(no subject)
Despite the grand amount of time I spend lurking, I have cautiously approached the vast world of what we call AIM, albeit at odd hours of the evening and day perhaps subconciously to be able I can tell myself I made the effort, it was just that noone else seemed to be about.
I find myself doing that often, finding some way to justify my actions to myself, rather than everyone else. Despite my contained box of interwoven insecurities, I find that I need validation from myself over anyone else. To be quite honest I gave up on attempting at pleasing everyone long ago when I realized that the person who was never sated or impressed was in fact myself. Cliche but oh so honest, when it comes down to it my worst enemy is what I see when I peer into any sort of reflective object. Me. That's not to say I don't value or love myself. If we're going to be baring all and splaying the cards all out on the table, I'm rather fond of myself. I enjoy my personality and my sense of humor, and fuck it sometimes I'll even have a conversation with myself now and again. When it comes down to it, I can always rely on myself to keep my mind from eating itself out of boredom boredom. Was I going somewhere with this self-indulgent babble of incoherency? I'm not quite sure. Let this be a lesson boys and girls that it's not wise to drink espresso at 3 in the am. That and once again I find myself out of cigarettes. I suppose it's my good fortune then that the vast majority of my friends page updates with no only lengthy entries, but ones with substance as well. Le gasp. Shocking, I know. Forgive me for not being capable of waxing poetic as beautifully as some of you. I've always been this way; short and to the point with a handful of crass and a pinch of grittiness tossed in for good measure.
For those inquiring minds, I find myself in New Yawk as of late, although between filming and schedualing conflicts that is also due to change at any given time, so should you be in the area you should grab me whilst the going is still good. Or at least heed of wise words of yore, there is nothing that cannot be solved with two kinds of alcohol and several different types of chocolate coated consumption. Winona will attest to that. And thus, I find myself sitting here at not even noon downing cup after cup of black coffee with a bit of schnapps tossed in for good measure. I do apologize for my abrupt absence last evening to whomever had the good fortune of allowing me to chew their ear off (Stephen Dorff and Colin Farrell, I look to you) as my poor excuse for a laptop was just not able to keep up with me and thus ended up crashing countless times and flooding every file I own with e-coupons for gay pornography and the like. It's times such as those where I wish I had never agreed to loan my laptop out in the first place.
I find myself doing that often, finding some way to justify my actions to myself, rather than everyone else. Despite my contained box of interwoven insecurities, I find that I need validation from myself over anyone else. To be quite honest I gave up on attempting at pleasing everyone long ago when I realized that the person who was never sated or impressed was in fact myself. Cliche but oh so honest, when it comes down to it my worst enemy is what I see when I peer into any sort of reflective object. Me. That's not to say I don't value or love myself. If we're going to be baring all and splaying the cards all out on the table, I'm rather fond of myself. I enjoy my personality and my sense of humor, and fuck it sometimes I'll even have a conversation with myself now and again. When it comes down to it, I can always rely on myself to keep my mind from eating itself out of boredom boredom. Was I going somewhere with this self-indulgent babble of incoherency? I'm not quite sure. Let this be a lesson boys and girls that it's not wise to drink espresso at 3 in the am. That and once again I find myself out of cigarettes. I suppose it's my good fortune then that the vast majority of my friends page updates with no only lengthy entries, but ones with substance as well. Le gasp. Shocking, I know. Forgive me for not being capable of waxing poetic as beautifully as some of you. I've always been this way; short and to the point with a handful of crass and a pinch of grittiness tossed in for good measure.
For those inquiring minds, I find myself in New Yawk as of late, although between filming and schedualing conflicts that is also due to change at any given time, so should you be in the area you should grab me whilst the going is still good. Or at least heed of wise words of yore, there is nothing that cannot be solved with two kinds of alcohol and several different types of chocolate coated consumption. Winona will attest to that. And thus, I find myself sitting here at not even noon downing cup after cup of black coffee with a bit of schnapps tossed in for good measure. I do apologize for my abrupt absence last evening to whomever had the good fortune of allowing me to chew their ear off (Stephen Dorff and Colin Farrell, I look to you) as my poor excuse for a laptop was just not able to keep up with me and thus ended up crashing countless times and flooding every file I own with e-coupons for gay pornography and the like. It's times such as those where I wish I had never agreed to loan my laptop out in the first place.