mind.
And in the end, it's a little sad. I'd like to show you some passion, because maybe you deserve it and it's been a fucking long time and I'm really a little tired of being so fucking jaded, and see where that all goes and so on, even if it turns out that nah, all a bad idea, etc.. Don't get me wrong, I think we're pretty clear on where things sit right now and agree it is good, for a whole whack of reasons that I quite honestly don't think need to be as clearly laid out as everything else, and I do think we're both pretty capable of maintaining that as it sits. Doesn't mean it can't be just a little unfortunate, or maybe even a little ironic.
But right now, in this minute, it feels like the snow's softly falling under a streetlamp somewhere a lifetime ago, and in this minute, life is good.
And in the end, it's a little sad. I'd like to show you some passion, because maybe you deserve it and it's been a fucking long time and I'm really a little tired of being so fucking jaded, and see where that all goes and so on, even if it turns out that nah, all a bad idea, etc.. Don't get me wrong, I think we're pretty clear on where things sit right now and agree it is good, for a whole whack of reasons that I quite honestly don't think need to be as clearly laid out as everything else, and I do think we're both pretty capable of maintaining that as it sits. Doesn't mean it can't be just a little unfortunate, or maybe even a little ironic.
But right now, in this minute, it feels like the snow's softly falling under a streetlamp somewhere a lifetime ago, and in this minute, life is good.
Anonyme sucks as bad as google
So, I've had a massively shit day today. I figured hey, I don't want to deal with any of my shit today, so maybe I'll go see what problems other people are having.
So, I pop on one of my favorite blogs (that isn't written by me), read up an interesting post on the nature of friendship, and then proceeded to type a very long, take-my-mind-off-it comment that I think actually had some relevant, decent insight, or was at least a little interesting.
When I went to post it, I was brought to a registration page asking I sign in to the "anonymous" blog site to leave my comment. I hit back, to find that my comment was now gone, and couldn't even be posted here.
*sigh*
So now, I'm really fucking frustrated with the day.
Sometimes, I wonder if I will always feel like this about life. I think there's pills I could get to make things happier, but I've finally got a group of friends who actually seem to kind of like the full range of "Steve" that they get, and I don't really feel like screwing that up.
Plus, I've found I can't smoke pot when I'm on pills, and while I may feel this sort of sedated peace in my chest, I just can't slow my brain down or make it lighter.
So I don't know. Maybe I just need to be happier with life, or toughen up, or simply make better life choices. Or maybe I am always right and the world's just really shitty and pointless to anyone with half a brain. Tough to say.
Wow. That matches the word count of my comment. Maybe I should have retyped that instead of bitching, who knows?
Anyway. ANYWAY.
Sometimes having cats is really, really fucking frustrating.
I think I have loving, awesome cats most of the time, but sometimes, I think they are vile, odorous little bastards.
For example, sometimes, my cool, loving kitties come cheer me up when I feel sick by doing cute things, coming for belly rubs, and just being awesome and mellow and cuddly.
Other times, like today, they only come within five feet of me to puke, shit, or wake me up after finally falling asleep after two days of to-the-wall insomnia. It's been a rough day, guys! I know it's hard being a cat - picking which couch to scratch up, puke on, then nap for 18 hours straight on is probably really HARD SERIOUS SHIT, but cut me a break.
I can't wait till the summer. I think I'll build a kitty plow and use them to till my massive backyard into a garden. Then they can contribute, and also have plants to eat that didn't cost me $100 and are supposed to be for my girlfriend to look at, not eat.
So, I pop on one of my favorite blogs (that isn't written by me), read up an interesting post on the nature of friendship, and then proceeded to type a very long, take-my-mind-off-it comment that I think actually had some relevant, decent insight, or was at least a little interesting.
When I went to post it, I was brought to a registration page asking I sign in to the "anonymous" blog site to leave my comment. I hit back, to find that my comment was now gone, and couldn't even be posted here.
*sigh*
So now, I'm really fucking frustrated with the day.
Sometimes, I wonder if I will always feel like this about life. I think there's pills I could get to make things happier, but I've finally got a group of friends who actually seem to kind of like the full range of "Steve" that they get, and I don't really feel like screwing that up.
Plus, I've found I can't smoke pot when I'm on pills, and while I may feel this sort of sedated peace in my chest, I just can't slow my brain down or make it lighter.
So I don't know. Maybe I just need to be happier with life, or toughen up, or simply make better life choices. Or maybe I am always right and the world's just really shitty and pointless to anyone with half a brain. Tough to say.
Wow. That matches the word count of my comment. Maybe I should have retyped that instead of bitching, who knows?
Anyway. ANYWAY.
Sometimes having cats is really, really fucking frustrating.
I think I have loving, awesome cats most of the time, but sometimes, I think they are vile, odorous little bastards.
For example, sometimes, my cool, loving kitties come cheer me up when I feel sick by doing cute things, coming for belly rubs, and just being awesome and mellow and cuddly.
Other times, like today, they only come within five feet of me to puke, shit, or wake me up after finally falling asleep after two days of to-the-wall insomnia. It's been a rough day, guys! I know it's hard being a cat - picking which couch to scratch up, puke on, then nap for 18 hours straight on is probably really HARD SERIOUS SHIT, but cut me a break.
I can't wait till the summer. I think I'll build a kitty plow and use them to till my massive backyard into a garden. Then they can contribute, and also have plants to eat that didn't cost me $100 and are supposed to be for my girlfriend to look at, not eat.
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