Blogging and my morning.

So, I've made my way into the world of blogging. I can't honestly say that I've ever blogged before, or understood it's purpose. However lately, this whole documenting my life thing has become more of a priority to me. There have been so many instances in life where I wish I knew about this. So many faded memories that I wish I could just jump right back into. I'd feel like steve from blues clues. Traipsing about through photographs and paintings, entering different realities.

Today I was awoken by the sweet aroma of french toast with cinnamon, only to become dissatisfied with the fact that it was 6 am, and had to be at work in two hours. I sat in bed for a minute, gathered my strength and threw myself from my sleeping coffin, and made my way upstairs. At this point i was still in what my mother calls "zombie" mode. I sloppily hurl myself across the hall into a seat in front of my decadent breakfast. A breakfast such as this surely would wake a bear from hibernation. The fragrance of the french toast softly ascended to my nose, which of course, lead me to the maple syrup,followed by the apprehension of my trusty fork and knife. I'm not the kind of person who savors excellence,I lack the self control. Needless to say, I finished my french toast quite quickly, chased it all down with a glass of milk, and made my way to the shower. Nothing extraordinary about my shower. Shampoo, condition...that endless routine.

I then returned to my cave, found some clothing that I found fit for work, combed my hair, and made my way to the door for my morning cigarette. This mornings cigarette was especially enjoyable. The sun was shining down on me while I lit my "cancer". I laid back in my somewhat comfortable lawn chair and embraced it all. I was relaxed, yet ready to jump up and go in a minute. Five and a half minutes later, I arose from my chair picked up my bag, threw on my "H&M" name tag, and headed out the door for another day at the grind.

Red Hands

So the summer has begun. I feel as if I have completely eradicated time in every shape or form from my mind. It's become foreign. Like those cashiers at the convenience stores you can barely understand. With this concept of time being lost, I began to question so much. Unfortunately, I conceive more fucking questions, rather than answers. Nothing is more misleading and confusing than answering a question with a question. Anyway. So far, this summer has been almost dissatisfying. Throughout school, we all fantasize the adventures, and misadventures of summer. Over-glorified, it sits on the highest of pedestals, and for what? I cannot fathom a reason as to why summer is great. Sure, you have no rules, or at-least a lessened amount, but what other redeeming features are there? For the first week or so, it feels great, I will admit that much. However, I find myself struggling to keep myself entertained. Every day is the weekend. So difficult to differentiate weekdays from weekends. I miss weekends. A sigh of releif at the end of every week, a means to an end. So satisfying. That, I guess is what I miss. Satisfaction. Apparently, I've adopted a skewed perception of what that is. Drinking and partying temporarily fills that void, but it strays by the end of the night, and is long gone by morning. The "summer lifestyle" will make an alchy out of me. I need a sweater, its fucking cold in here.

"I was pulling out my heart so I could pin it on my sleeve"


I feel lost. I feel like a mess of yarn woven together to make a sweater. I want to get out of my skin. Peel it off like a fucking orange to rid myself of bruised skin. It's time to renew. For the first time in a year I feel this need for rebirth. Who am I? I feel I've changed on the inside, but the outside is still spewing out the same words, and accepting the same ideas. I'm sick of drugs, I'm sick of all of it. Creating a false reality, and for what reason? I have nothing to run from, it's not an escape for me. Drugs were always an experience, and I feel that the people who once shared those very same views have forgotten that. Maybe I'm clenching too firmly on old ideas, but they seem healthier than what's happening now. I question, is this in reaction to fatality? Ingest as many chemicals as possible, fuck with our minds, and health just because we may die tomorrow? Sure, I too am a firm believer in living life to the fullest, but when your life becomes nothing else but a false perception, is that even life? Life,to me anyway, is a string of experiences somehow knitted into a web connected together through people, objects, animals, places ect. People seem to trump all of those entities I just listed. Friends and family are the most important people in existance to me. One thing I am quickly learning is that true friends are hard to come by. Every so often, someone waltzes into your little web that you feel you can truly trust. You tell them you're every secret, you're feelings, and everything else in-between. Then suddenly, it all goes to shit. Some sort of adversity strikes, and suddenly you become exposed. Left Naked and frail,blown wide open, as if there was a copy of "Your life" in the hands of people you would never want. Funny thing is, they're now the editors. Mind your own fucking business. None was to tell in the first place, so keep your dripping snotty noses, and drooling lips out of the damn book. Christ. Seems to me like family are the only trustworthy subjects in existance at times. Atleast they'll be there no matter what, opposed to "friends" who seem to be leaving in flocks to avoid the distortion of their "image". People, grow up. Shed those 5th grade ideals already, you're practically governmentally bonafied human beings. Do something better with your time, like aquiring a passion for something other than enjoyment through human suffering.Learn to paint! maybe then you can colour those Red hands white.