"fuck." Fat mumbled to himself.
I have been reading a lot of Phillip K Dick. He says everything ive never been able to articulate, better than i imagined anyone could.
I've been painting. I decided to go back to school next semester with kenny. He'll look after me, always does. At least thats what i tell myself to keep up the good hope. On the bright side, I almost believe myself, out of desperation. I hope I'm alright, when all is said and done. I'm happy... not great, not even okay, but... at peace. I hope to fall madly in love with myself, before i get too old for such vanity. I hope I figure at least some of it out by then.
I bought some tiger balm and some blue nail polish, but I failed to find either analgesic. I forgive myself. I smoked today, and will likely very sparingly indulge in my fancy bottle of whiskey tonight. I forgive myself. Both very normal things to do. I postulate that being sad and confused for one stupid night does not irrevocably indicate that I am gravely bonkers or depressed. No one likes to be ignored. And Im sure everyone hates not knowing why. These feelings are not special to me, or new to me. Lonely, Nausea, Old, An Achey back, nothing new, really. Nothing historic. At least I, unlike my enviably infamous former self, Do not mind such sentiments enough to actually Do Anything about it. If things or people choose to haunt me, I tend to let them. But No More Haunting myself and others of my own volition. That better suited a me that had far, far more energy at the end of the day.
But then, that came dangerously close to comparing my past and current selves, and I have vowed not to do that anymore. So I shall stop.
I have indeed gotten better at forgetting things on purpose, a skill joe once coined as my greatest strength and weakness. But, (besides the fact that it tends to muck with my place in a novel) I think that tonight and a few of those tied to it, I'll keep. For reference. For Sentiment. A warning.
I sat here and thought about what would make me feel better... what course of action would erase my concern for remarks that were (or weren't) made tonight, this year, this life, and the answer is the same as it ever was, unhealthy, twisted, from an irrational place outside myself, and I will not satisfy it. "Run. Start Over." has wasted a lot of my most precious time, and each time i have caved into it, things have gotten far worse. Every time, every regard. And I would like to think i have learned some sort of basic empirical quasi-pavlovian lesson about that behavior, after all these years of having it branded into me.
I shall not run. any. more. I give you my word as a gentleman. I'm playing this shitty, shitty hand. Pair of eights motherfucker. ALL IN.
And I'm going to smile my face off, and have a blast doing it. Cheers.
I've been painting. I decided to go back to school next semester with kenny. He'll look after me, always does. At least thats what i tell myself to keep up the good hope. On the bright side, I almost believe myself, out of desperation. I hope I'm alright, when all is said and done. I'm happy... not great, not even okay, but... at peace. I hope to fall madly in love with myself, before i get too old for such vanity. I hope I figure at least some of it out by then.
I bought some tiger balm and some blue nail polish, but I failed to find either analgesic. I forgive myself. I smoked today, and will likely very sparingly indulge in my fancy bottle of whiskey tonight. I forgive myself. Both very normal things to do. I postulate that being sad and confused for one stupid night does not irrevocably indicate that I am gravely bonkers or depressed. No one likes to be ignored. And Im sure everyone hates not knowing why. These feelings are not special to me, or new to me. Lonely, Nausea, Old, An Achey back, nothing new, really. Nothing historic. At least I, unlike my enviably infamous former self, Do not mind such sentiments enough to actually Do Anything about it. If things or people choose to haunt me, I tend to let them. But No More Haunting myself and others of my own volition. That better suited a me that had far, far more energy at the end of the day.
But then, that came dangerously close to comparing my past and current selves, and I have vowed not to do that anymore. So I shall stop.
I have indeed gotten better at forgetting things on purpose, a skill joe once coined as my greatest strength and weakness. But, (besides the fact that it tends to muck with my place in a novel) I think that tonight and a few of those tied to it, I'll keep. For reference. For Sentiment. A warning.
I sat here and thought about what would make me feel better... what course of action would erase my concern for remarks that were (or weren't) made tonight, this year, this life, and the answer is the same as it ever was, unhealthy, twisted, from an irrational place outside myself, and I will not satisfy it. "Run. Start Over." has wasted a lot of my most precious time, and each time i have caved into it, things have gotten far worse. Every time, every regard. And I would like to think i have learned some sort of basic empirical quasi-pavlovian lesson about that behavior, after all these years of having it branded into me.
I shall not run. any. more. I give you my word as a gentleman. I'm playing this shitty, shitty hand. Pair of eights motherfucker. ALL IN.
And I'm going to smile my face off, and have a blast doing it. Cheers.