The house is sitting in my closet and I haven't been able to use it yet. Fucking 1964 dream house right there and I can't be bothered to fuck with it.
And then the descent into insanity thing.
Another year in school would be a major step in that it's another year of school. But beyond the whole "yea and I've got an idea bit" I'm not selling much of anything and then there's the whole notion that that whole idea thing is a crock full of shit.
Worst few weeks ever I'd say.
You get to a point where you have to question what race you're running. What's at the end? Why can't I just move to somewhere where it rains from time to time and waltz around in a curly lamb hair coat smoking grandmommies cigs and cuddling and shit.
Dammit.
And that's not even the fun part. The beach was the fun part.
Beyond feeling as though my heart will drop any minute, I feel as though I'm coming out of a deep period of (give it a name) that hopefully will be the top of it. But then again with this trip coming I have to wonder wtf will next Fall be like jobless and schooless, laying around the house yelling at this dog (whom I look a begrudgingly, wishing it were a cat the same way people do with a child's gender).
Fuck.
And on top of all that I've pretty much screwed the whole list of peanut gallery characters into oblivion. You can be so cute but for so long until the (act?) just isn't cute anymore.
Could I do another year in school? Sure, if they pay for it.
Would it be the smart thing to do? Maybe.
I'd prefer to just work for one of the the ones on my list but my fear is that all of this shit will just trail me there and it won't even matter at that point. Nothing will, and that's what scares me.
Beyond the fact that I think I'll end up that guy walking down telegraph with the sweats and the hair, and the thought that I'll be surrounded in whatever shady place I could end up, dead, with cats surrounding me, I think my real fear is the fact that nothing will ever be good enough.
The fact that I can't even visualize shit anymore seems to be either a warning that I've yet to make it out of how deep I've fallen or the simple fact that I've "broken" myself beyond repair.
If that's the case, where do you go from there? How do you repair that?
I can't even end this with a cathartic note either. Though unlike before at least I feel it. It's not some sort of off-end where the fuck is that coming from bullshit.
It's real stuff in words.
As I mentioned, I want to start a fun blog, posting fun crafty, bloggerish things, but part of me feels that would be fake and the other half just says the only thing stopping me is that feeling has already started dragging on me.
And all this felt good for about 4 minutes. Highs and lows.
