Mental Garbage - but it's cool. I recycle.
So I was thinking, yeah? I don't really do what I want to do, yet, I don't really do what I don't want to do, and on occasion, I don't do what I'm supposed to do. Therefore, the only conclusion is that I do what I do - with no explanation, and very little apologizing. There are times when I do what I want to do, what I don't, and what I'm supposed to...but they're pretty dang rare.
Let's take these statements and plug them into Grandmaster Freud's Human Psyche Theory Machine (I keep it in my basement between all the old copies of National Geographic and the laundry machine). I'm not ruled by my id, because I don't do whatever I want, or whatever is instinctual to survive.
I'm not controlled by my superego, because I don't do all that shit I'm supposed to be doing. And uh, well, the ego is like the balancer mediator doohickey right? I don't think I'm there either.
So what have I concluded? Freud was probably on drugs.
Speaking of Freud's cocaine habit, I found a place to live next year! More, like next week. Once we sign the lease, the abode is ours. It's great. It's like a house. It has like yards. Like, seriously.
I've also decided to become an English major. Even though I just used the nondescript and meaningless word "like" about seventeen times (no more and no less) in the preceding paragraph, I feel like I'll do a pretty good job of Englishing. Hopefully it'll make me swell enough to be able to crack out some novels and have a good time, leaving all bystanders, crack addicts, and bandwagonists behind in the dust. If it doesn't work out, well there's always the impregnation option. Or I could just become that sexy librarian I'm dying to become.
Sometimes I wish I had an imaginary person in my life. Not an imaginary friend, but...an imaginary stalker. Then I could begin every journal entry I ever write with -
"She's standing right behind me."
Let's take these statements and plug them into Grandmaster Freud's Human Psyche Theory Machine (I keep it in my basement between all the old copies of National Geographic and the laundry machine). I'm not ruled by my id, because I don't do whatever I want, or whatever is instinctual to survive.
I'm not controlled by my superego, because I don't do all that shit I'm supposed to be doing. And uh, well, the ego is like the balancer mediator doohickey right? I don't think I'm there either.
So what have I concluded? Freud was probably on drugs.
Speaking of Freud's cocaine habit, I found a place to live next year! More, like next week. Once we sign the lease, the abode is ours. It's great. It's like a house. It has like yards. Like, seriously.
I've also decided to become an English major. Even though I just used the nondescript and meaningless word "like" about seventeen times (no more and no less) in the preceding paragraph, I feel like I'll do a pretty good job of Englishing. Hopefully it'll make me swell enough to be able to crack out some novels and have a good time, leaving all bystanders, crack addicts, and bandwagonists behind in the dust. If it doesn't work out, well there's always the impregnation option. Or I could just become that sexy librarian I'm dying to become.
Sometimes I wish I had an imaginary person in my life. Not an imaginary friend, but...an imaginary stalker. Then I could begin every journal entry I ever write with -
"She's standing right behind me."