could you really ask for anything else?
I don't even have anything interesting to really write about. I just like turning letters into words into sentences into paragraphs into pages into stories.
Maybe I'm a little (a lot-ttle?) narcissistic. Maybe I think the world revolves around me and everyone should know what's going on every second of my life. I had a Twitter for that reason, but there wasn't enough space to type. Maybe I have a middle child complex and crave attention. Maybe I should get that checked. Maybe I'm just bored at work and need a way to distract myself from the fact my new boss is constantly hovering over me, trying to catch me slacking. Maybe he has a good reason for it. Maybe writing is the only way I know how to really express my thoughts. Maybe I should get better at talking. Maybe I'm trying to make up for the fact I have a 'smart phone' but only use it for stupid shit. Maybe I'm avoiding writing about what's really bothering me. Maybe nothing is. Maybe I'm going crazy. Maybe I'm becoming sane. Maybe I've just had too much coffee. Maybe I should get back
to work. Maybe I should quit. Maybe I'm afraid of being forgotten. Maybe this is how I'm trying to leave me mark on the world. Maybe I don't really care. Maybe I care too much. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe I should quit my belly aching.
Where are all the constants in life?
I just decided that I work way too much. It's really not even funny.
I feel like I'm always here. Or on my way here. Or on my way home from here, but I have to be back here super early in the morning.
Don't get me wrong. I don't mind the job. I work with awesome people. I get whatever schedule I need. They pay me waaayyyy too much for what I actually do. The customers can sick a duck, but that's a whole different entry(I'm coming after you muh' fuckers).
But it's just too much time spent here. I'm missing out on a lot outside of work. And for what? A fat pay check?
Yes.
Show me the money.
Oh how I love the crazies on the trolley.
"YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF NAZIS!!"
*whispering* "mother fuckin fuckers.. grumble grumble grumble"
"GET ME MY FUCKIN BOTTLE! fuckin fuckin fuck fucks.."
It's gonna be a good day at work.
A couple of nights ago the acoustic guitar came out. I wasn't playing it of course. I'm far from musically inclined. Luckily, I'm surrounded by those who are.
So Danny starts strumming, mostly non-sense at first. A song about Mel and nestea. Probably some cock and ball jokes, that's the way it usually goes. But then I hear a sound. A soothing sound. The sound of four chord familiarity. And it takes me back to easier days..
The days where pop punk, dickies, skateboarding, and backyard gigs ruled my world. When The Ataris, New Found Glory and Alkaline Trio taught me everything I needed to know about the world and girls. Before Hurley could be found at Macy's and only skateboarders wore skate shoes. When I spent the whole day at school but never in a classroom, at least not the one I was supposed to be in. When the things that we look back at now were actually happening. The spot. Fishing for 20 packs and smirnoff ice. Alfreds garage. Uranus. The beginning of long, rocky relationships for all us, that still define us in a way. These days were care free. These days were looked forward to. These days made us who we are. These days turned into these nights.
These days are long gone.
This was my junior year. And I'll never forget it. Unfortunately, nostalgia doesn't pay the bills...
yesterday morning my alarm went off at 7.20. I woke up startled, confused, kind of scared. I remembered setting the alarm, but that's it. I didn't know what day it was. I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing that day. I looked around trying to grab my bearings.
then I started remembering the previous week and how amazing it had been. Kings cup for the soul, rock bottom, brewer's cobb salad(with balsamic vinagrette), making an amazing new friend, staying up talking to said friend until 4.30 in the morning. twice. the best birthday party. ever. apples 2 apples, not sober. rap battles. princess pub. "I'm still deleting you from facebook."
no sleep.
after about ten minutes of memories racing through my head, I eventually came to the part where I set my alarm.
it's monday again. gotta get to class.
fuck.
..I'm an idiot. Of course theyve made it easy to blog mobily.. life makes sense again.
for me at least.
i can post from my blackberry! woo.. and yet another form of feeding my addiction to this piece of technology..
they could at least make a blogspot.mobile application..
another attempt at baring my soul. i've tried this many times. never really get more than two posts before totally forgetting about it. and i always start with saying that this is my umpteenth attempt at this so hopefully this time blah. blah. blah.
the definition of insanity is doing something over and over and expecting different results.
makes sense.
you ever have to make a very hard decision? a choice that will ultimately change the course of your life, in one way or another? ...i guess every decision you make will ultimately change your life somehow, but that's not what i'm talking (writing?) about. i'm talking about the choices that keep you up at night. the ones that won't even give you a second to think about something else. the decisions that aren't even really a decision at all because you know what the correct one is, you just have to come to terms with it.
this is the feeling i think some people get when you ask what kind of bag they want for their groceries.
i guess sometimes the easiest choices are really the hardest ones.
aaaaanyway... let's see how long i can keep this up!
peace.
