i feel like shit...good shit, though. not bad or bull shit.
Do you ever wake up and wonder what kind of person you've become? If when you were 8 or 10, if this is how you imagined yourself being now? I do that alot these days, and I've recently come to the realization that I am spiraling further and further away from whom I've always wanted to be. When I was 17, I knew exactly what was going on and who I was going to be. Now? I have no FUCKING clue. I drink too much, I smoke too much, and I either sleep too much or too little -- depending on my mood.
I was laying in bed last night at around 3 am looking for inspiration, half a 1/5 of rum and 4 cigarettes and god knows how much pot in, and I still couldn't come up with anything. That's not true...I came up with stuff, but it wasn't any good. Everything I wrote, typed, or drew was complete shit. I mean, okay, there are hints of brilliance here and there, and with enough editing, it would all turn out fine. But I found myself laying there wondering how I could've fallen so far into this pile of shit I call "life." The Italian guys next door are doing lines of coke, and I can hear them laughing and slapping each other like a bunch of school girls, and I'm drunk as a Welshman, and coughing every 4-7 minutes from inhaling the cloud of smoke and pot that's floating above my head. And do you know what I decided to do? I decided to commit a full nose bleeding dive into Hell itself, and went next door and did a line of coke.
It's been...what? 2? 3 years since I've been through rehab for coke? Well, luckily, it felt like shit, and I feel like shit now. I woke up the next day, running on 2 hours of sleep, hung over, reeking of booze and pot, and blood coming out of my nose.
And you know what? I felt fantastic. I wrote the best stuff I've written in ages, and I was able to diagram the entire hostel and sketch it inside and out from my head. I threw out what was left of my pack of cigarettes along with what was left of the rum, and went for a run. Not a successful run, mind you, but I did run. Of course, I felt like shit temporarily after the run. But now I feel....refreshed. Renewed. I'll probably drink again tonight, with hopes of finding more inspiration...but I guess the point I'm getting to is that independently, I'm a mess. A wreck. With no limits or rules to stop me, I go completely crazy. But then I think back to the book "A Clockwork Orange" - and you know what? Growing up is about responsibilities, but also about having the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want, even if the choices are bad, even if the choices are physically harmful. Eventually, good and bad will sort itself out. That's the way the world works.
I know when I was 8 or 10, I thought I was going to be a doctor. I loved art, but didn't see any value in it. Loved writing, saw no value in that either. And I definetely didn't think I'd be drinking, smoking, and doing lines of coke when I was 19. But hey, I didn't know jack shit back then. Still don't know jack shit. And it feels great.
Cheers.
Kevin
I was laying in bed last night at around 3 am looking for inspiration, half a 1/5 of rum and 4 cigarettes and god knows how much pot in, and I still couldn't come up with anything. That's not true...I came up with stuff, but it wasn't any good. Everything I wrote, typed, or drew was complete shit. I mean, okay, there are hints of brilliance here and there, and with enough editing, it would all turn out fine. But I found myself laying there wondering how I could've fallen so far into this pile of shit I call "life." The Italian guys next door are doing lines of coke, and I can hear them laughing and slapping each other like a bunch of school girls, and I'm drunk as a Welshman, and coughing every 4-7 minutes from inhaling the cloud of smoke and pot that's floating above my head. And do you know what I decided to do? I decided to commit a full nose bleeding dive into Hell itself, and went next door and did a line of coke.
It's been...what? 2? 3 years since I've been through rehab for coke? Well, luckily, it felt like shit, and I feel like shit now. I woke up the next day, running on 2 hours of sleep, hung over, reeking of booze and pot, and blood coming out of my nose.
And you know what? I felt fantastic. I wrote the best stuff I've written in ages, and I was able to diagram the entire hostel and sketch it inside and out from my head. I threw out what was left of my pack of cigarettes along with what was left of the rum, and went for a run. Not a successful run, mind you, but I did run. Of course, I felt like shit temporarily after the run. But now I feel....refreshed. Renewed. I'll probably drink again tonight, with hopes of finding more inspiration...but I guess the point I'm getting to is that independently, I'm a mess. A wreck. With no limits or rules to stop me, I go completely crazy. But then I think back to the book "A Clockwork Orange" - and you know what? Growing up is about responsibilities, but also about having the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want, even if the choices are bad, even if the choices are physically harmful. Eventually, good and bad will sort itself out. That's the way the world works.
I know when I was 8 or 10, I thought I was going to be a doctor. I loved art, but didn't see any value in it. Loved writing, saw no value in that either. And I definetely didn't think I'd be drinking, smoking, and doing lines of coke when I was 19. But hey, I didn't know jack shit back then. Still don't know jack shit. And it feels great.
Cheers.
Kevin