Every Which Way But Lucid: November 2014

I'm disliking getting to the bottom of things I never asked to understand. I never wanted to realize that this state of mind existed. This state where I walk around in a constant battle against my own thoughts and petty struggles in my oh-so-important life. I don't think its morbid or pitiful to wish I had never been born. And I'm thinking it is very possible to be thankful I'm alive at the same time. I just see myself getting older and accepting this feeling more and more with each passing year; maybe even gaining a new insight now and then. That's what I see when I look down the road into mid-40's. "Well I guess this [really] is growing up." Its not how I thought it would be. I was looking over my 'interests' that I typed in so long ago when filling out my LiveJournal profile. Some have changed, some have stayed the same... Some I don't even remember. Come to think of it, any friend I've ever had could fall into one of those three categories. I use the phrase "any friend" pretty loosely there. I'll always remember the true friends. They'll always remember me. Both of them. Heh. Where would the benefit be in blocking out this all-consuming plague of life? If I floated through every day without a thought in my head exceeding 'I'm hungry. Let's play pool. That was funny. LiveJournal LiveJournal. I'll do homework, take notes. Heavy jacket it's cold. What will happen this weekend? Wow this pillow is soft. I need to get gas. I'll call him later. Doctor's appoinment at 12. Charge the slide phone. Don't be late. What should my away message be? This ring goes on this finger. Don't touch the curling iron its hot. Try not to swear out loud. Oil change every 3,000 miles. Send a thank you card. "Fine thanks, how are you?" I need gum and chapstick. Black belt-black shoes.' I'd hate myself for being such an empty shell walking around wasting an abundance of oxygen. But the thoughts that run through now... should I? 'How could he have done that to me? What does that make me worth? Nothing. She hates me and I can't fix a damn thing from eighty-six thousand miles away. Of all people, to falsify my own conceptions of you missing me just makes me want to bleed horizontal straight from the wrist. I do nothing, I hate the way I feel here. I'll never find the one; I'll never bother to look. I hate mirrors like a best friend; they draw me close and hurt me every time. I miss God and my fake-ass attempt at loving Him like He deserves. I am the cheapest investment He's ever made. The way I sit back and condone/mimic my family members idea of how to live is sending them straight to hell. I might as well pull the lever and join them shortly after. I starve for attention and drama and regurgitate it all like a bulemic whore when it comes my way. My past haunts me and I am more than positive it will be the death of me. My nightmares of the skeletons in my closet refuse to leave me alone until I fall asleep at night; I dream of them all day long. I gain your respect and throw it to the ground and stomp on it just to see what you'll do next. I'm so fucking sick and I've lost the will to cry.' Matching belts and shoes versus the latter self-loathing plague of life. What would you rather consider every waking moment of your life? Because those are my two options and to be honest, they are both killing me slowly and painfully. People say everyone's dying, its just that some are getting there quicker than others. Well this is my way of dying, disguised as living. Those two optional thought processes. Its torture. I know all of this is could be covered over by love. A relationship. But I can't think of a cheaper way out of dealing with everything. Covering your worries up with a person's role in your life, pretending they make all this stuff go away... that's ridiculous. I know that's why I haven't found it. People like that will see one day when they dig up the the fact that a person can't dissolve your problematic life for you. They'll dig it up under hours and hours of kisses and cuddling and love letters, long talks on the phone, and pretending they're better than everyone else in the room, that they're special, and fighting and making up/fighting and making up, holidays together and ditching the world for each other. Then they're stuck with a world of pain that I won't even begin to describe when they realize that hey- that's not gonna cut it for the next sixty years. I'm adding in here that this isn't a knock on every relationship, because what do I know? Some people make it work. I'm just saying I'm not ready. I tried it for a minute or two and all my predictions were set in stone. I've seen it too many times, they end up with so much pain that could have been avoided from the start. I'm sure they'll say it was all worth it, but I just couldn't do it. And maybe when their hearts are being painfully stitched back together I'll still be in the same God-awful situation I'm in right now, but at least I didn't take that cheap escape. I'm dealing with this all on my own. Completely by myself. I don't think that's right either but I've found its my only choice. This feeling. Right now sitting in this chair. This utterly miserable feeling of knowing who I've become. It makes me wonder if chapstick and soft pillows isn't the way to go. I'm out. Maybe for a long time."

Annie Carter, Just want you to know that we all miss you. You really were ahead of your time. Even after all the feeling you put into that last bit of wisdom you gave us, it surprises me how many people would never believe that coming out of you. Or that we would all wake up on November 29, 2004 in a world where you no longer were.

But at the same time, we have to wonder what happened to prompt that particular rant? That is not something one usually just goes off like that about.

That.

Was.

Thing.

I feel that I am not doing a particularly good job of honoring your memory right now. For this, the tenth anniversary I am making it a priority to become The Best Version of Myself.

And honestly, so should we all.

Dear Kevin Smith, JJ, Disney and Co...

Here is what I would like to see with regard to Star Wars Episode IX:

Jay and Silent Bob are the Sith Lord and Apprentice selling the Star Wars version of weed outside of a convenience store on one of the many many commerce levels of the current Death Star.

That is their only ambition. Sell drugs. Not galactic domination. Just sell drugs.

Force carry a potential customer over to where they are, wave the hand in front of the customer's face "This is the drug you are looking for." "This is the drug I am looking for." repeated blankly by the customer. Money changes hands.

Whoever the Jedi heroes at the time are finally manage to track them down, look at them shrug and move on. Throw in a couple of apathetic, cynical shopkeepers yelling at them every now and again, some stupid customers and insane situations to round it all out.

Sorry, did I just describe Clerks 3 in space? My bad.