(no subject)
so ive almost been here a year and it freaks me out getting into the whole what have i done as of yet, am i better off, am i more of a whole person, have i succeeded in running away. but then i tell myself to shut the fuck up and get over myself.
this was some great advice the other week while toting a chicken potpie into a pretensious fag bar on an impromptu post-grocery drinking spell with a distraught coworker. "i have to stash this in a bush!, im not going in there with a frozen pot pie for christsakes" "Justin, you need to get over yourself, no one will even notice" "fine" "scuse me sir, youll have to check your bag" "ITS A CHICKEN POT PIE, CHICKEN P-O-T PIE!"
After repeatedly announcing to the whole entire bar, she giggled, and the man at coat check handed me my stub while holding my frozen meal captive. i loved the ridiculousness of the situation. but yeah, getting overmyself has been the theme as of late.
ive been tearing myself up inside wondering weather or not i deserve the pain i put myself through, or the painful lonliness that haunts my soul. i seem to have falling outs with countless people, i just dont feel like i can keep up. i either get tired of people or exhaust peoples resources at astounding rates. im never happy with where i am or what im striving to be, so i sit, i sit staring at television, or find meaning for life workaholicking my way through a shitty job, or pass the hours by destroying my body in binge drinking sexcapades.
ive been trying to eat healthy as of late, and had not before last month touched a salad or anything vegetable since leaving austin. im going to be one of those fat fuck statistics in old age. severely skinny young, morbidly obese glutton at 45.
i want to improve myself inside and out, mental/physical etc. im just too god damn lazy to start anything and see it through. and the only real time i ever journal in this thing, i piss and moan. not to say there are no happy moments in my life, im just not compelled to write about them. writing for me has always been a release valve. with the more scary realizations in my hard reality based journal, bleeding my black soul onto white paper feels wonderful. it does. so i can look back on it and realize that the mountainous terrain of despair and overdramatization was all for naught. get over yourself justin, get over yourself.
so im no longer dating the naughty professor, and he was such a nice guy, i just couldnt take extended absence and his 4 jobs/volunteer efforts. im not a needy person, but seeing him once a week exhausted wasnt what i call a relationship. im everseeking love in all forms and never giving it out. maybe this is karmic retribution.
blah blah blahbitty blah.
ok, my typee typee therapy ramble has spun itself out.
this was some great advice the other week while toting a chicken potpie into a pretensious fag bar on an impromptu post-grocery drinking spell with a distraught coworker. "i have to stash this in a bush!, im not going in there with a frozen pot pie for christsakes" "Justin, you need to get over yourself, no one will even notice" "fine" "scuse me sir, youll have to check your bag" "ITS A CHICKEN POT PIE, CHICKEN P-O-T PIE!"
After repeatedly announcing to the whole entire bar, she giggled, and the man at coat check handed me my stub while holding my frozen meal captive. i loved the ridiculousness of the situation. but yeah, getting overmyself has been the theme as of late.
ive been tearing myself up inside wondering weather or not i deserve the pain i put myself through, or the painful lonliness that haunts my soul. i seem to have falling outs with countless people, i just dont feel like i can keep up. i either get tired of people or exhaust peoples resources at astounding rates. im never happy with where i am or what im striving to be, so i sit, i sit staring at television, or find meaning for life workaholicking my way through a shitty job, or pass the hours by destroying my body in binge drinking sexcapades.
ive been trying to eat healthy as of late, and had not before last month touched a salad or anything vegetable since leaving austin. im going to be one of those fat fuck statistics in old age. severely skinny young, morbidly obese glutton at 45.
i want to improve myself inside and out, mental/physical etc. im just too god damn lazy to start anything and see it through. and the only real time i ever journal in this thing, i piss and moan. not to say there are no happy moments in my life, im just not compelled to write about them. writing for me has always been a release valve. with the more scary realizations in my hard reality based journal, bleeding my black soul onto white paper feels wonderful. it does. so i can look back on it and realize that the mountainous terrain of despair and overdramatization was all for naught. get over yourself justin, get over yourself.
so im no longer dating the naughty professor, and he was such a nice guy, i just couldnt take extended absence and his 4 jobs/volunteer efforts. im not a needy person, but seeing him once a week exhausted wasnt what i call a relationship. im everseeking love in all forms and never giving it out. maybe this is karmic retribution.
blah blah blahbitty blah.
ok, my typee typee therapy ramble has spun itself out.