stream of thought

Ok, so that last post. Not my finest work. Or maybe it was. I don't even know anymore.

Hard time sleeping. Getting short with people. Impatient and intolerant too, though I'm keeping it to myself mostly. Perhaps I should speak up more when something is bothering me.

It's difficult to know when to speak up, and when to bite your tongue.

Plans moving around for the holidaze. Got some events lined up for next week. Trying to plan accordingly. Finances aren't great, but I've got a couple lifelines to bail me out until the cash flow resumes.

It's a hard time of year to work at a call centre.

What a boring blog. I should probably rant more. People say to write what you know, what do I know again? Call centre work, last in first out, deep frying chicken and potatoes, hotel clerk work, international phonetic alphabet, local air port codes, CPR, orienteering, how to use a paddle, how to start a fire, how to build a shelter in the woods, how to chop wood, how to swim, how to push start a standard transmission vehicle, how to find the North Star, how to tell your fortune using standard playing cards, how to bust up a pill for ease of consumption, how to roll a joint, how to change guitar strings, how to change a flat-tire, how to make some tasty french toast, how to clean a toilet, how to tell if I'm tripping, how to bust up morning glory seeds for ease of consumption, how to use a snow blower, how to make a molotov, ok, maybe I'm just reaching now. But I know a lot of varied things, I guess, was my point.

Choosing a topic can be....

Fuck, this is garbage. I think I need another hiatus to develop some ideas. I've got a few ideas perhaps not well suited for this blog format. Perhaps ideal for it, but either way, I'm going to write them out the old fashioned way, hard-copy, pen and paper style. Exercise my demons. Yes I mean exercise.

Bust out the Dr.Grip, it's been a while since it more than doodled or jotted. Yeah, I know what kind of pen I use.

I still haven't gotten that confidence boost, but this time next week, I should be annoyingly confident. After a few days, I should resume a more normal mode of thought, but perhaps with a new elevated baseline. Here's hoping.

I think I have been positive in outlook as of late. I am looking at the future with excitement, and not fear. Well some, but more excitement. My birthday is between Christmas and new year's as well, I usually don't plan on doing much, as hardly anyone is up for it, but I have been surprised before. It could be a pretty kick-ass holiday season.

Happy holidaze everyone, may random find you well. I'll 'see' you in the future.
\m/

drunk-talk

I feel so full of potential
I'm afraid to admit it
But I'm some pretty hot-shit

It's like, I can feel there is something within me
Some greatness, I don't know yet if it's a song or a story,
or just some deed

But I feel it.

I get down on myself, because I seem to be at a standstill.
Not advancing toward my higher purpose, possibly procreation.
Who knows, maybe it's an assassination.

Here I write
And I hope someday I might
write something worth reading
and even verbally repeating

something that rings true
and makes you feel alive
something that gives insight
a reason to survive

I dig deep and keep on moving
ever forward through the storm
to find and light the future's path
elevating the norm

my self i use and sacrifice
i am such a useful device
the time I'm given, I must use well
to hold at bay, the horrors of hell

Rant until you nod off at the keyboard

I've been drinking this evening.
Though I don't feel inebriated.
I even took like 5 benadryl to boost.
I feel unusually confident and content.
Patient even.

And I wonder; should I be drinking every night?

It seems a foolish question.
Why would anyone want to put themselves through that.
Well, to function.


I seem to have retained my cognitive abilities.
Also, I feel not so god damned anxious.
That gets hard on the head after a while.
God I hope I don't get Parkinson's.

God twice in one paragraph, or stanza, I don't really know what to call this.
It doesn't Rhyme, no real plot to follow. Just a rant I guess.

Lots of great writers were hooked on the sauce.
I could probably deal with being a great writer, if I were so lucky.
I just feel lately like my confidence is shot.
A little cocaine, a few drinks, and I'm on top of the world.

But I crash hard.

I'll wake up feeling nervous already, like I've done something for which I should be ashamed.
I try and shake it off, hair of the dog is great, but often I ate the whole dog the night before.
So brush your teeth, make a strong coffee, and get to work. By the time I'm done, the alcohol is usually well out of my system, and I'm ready to go back to bed to hide for a while. Even when I remember the whole night, I still can't shake this feeling that I missed something or said something foolish or cruel while intoxicated. I even get so caught up in this guilt trip, that I'll act like a dick to anyone that interrupts my guilt. Thus, giving myself an actual reason to feel guilty.

But, if I could remain semi-buzzed until after work, then hit it hard, and get some side-work done, writing et cetera, then I could quit my day job if any of it worked out. But then what, stuck on the bottle, dependent on inebriant inspiration. What's worse, I'd potentially have the cash flow and free time to do myself some serious damage. Right-Brain sez; perhaps the reason I remain financially insecure is for this very reason. If I had more money, I'd do more drugs. If everything happens for a reason, that's a pretty good reason to keep me broke. My very life may dependent on my remaining strapped for cash.

It makes me smile, what a good justification for not trying; if I succeeded, I'd probably fuck myself up. Mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, all of that. I can't trust myself with money. That's a little sad, but I can't really feel it. Thanks to the inebriants of the night.

Moderation still seems to be the way to go, for the time being.
But, as Josh Homme said in an interview,
"Moderation in everything, including moderation"

Now, the benadryl disconnects my thoughts, as though they are getting farther and farther apart. I can almost see the coil of rope at my feet as I reel in the next thought.

Events appear on the horizon to me now; the future a blur in front of me.
Blurry though it is, I see there is much of it yet. I cannot say this is real, but I can see no reason to be frightened by it either. A vague something is better than a definite nothing, at least for a while. This may be useful knowledge for future psychedelic excursions.

I am drawn deeper into myself now, the outside world is becoming less and less interesting. It is almost time for sleep.

Yawning now.

May random find you well.