Shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low
Published 02-25-2009 on my old wordpress blog.

Well hello. How are you? It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I was hoping I could see you again sometime. I understand you’re busy. I understand that I don’t wander across your mind so much anymore. I just have all this hope and I don’t know what to do with it. I’m worried that I’m crazy, but when we speak I know I’m not. Maybe we should speak, dear blog. Maybe I should sell my house, save up all the money I would have spent on anything ever, sell everything except for a mattress and some cooking stuff and survival gear, and then move to a remote location high up in the mountains to live out the rest of my days. I’d grow an amazing beard. I’d talk to myself constantly. I’d scribble in a little diary just like I ramble on this blog. So, you see, dear blog, I wouldn’t miss you. I’d be too busy exploring the far reaches of this madness I’m fighting against. This palpable frustration with the world and my expectations of it. This tremendous crushing force from me turning the screws on my own torture device. Perhaps I’d one day just walk out of the mountains and sit down next to somebody and tell them the story about when I lost everything and what it really meant to me. Perhaps I’d forget that I ever had anything and just be content with dirt and rocks and sticks and trees and poaching and day to day to day to day survival.

Or, I could just shut the hell up and keep waking up every morning. No one likes to hang out with babies, jerk.

Successes since last time:

Cleaned my room. It feels good to develop my OCD.

Played poker with real people I’ve never met before. Didn’t lose.

Still pushing for adventures despite my self-deprecation.

Bought a big-ass hard drive. Going to digitize everything I own and then press play. Sit around in digital bliss, run up the electrical bill and remember why music has saved me so many times.

If you like this page, you can buy me a coffee.

Keywords: self-deprecating sense of humor

comments powered by Disqus