Saturday Late Night Musings and Beat Downs OR Why-can't-I-just-go-out-&-get-drunk-like-other-normal-people?

It’s really easy to write stuff when I’m in this state of mind. On the border of sad and lonely, maybe just a tiny little hungry nation on the side.

I was thinking (you will come to realize that that’s something I do a lot) and I thought “What is it that makes life good? Like, really fucking grand.

If I had a myriad of friends and went to all the coolest parties, would my life be good?

If I had money to buy all the newest and techiest gizmos and gadgets, then would my life be good?

If I had an extremely banging body? (Note to self: Work out you lazy fucktard)

If I had a fancy English clip? Or something exotic like Palauan?

            I actually took that one myself, not to shabby Mel, not too shabby.

…

If I had someone who loved me. All of me, as a whole; not just singular body parts and instead of wanting to do things to me, wanted to do things with me?

Then would I be happy?

And you know there’s that voice in your head that’s like, “Dude, if it makes you feel crappy then just get rid of it or change it.” If only it were that easy, child. If only.

Remember that Nick Hornby book where the main character kept making lists the same way other people had opinions? I thought (again, I do that a lot) “That’s a great fucking idea” I can make lists of things I want, things I don’t want, things I like, things I hate and so forth then it would be easy to know what to add, subtract and change in my life. Easy A.

But listen, read child! It’s not that simple. I look at list and list looks back at me, both of us going, “Now what? Stick it on my bedroom wall? Post it on my blog that might as well be on private settings? Now what? You fucking twat.”

You can’t really do anything about it because most of your problems are either really metaphysical or highly dialectic.

-For my fellow simple people, it means my non-absorbable by tissue issues either come from within or outside forces. I love you simple people!xx-

And I sound like the shallowest Shally Shallowa McShallow from Shallovale everytime I try to speak of them out loud. Heck, sometimes I don’t even know what the fuck my problem is…like now.

So I’m gonna stop here because I think (Stop thinking!)  I’m gonna stop making sense if I go on, if I haven’t done (or not done) that already.

I need a spliff.