gobble gobble throbble dobble heeble hobble wobble
I'm not doing too bad. The holidays kinda piss me off/depress me. I know that sounds ludicrous but I've gotten so distant from reality that logical explanation is drowned out by the sounds of my head getting nervy and distraught. I'm getting a psych named Butch McCloud and he might help, might not. Nicotine withdrawal has been hell since going home. I had a cig when I left for a drive to clear my head and it was orgasmic. The night I got home was the first night I didn't drink for about 6 days or so. Don't get me wrong, I have highs, and I'm nowhere near this goddamned thing when I do.
I don't know how lonely I come off as, but I really do need, well you know. I fucked up with the last one probably I think because I took too many drugs and I am working on that. I really am. I have to have my booze and cigarettes, and the occasional stoned walk, movie, or record-listening can do a lot for a guy, but fuck everything else. It's not like I haven't been trying, I became one girl's private confession both before one of those confessions was "you're a great friend [that's all]"
I loves my music but when I'm sad I love nothing at all. It's like I'm losing my most loved objects 1000 times a month. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. And I don't mean that in a pathos-grabbing way. Just a sort of practical "shit, must change" practical sort of way.
I'm getting the hell out of my apartment in sequoyah hills asap. My parents have invited me to come home for a few months and school is a big question mark right now, but the Kenny Ferguson residence will probably become the Kenny Ferguson Lavender residence. To be honest, I don't give a shit about school because I don't give a shit about myself. I think it really might be time to get help. Other than getting drunk. When I get happy seeing myself back there on the edge is a thrill, like almost getting in a car-wreck or something. But in the middle of it everything just sorta swells out, becomes big and terrifying. At any rate: school. When I go back I'll either major in English or Theater.
I'm going to steal my parents' rum. Fuck their drinking.
Everything gets so tarnished just because my impressions began so goddamned starry-eyed. Idealistic visioned people like myself shouldn't have memory. I am not optimistic at all about the future to be perfectly honest. I'm probably gonna work at some goddamn store or be some goddamned enlgish teacher, and I'll have some ok ideas so yeah maybe I'll have friends and people will probably like me and all, but fuck, I don't want that. What I really want is not really a goal, but enough output from me to make whatever the hell occured be worth it. But I'm so damn TIRED of life. I'm so damn worn out by these scary dark depressing thoughts that I don't wanna share with other people because they'd only bring em down the hole that I'm in. And that's a burden! It's like I'm a dog cowering before the world but the world has never beaten me. The world's never done me wrong. Is THAT the problem? What the fuck is wrong with me?
Tell me I think too much and I'll grab a bottle and agree the fuck with you.
Most solutions are half-hearted, half-assed, incomplete if you will, and part of being human is flying for that incomplete fraction with some sort of faith in something. Just some sort of unaware blissful soaring is what you need to cover that last fucking chapter.
I really fucking hate the holidays guys, I'm sorry. Celebration should be for something that happened in the now. But if there was good cheer and happiness for only the now, we wouldn't have jackshit to celebrate, so we have holidays. I'm not a party pooper, I just don't wanna celebrate just because everyone else is having shits and giggles. It's an imposition. I have fun when I want to (when it comes to me) and when it doesn't happen on the third thursday of Novemember or what the fuck ever, I can DEAL with it. Instead I'm dragged out to see these relatives and all I have to really talk about is shame. Otherwise, it's small-talk to the max and that makes it feel even more tired.
I need to get an appointment with Butch McCloud so fucking badly. I'll feel better tomorrow morning, and tomorrow night, when I'm back in Knoxville, away from the past violently colliding with the present.
Happy fucking Thanksgiving
I don't know how lonely I come off as, but I really do need, well you know. I fucked up with the last one probably I think because I took too many drugs and I am working on that. I really am. I have to have my booze and cigarettes, and the occasional stoned walk, movie, or record-listening can do a lot for a guy, but fuck everything else. It's not like I haven't been trying, I became one girl's private confession both before one of those confessions was "you're a great friend [that's all]"
I loves my music but when I'm sad I love nothing at all. It's like I'm losing my most loved objects 1000 times a month. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. And I don't mean that in a pathos-grabbing way. Just a sort of practical "shit, must change" practical sort of way.
I'm getting the hell out of my apartment in sequoyah hills asap. My parents have invited me to come home for a few months and school is a big question mark right now, but the Kenny Ferguson residence will probably become the Kenny Ferguson Lavender residence. To be honest, I don't give a shit about school because I don't give a shit about myself. I think it really might be time to get help. Other than getting drunk. When I get happy seeing myself back there on the edge is a thrill, like almost getting in a car-wreck or something. But in the middle of it everything just sorta swells out, becomes big and terrifying. At any rate: school. When I go back I'll either major in English or Theater.
I'm going to steal my parents' rum. Fuck their drinking.
Everything gets so tarnished just because my impressions began so goddamned starry-eyed. Idealistic visioned people like myself shouldn't have memory. I am not optimistic at all about the future to be perfectly honest. I'm probably gonna work at some goddamn store or be some goddamned enlgish teacher, and I'll have some ok ideas so yeah maybe I'll have friends and people will probably like me and all, but fuck, I don't want that. What I really want is not really a goal, but enough output from me to make whatever the hell occured be worth it. But I'm so damn TIRED of life. I'm so damn worn out by these scary dark depressing thoughts that I don't wanna share with other people because they'd only bring em down the hole that I'm in. And that's a burden! It's like I'm a dog cowering before the world but the world has never beaten me. The world's never done me wrong. Is THAT the problem? What the fuck is wrong with me?
Tell me I think too much and I'll grab a bottle and agree the fuck with you.
Most solutions are half-hearted, half-assed, incomplete if you will, and part of being human is flying for that incomplete fraction with some sort of faith in something. Just some sort of unaware blissful soaring is what you need to cover that last fucking chapter.
I really fucking hate the holidays guys, I'm sorry. Celebration should be for something that happened in the now. But if there was good cheer and happiness for only the now, we wouldn't have jackshit to celebrate, so we have holidays. I'm not a party pooper, I just don't wanna celebrate just because everyone else is having shits and giggles. It's an imposition. I have fun when I want to (when it comes to me) and when it doesn't happen on the third thursday of Novemember or what the fuck ever, I can DEAL with it. Instead I'm dragged out to see these relatives and all I have to really talk about is shame. Otherwise, it's small-talk to the max and that makes it feel even more tired.
I need to get an appointment with Butch McCloud so fucking badly. I'll feel better tomorrow morning, and tomorrow night, when I'm back in Knoxville, away from the past violently colliding with the present.
Happy fucking Thanksgiving