wiw3

[wiw3]

Spite-Writing

Those dyslexic of you might've thought that I'd written "Sprite-Writing"-- I didn't, just as much as I didn't write "Sprite-Whiting" and I certainly didn't write "Street-Fighting"--

This has gone off the rails before there were even rails to go off of-- Let me start over--

Hi, I never get it right on the first try. My first impressions are usually embarrassing, humiliating, and worthless to most individuals that I meet, though to the right eye, I suppose you could say that they're humbling experiences.

A humbling first look at me is a look you might give to a person down on their luck, because I'm usually fumbling the bag in one figurative form or another.

The point is, that it doesn't matter. I'm a being that thrives on the second chances that are given out of pity. I know myself in that regard. I never make good first impressions because I think it's good to initialize any relationship with someone's affinity for me as low as humanly-possible.

That's the way it goes, right? You systematically self-destruct to give yourself work to do because you have nothing better to do than habitually ruin relationships for the sole purpose of hopefully being able to build them back up again?

It makes me think I'm toxic, or maybe I'm just feeling particularly-toxic tonight, I think it won't matter after I wake up in the morning and need to write out an excuse as to why I can't come in to work. I have games to play at home, and mental gymnastics runs to do so that I don't fall too hard into my reality-check.

I recently read about a person's four-years of avoided depression catching up at once to them. Can that happen? I feel like with all of the subduing I do mentally-- either through tricks of the mind or through altered-substance-abuse, I think I might be doing more harm than good.

I still haven't found any better way to live, though. I treat this as a gift from God-- if we can trust that the chestnut that lives in that particular tree is sturdy and will hold up to scrutiny from 14-year-olds using 4Chan.

The point is that it doesn't matter. Let's just keep reminding each-other that as we slowly and systematically hurdle our way toward an inevitable doom, that it's important to have fun, say good things, and to hug each-other, especially toward the end bit, there...

Enjoy, the weather is beautiful outside, exquisitely-calm. I'm by no means an arborist, botanist, or botanicalist, but I see the appeal in a loam so still that the only movement in the trees are the critters naturally disturbing their natural environment in only the most natural of ways.

Let's all be like those squirrels and forage our respective nut in our own respective lane, today. I just want to do one good thing a day. I don't want to write filth, anymore.

#writing #substance abuse #tw #tw substances #tw substance abuse #lmao #maybe #blog post #having fun #let's just have fun #existentialist #doesn't matter #nothing matters #laughing at the void #what even is this #what is this headspace called #delirious #capricious #out of it #something like that

[wiw3]

Scratching an Itch That's Needed Scratching for a While

Ahh. It feels good to be writing regularly again-- I tell myself, sitting down to do something entirely other than that-- and update a blog. Or rather, to update all of you! I've made an effort to become more personable. I'm by no means a charismatic person, but my brain's got ideas about things. Mostly creative things. I think if I were to be put in any type of position of power relegated for decisionmaking related to any more than maybe... a hundred people, I think I'd be too consumed with panic to be able to function.

I've got an idea, a good one this time. I won't tell you what it is but the whiteboard marker's gonna hit the thing that it's supposed to hit and we're gonna be generating ideas, baby. It's in its preconception, but I'm excited for it. I'll finally have as much time as I'm going to possibly have to take my genuine... stab at it. An attempt to write a first pass.

We'll see what I come out with-- even if I come out with just a finished circle from the whole ordeal, I'll be happy. I think it took saying out loud what I was going to write in order to actually figure out what I'd wanted to be writing.

Writing.

We're going to see how it turns out, but I just want to run away with an idea for about 5-6 characters, some more recurring or ancillary ones, and then just see if I can't crack the pilot. I need to spend as much time as I can in a fantasy-land because once I go back to work, I really go back to work. It's going to be two more whole days alone in the office, and I am not looking forward to fielding more work.

I'll keep it short, because I know you have shit to do, I have shit to do, too, time to waste, food to eat, pilots to masturbate instead of writing-- Too clinical? Fine. I'll sleep for now, and I hope you have a grand remaining evening, too.

#let's write #blog post #blog #it's been a while #a few days at least #going to write something #something big #bigger than me #very fun #god I'm fat #still fat #staying fat #whatever #i'm high #high as shit rn #this feels irresponsible #but i'm #having fun

[wiw3]

GAH!

Been feeling a little scuffed lately and since I can't precisely go to the gym, since it closes early on Saturdays, I'm stuck here to ruminate. Suppose I could go on a bikeride if I really wanted to do something productive with my time, but no, it's time for a self-aware, pathetic rant.

I suck, I can't even handle two days alone at work while the new guy trains and my manager gets a much-needed set of two days off. I don't know why this shit matters. I guess since it frustrates me so much is because I feel like I suck at my job-- and my brain naturally resists new information and change because it prefers to choose its own perception of reality.

Or maybe I do.

It's probably me, it is me, yeah, it's me. That feels good to say and to own. It's me. I'm the piece of shit because I like to live in a fantasy-land compared to reality, where I *need* to live in order to feed my family-- even though I'm really just feeding Family-Sized bags of cliché bits to myself-- like right-clicking to make sure you put the little thingy over the E when saying that word I just said. You know the one.

I'm too lazy to write it out, which is how I get even with the universe. I feel like people get even with each-other way more often than they'd like to admit. Sitcoms have poisoned us all-- or maybe conditioned is a better word since a majority of people seem capable of operating off of the standard of "your line-- my line-- your line-- my line--" for the sake of conducting business.

We're firing pistols at each-other, or if you prefer a softer evoke, we're dancing. It doesn't make sense to anyone in the world except for us in one way. The entire world perceives it differently. You see prey, I see predator, or maybe vice-versa. The world sees an anxious young idiot trying to fumble his way through a social interaction, and I write new blog posts.

Pfft. I actually think I have a future in writing. This is hilarious. I wish all of the people who saw me in the past writing, and made fun of me, could see me now and make fun of me again just so I could finally stop-- developing a complex and obsessing over proving them wrong. Spite's a powerful motivator, and it's motivating me to write this in the first place.

I'm spiteful that the gym's closed, spiteful that this world is going to get so much motherfucking harder before it gets easier for me from here on in for a while-- and there's not much I can do about it. I don't have a lot of moves left. Nothing to do but grind through it, I suppose. Next-hurdle mode, so to speak. I need to enter a heightened state of alertness tomorrow, so I'll cut it clean here tonight and now, and I get that this was cheap, but this was fun.

See you next tirade!

#writing #same syllable count #I #i'm not cheesy #stop yelling at me mom #it's funny #it's fucking funny #gym #rant #sorry for the rant #again #man I keep tagging that #gotta stop #gotta get new material #too meta? #probably #shutting up now

[wiw3]

A Rollercoaster for You; For Me...

We as a people have an awful, horrible, terrible, no-good, very-bad habit of overmystifying things in our heads. As a result, we tend to think of things as unconquerable, or beyond us, in some measure, but nothing is beyond that which we put our minds' to, it's important to remember this when ignoring the desperate pleas of your captive audience when you ask them for an unbiased performance review.

I don't know how I've been doing, okay? People ask me "Oh how are you?" and I have to tilt back with something akin to "hangin' in there". And when they ask "what's wrong?" I can just kind-of gesture up and down to whatever they can acclimate is wrong with me based on my figure, face, eyes, and other features.

I've always had tired eyes. I carry the exhaustion of three people, for myself, my mother, and my father. It used to be more, but they all died, so I was allowed to get a little more sleep. Or so they say in the legend, at least.

I'm tired of faking some things, I'm tired of faking being alright all the time. It's time for me to be not okay for a little while, I think I've had it with being told that I'm not feeling things correctly. Every little emotional reaction is not neuroticism, although I'd be lying to myself if I didn't deny its existence in my soul-- I'm just so tired.

I can't pretend anymore, I'm not really a writer, you guys. This is all fake, if you go back you'll see, I blogged it all with an invisible keyboard. It'll be gone as soon as I get too sick of looking at it.

Sometimes, I tend to be too ashamed of who I was to try to be someone new. Most of the time-- I'd say.

I tend to be haunted by regrets. I tend to let them bug me easily. Everyone says to live without them but just like all celebrity advice after you hear it-- you twitch your head and are forced to ask "What the fuck do you mean?" Maybe I'm thinking of them as different creatures, maybe I'm not empathizing enough with their viewpoint but to "live without regrets" is to be a stupid fucking human being, from what I can tell.

You should regret shit. I get that you shouldn't let stuff haunt you, but I realize now that it's a semantic argument over one word. In any case, it can be seen as charming, or else morosely moronic to a point of a Mike Judge movie from 2006.

It's cliche to say, but we're not living in George Orwell's vision for the future-- we're living in Mike Judge's.

The future's in television, and it's always been in television. I'm just so tired. See you all when I see you.

And another thing too-- the weather fuckin' sucked today.

#writing #post #blogpost #man #i'm dead #more writing #dying #dying more #does anyone read these #tags #tags for attention #gimme attention #i want it #maybe i don't deserve it #does this pierce the veil? #god i hate everything #feeling prickly #kinda just irritated #hungry

[wiw3]

I Just Can't Care

Well maybe not can't-- Won't is more of an apt nomenclature. I'm trying to develop a style-- but you can't develop a style if you don't write, so I'm... writing. Writey write write. I don't fucking care! There's no passion in it! I'm only ever passionate about how dispassionate I am!

I think this isn't the first time I've felt like this, and it most certainly won't be the last. I need to live in a fantasy-world since I can't help but look at the level of bad things happening constantly, both around me and beyond my scope. Watching the news has become too depressing-- maybe I'm lazy and find sympathy more trouble than it's worth. Maybe. An unbiased self-evaluation is near-impossible, I've learned.

I need to confer with others, I need to ask them what they like about me, what part of my disgusting, dispassionate self do they still want to hang out with regularly? Is it that I've got something they want? Probably. The level of cynical neuroticism I've had in the past week has only bordered on bearable.

I need a reset, I'm going to blow the dust off of my little wrinkly mind with a hairdryer and see what happens to it if it isn't as wet for a while. Let it conduct electricity a little slower for a while. Who cares if part of it dies? It'll be better than continuing to rent out space to low-rent nonsense. You and I both know I'm only writing this because I'm frustrated.

If I'd really wanted to make others happy the way I claim to, I'd be hard at work right now, in my walk-in, writing something more important, but putting yourself out there like that-- Paralyzing fear. The idea of accepting help when stepping into a kiddie-pool of writing your first script seems unapproachable, but I know I'm going to have to eventually, one way or another, someone's going to have to see this.

Someone's mother is going to have to see this after that, then someone else, then another, and eventually I'm going to realize I'm being listened to, it's going to paralyze me, I'm going to go quiet for a while and the cycle'll repeat until I break it and start a new pattern. I think that's what we're meant to do, shake up our own patterns and return to them for comfort. I crack my knuckles for comfort. See? I'm flawed, just like you. Doc's human, too.

Let's get out of here. I'm starting to feel a bit better and drained of the neg emotes, if we're using zoomeronics to describe things now.

I gotta get off of this stuff.

#edge of reality #not able to trust things anymore #if things are like this at 23 #what am I going to be like when i'm older #what if i keep doing this #post #blog post #writing #ranting #sorry for the rant #passion #dispassion #dying inside #kind of #not anymore #feeling better #maybe the start of a comeback

[wiw3]

Shit To Do

I don't make To Do lists, generally. I like to carve the extra level of pretentiously-ironic effort out for the sake of making me feel like the special little boy I believe myself to be from the entire course of my writing life.

Bear with me here as I attempt to work through something.

Testing, testing, is this thing on? I'm dying up here.

I've got a couple of things to do today, so I feel motivated enough to gather the momentum to at least write a blog post. Given the fact that I left my laptop at work, and I've only got my home setup to write upon, I don't think I'll be getting that much work done.

Since my home PC is for video games.

It doesn't matter, I have a vitriolic disconnect between performing any work on my home machine, even though I view writing as fun, I see it as work to hammer out plots and figure out recourse actively. It's a process, you can't just shit out magic, it's the volume of magic with which I can shit out that makes me so impressive, over the shortest course-period of time, naturally.

Look at me, though, I'm sweaty, I'm high, I'm a monster, bumbling through society just like every other loser. I couldn't be happier, though. I'm finally meeting strangers again, in my own fucked-up little way, I'm interacting with the world around me, I'm cooking again, going to the gym...

Life is good, I feel like another shoe is going to drop but, lately, I've been getting better at keeping them on my feet, dropping in an efficient, forward-operating direction. I don't want to prank anymore. Happy Cinco de April, everybody. I'm gonna go grocery-shopping, because I have important papers, and important shit to do.

Not that having multiple things to do makes you in any way important, these things are simply important to me and I find it fun to listen to my ergonomic keyboard clackity clack clack as I type it up at a resting speed of 150 words per minute. We have fun here, and our fingers hurt.

Have a nice night, all of you. I'll be tuning back into this soon, ideally, with more garbage to transmit to you psychologically. Enjoy the mental trash. This is my content.

#writing #content #just your average post #nothing to hide here #what #you're weird #i'm not weird #i'm also not scared #super lonely lately #sorry for the rant #thought it was funny #a little funny #my weird ass

[wiw3]

An Attempt, If Not At Literacy, Then What?

Peace, quiet, ball-ache.

Wooden desk, heat bubbles, solved ant-problem; seemingly.

Pens, floss, ants ANTS!

I don't know what this was supposed to be, apparently a blog-entry of some kind. Do people still read those in 2024? I doubt it. I write them, but I doubt anybody reads them. It's okay, I'm not a particularly-interesting person. As there become more and more people in this miniscule world of ours, a fraction of a fraction of a spec of a percentage-point on the astronomy-scale, no doubt; we learn a truth.

That truth is that we enjoy espousing truths as if there's somehow any sort of wisdom to any of them, and we're not just stringing words together to justify, defend, or otherwise discuss our in-between actions.

I'd like life to be easier for me, but I'm incredibly lazy. What if I just took myself seriously, swallowed all fear, and really tried to write something in my early 20's? I have just the perfect amount of cynical neuroticism to keep me off of cocaine, I think, or else hopelessly addicted to it. I'll patch that into the tags on this. I've been burned before on the whole "improper tagging" -bit, which was deserved, in fairness. I deserved it, but now I throw the same generic 8-10 tags on things to make it simpler.

Woah, did you see how my brain made me type all of that out instead of confronting the fact that I'm paralyzingly-terrified of failure? Olympic-level mental-gymnastics.

Well, in any casidy dasidy, I'm going to lay down and pass out for work tomorrow. It really does feel like I just got home.

I wonder how long I'll have to be biting this cycle before I can move somewhere that matters...

#tw drugs #tw cocaine #tw drug abuse #tw jokes #tw sad shit #comedy #blog post #post #sorry for the rant #slam poetry #at least in the beginning #there's no cadence at all #but it counts #honorably #a disgrace to the artform #yours truly #doc

[wiw3]

The Eye-Contact Thing

Yeah, okay, I'll talk about it.

I've got nothing else to talk about tonight, my drive to create is completely fried, because I was allowed free reign and control over my own dick.

A chastity-cage is going to be required for me to legitimately get anything done. Maybe restriction would be good for me. I know my brain. It'd simply be to build up a large enough reserve of aggressive nut and drive to work on things. Maybe I'm thinking about this like a frat-kid.

I genuinely believe that it's connected to your general productivity, and my productivity has been tanking at work recently. Thankfully I'm squared away with America's Lord and Savior, the IRS, this year. I should be able to steer things around. Just no more goofing off before work, and always keep an emergency Dragon Fruit Redbull in the work-fridge. So far that seems to be working. More later.

I'm going to keep this one short; the weather was-- pft... Fine. The weather was fine today. Don't worry about how the weather was. Sure it was cloudy, but the sun set pleasantly. One of you'll likely fly it in Microsoft Flight Simulator or some other travel-game where you can roll back the proverbial clock, and view the world as it was.

I need to cut back on some short-form dopamine habits. I'm kind-of interested in watching my subconscious take over interactions for a while. Definitely more later.

#Gotta mark this as mature #big boy post #big boy #post #big man #big post #i hate myself #this sucks #marking it appropriately now

[wiw3]

A Writer, Writes

A poet poes,

That died quickly.

I'm getting better at minding the gap between an opening bit and the actual girth of what I'd like to be talking about. I'm a little sad this evening, a little unbalanced, maybe coming off of a depressive stint and slump, but I surprised myself pretentiously in my own dainty little pretentious way because I'm a pretentious 23-year-something burnout with few aspirations.

I shouldn't even be cataloging this; nobody's going to care, and it's frankly, irresponsible. All I'm doing is opening myself up to sinkage, but who cares? I think that simply by putting yourself out there, and opening yourself up to criticism while pursuing the thing you really believe makes you happy, might just be the answer. I realize more and more every day that I'm entirely full of shit and this is all talk.

I'm not good with emotional need, I've learned. I struggle with my own unfed burdens when it comes to those anxieties. Your mother should've handled yours, mine should've handled mine. Neither one did their part in that department, the only difference is that this time, you came into my world.

It doesn't make a difference, it doesn't matter. Nothing I write certainly will. It's past my bedtime but I don't care. I'm likely going to go to bed tonight the same way I went to bed last night, stressed out, chewing my nails, anxious for work and just knowing it's going to be another eight hours of feeding bad habits just to roll back into another few days of it.

And I'm coming up on running a Sunday alone.

I roll my eyes at it and scoff but it's probably good that I learn to get back in the swing of working alone, but I expected to be a part of a team. Now I hear that I'm going to be shadow-tested. Again, it's smart on behalf of the owner, I wouldn't want me working there if I was trying to run a successful business.

I'm a piece of shit, I think it's safe to say a lot of us are, but we don't know any other way to be. There's nothing charming, or edgy, or quirky about it, it's that genuine type of pressurized self-hate that you just can't buy in canned form. You gotta grow it organic.

Neglect and abuse, baby, neglect and abuse, to garner a healthy amount of fear and respect well into adulthood. The same goes for leading people, just as parenthood. Parenthood is just leading and vice versa, nowadays.

Everyone just wants their mommy and daddy to tell them what to do in the world to succeed, but the truth is, nobody has all of the answers. People who seek all of the answers are childish. They are malcontent to observe and need to make noise. This vivaciously-bipolar toneshifting I'm doing is giving me some quiet whiplash.

I should go to bed before the drums nextdoor get any louder; I swear the guy's trying to give himself a fucking hernia. Thanks for listening with your eyes, twinks. I have things to do before I sleep.

#writing #god what did i do #piece of shit #peace out #this reads like deadbeat dad writing kind of in parts #i'll delete this later #unless i find it charming sober #toomanytags #i need what i can't have #be happy

[wiw3]

A Warm Feeling, If A Bit False

I've got a nasty habit. It's thinking. As pretentious as that sounds let me explain myself before I lose half of my friends to the idea that I could be "too into myself". In any case, I'm being a little selfish, advocating for myself, but to others, I'd be rationalizing being a piece of shit for not wanting to help a friend.

The conversation to have over it's pointless, but drawing upon all of my experience with myself, as with anything in life, it's a bit of a gray area. A friend needs help, but I don't have it in the tank. It's an extremely-metatextual type of need, and we're desperately-close to breaking through the barrier of "saying the quiet part out loud" --as it were. I know why I don't have it in the tank. I can't recall what this person's done for me in the time since I've known them to deserve this kind of help for free. I noticed whilst whinging this out that I really need inspiration for more art of my own. If I'm not helping people or doing good, I'd better be doing *something* with my time worth a damn to someone. So I write.

It might not be what anybody wants to hear, but it's one of the many reasons I do it, in addition to being bad at it (Entirely not fishing. Ignore the thought. This is how I feel about my art, and it makes me better, I'd like to think. I'll rest when I'm dead. I keep typing more and more here; back to the orientation, lockjaw.) I write because I have to. It's the best way I've found to cope with reality.

No faith plugs the hole, no substance, no person, no commodity, no war, no strife, no love comes close. I want to be good at it, more than anything. So I'm going to fail early and often. Let's fall on our face, and let it be beautiful in how flawed it is. Let's be that type of gauche Americanized Kintsugi where inspiration is taken from everywhere, but we're all just the same bowl.

It's nonsensical, but is making sense so good anymore when it comes to how we think? Logic is desperately-important when we interact, more than anything, as society can and will wear yours away if you let it, though I'll cede that it can be hard to protect. That's what makes it worth doubling down for--

It doesn't matter. In any case, the weather was beautiful today, and daylight-savings allowed me to see more of it, since the sun shined longer.

As one last pretentious note, let your own sun shine longer today.

#ugh #disgusting final note #just threw the whole post in the garbage there at the end #writeblr #finding inspiration #daylight savings #sorry for the rant #never want to be a bother #just want to heal #and be healed #support #piece of shit kind of #probably

[wiw3]

Happy Birthday to You!

And happy near-birthday to me, if today's your birthday, great! Tomorrow's going to be mine, and if you're having a good birthday, just know that I will at some point, be envying your experience to the point of tears.

Maybe you're more like me, though. Maybe a birthday has always been something to be tolerated. Maybe it's an endurance-sprint to midnight. Maybe your family tries too hard. Maybe I should be grateful for a family that tries too hard.

I feel negatively toward complaining, I think it's not my place and I've got more than enough to be grateful for; it's when I feel that pressure that I start being ungrateful for it.

It should feel like good pressure. I should be able to enjoy my birthdays, but for some reason, those wires just don't connect.

This year is low-pressure, low-maintenance. I've only asked for something to eat for dinner and peace. I feel like asking for that might insult or put the onus on my parents to step up to the game, but I've had enough of them trying, because it's never been informed attempting.

It's been blind stabs in the dark in the hopes that they might land one of my interests accidentally. They don't ask me about myself, or if they do, they don't really listen.

My parents have always felt unreachable. That's been the case since my mother once told me that she wouldn't give up cigarettes if I'd asked her to. That formed an emotional rift that... I don't think was ever really repaired. I think we replaced it with something, but it's not as good as it could be.

Father's been despondent and jaded for even longer. Maybe I'm not finding the right words or connecting with them right on their level. I've tried to humanize from a distance and empathize with the fact that their lives were put on hold for my life to exist, but that pressure is paralyzing to me. This time last year, I was sobbing in my room to the point of hysterics, and my dad just wanted to make sure it wasn't anything he'd done. Mom was the same way, and I attempted suicide that night after "going for a drive to clear my head".

I drove home after being talked down by my friends, thankfully. After that, I'd taken a self-portrait and told myself that I'd never allow for my nerves to take that bad of a hit again. I'd harden my heart, and endure even more emotional turmoil. It's weak to admit, but I needed to be held, and I wasn't. I was allowed to slip through the cracks. I allowed myself to slip through the cracks. Never again.

But, that's enough of that story. I think any more waxing poetic over birthdays and I'll likely start crying again, but it's going to be my party, and I'm going to be able to cry if I want to.

Cry if I want to.

#writing #word vomit #rambling #sorry for the rant #birthday #tw #tw sad thoughts #tw birthday #tw suicide #tw suicidal #tw family #just going to try to keep a grip this year #should be okay

[wiw3]

I Wish My Mouth Had More Room for Teeth

My mouth has naught room for all teeth,

with nary an inch missing beneath.

My teeth, bent and broken

and I've barely just spoken

but my jaw's fallen out, underneath!

Hi, I've forgotten or lost the ability to start these so my next best venture or guess is to simply just do it. I've been listening to a plethora of motivational laissez faire bourgeoisie buzzword ripoff garbage for the past few weeks now, and I realize that I have to be alone more often, and I have to do things my way.

My way of being completely off-book, paving my way without anyone's approval or permission. The way ahead is forward, and there's nothing for me behind me that I haven't already learned.

It's indulgently-narcissistic to write these, I realize, but what else am I going to do with my time? Drugs? Video games? Actually getting my life together? You can tell thousands of jokes in the mirror insofar as all of them are true.

Can you be what I want to be without being a self-important narcissist? Your vision is what guides projects, and your input's required on all things, but is it narcissistic to want that? I've thought about it for weeks now and it's been the thing kneecapping me from getting things done. That, and the blatant irresponsible procrastination I've been doing as part of my regular day-to-day of avoiding the things that scare me.

I suppose I deserve that, being practically raised by my mother. My father didn't abandon me but by golly he certainly imparted zero values. Don't drink, don't smoke, don't steal, don't murder. Pretty much it from the old dad-machine back there.

It's hard to say as I'm living with both of my parents again, I'm going to try to carve a path out of here as soon as I possibly can. I'm marshalling resources and ideas for a little project coming soon that might, by the grace of whatever's holy, work out for me.

The weather was beautiful today.

I'm steadily employed. I feel safe at work, I don't feel bulletproof but that feels good. I feel challenged, healthily. I'm working on my focus, and it's steadily improving. I'd like to apply it to more things in the near future. I'll likely start going back to the gym, writing, and really giving this living-for-me thing another shot.

Stay tuned, folks. Wizard out.

#laughing at this in the future #making myself laugh #love you guys #still here #after all this time #hope's not lost #feeling better #much better #tw feel better #tw feeling better #tw man i feel better #sorry for the rant

[wiw3]

Nothing Feels Good Anymore

I'm probably just being dramatic again, I tell myself as I pace my empty house back and forth, the only presence I have to keep me company is a dog that likely won't live to see another year. It's my own fault for wanting a companion of any kind. Companionship ends eventually, everything falls apart.

For me, mania only leads to depression, and I was so energetic to start a project, to really immerse myself into it and engulf myself beneath the creative waves once more, but I just don't have it in me.

I tried stirring up sufficient hype, talking to my friends about my creative endeavors always seems to ruin them for me, either the endeavor or my friend. Either I realize that the endeavor just isn't as good as I thought it was, or that the friend isn't as good as I thought they were.

I'm always constantly casting shit back at my parents but I just want to feel like everything's going to be okay. I haven't been able to feel like that recently. I hope I can come across people, if not friends, that'll help me to feel more at home, soon, but for right now, I feel uniquely alienated, and alone.

I'm an L-O-S-E-R loser, and it's hurting particularly hard tonight, since I can't get high. The stash is empty, and I'm grappling with the idea of getting my own medical marijuana card for these constant, consistent feelings of tension and dread. Good things just don't happen anymore, and I'm powerless and broke in my current position to stop it.

I may as well get high, right? I may as well destroy braincells since it doesn't seem like anybody really cares if I keep writing or not, I may as well destroy the entirety of my cognitive function for the sake of short-term gratification, right? It's a shame that I come here to suffer, because I'd like to be a pure beacon of gratification and joy, but I don't think I have enough in me to carry the world. I don't think I have enough in me to make anyone feel better about anything... Maybe just by existing, this piece does just that but... if that's the case, it's entirely against my intention.

Truth is, I haven't been able to really stop crying for the past couple of evenings. I can muster up the capability to function at work, but I'm so far and away from what I'd like to be doing with my life that I feel like I have to take drugs to cope. I just want to get high and not think about how much it hurts, but right now it feels pretty bad. I'm in the midst of it, in the middle of it, and I miss a lot of people that aren't around anymore, right now, because of it.

I'm tired of seeing the negativity, I want to see the positive, and to allow for it to work on me, I'm obviously going to have to change my mindset. It's make-or-break time, once more, and I really hope that I don't break. This new job is oppressive and soul-crushing. The "low-pressure" environment ironically has me feeling more pressure than I ever have before.

I have two days off and by neglecting my To-Do List, I'm able to get some Tumblr blogging done. It's not fair to the list that I'm neglecting it, but this is subconscious stream of consciousness, which always feels better than conscious, pushed-forth effort to do something active. I'd rather escape, instead. Keeps me from crying as much.

#not able to escape anymore #I can't just run from it #I can't just ignore it #tw: drug abuse #tw: drug addiction #tw: drugs #its just weed though #I shouldn't be this broken #I'm sad #very sad tonight #very tired this weekend #need to stop being such a baby #need to get it together #when is it really okay to not be okay #not okay #sorry mom #sorry for the rant #i'm sorry

[wiw3]

You've Nearly Forgotten...

You nearly forgot, you've nearly forgotten, it's almost there, it's almost gone. Almost forgotten writing, almost forgotten creating. But it's me, you is me, really. They'll understand, they'll know what I mean. I'm very okay. I think I'm okay. I'm feeling manic, writing in a manic fit from caffeine and nicotine.

Our lord and saviour Jon Daly says that caffeine plus nicotine equals protein. Now, in his honor, let's slam a can of something and devour a Prime Video series together. My lord, it brings out my inner broadway theatre kid. One way or another my breath hitches at some of the performances and mixing. Every so often there comes a show or series that I become effervescently foaming at the mouth with jealousy that I didn't create it.

I don't mention names since I don't like to play favorites. I'm a fan amongst my loyalists. In any case, I feel an emotional flareup every single time I listen to the soundtrack on my way to work. I'm elsewhere at work constantly thinking about it, it's driving me crazy.

In more Doc-cer related news, I've nearly lost all motivation for writing. It was at the very pinnacle of the waning of my creative ability that I discovered a seemingly-infinite source of inspiration. I simply need to swallow my pride and listen. It's not that hard, at the end of the day. It starts with apologizing for accidentally creating more work for a coworker at work when you were working together today. You apologize and thank about five times each, a few in rapid succession.

Naturally I've lost my ability to flow, and this has very bombastic cadence, which is certainly a way to put it, I'm sure everyone including me is thinking. I'm going to go back to procrastinating on starting a new project I've been sitting on and listening to more of this shudderingly-good tune set.

Chillax, my mayo-clinician brothers.

-Doc, as always

#why did he sign it #why did I refer to myself as he #why am i still doing this #kind of depressed ngl #cried a lot two days ago #feeling fixed now #healing #the old me wasn't working #gotta evolve somehow #sorry for this #sorry for everything all the time

[wiw3]

Finally Getting Something Out

Hey all; that's okay, right?

I've been trying to think of something, virtually anything, viscerally everything that I could with which to come back, but, I can't. I have a plan tomorrow to run once more headlong into the breach, old friends, that's okay to say, right?

I'm rocking back and forth as I write this, I kind-of fidget when I author anymore, it seems. In any case, let this be a testament to the fact that I'm going through a period of being scared to upload to this little pocketbook on the internet.

It's no worse than a dream journal, I don't actually believe most of these things. A lot of it is satire and drafts meant for writing practice, but in a sensually-candid moment, I need to speak truth to the fact that I feel like I've abandoned those few who've chosen to spend time with me, watching me on this platform.

I think it's simply because I don't see nearly enough people like me, maybe I'm on the wrong platform, maybe I use the wrong tags, who knows? I guess I don't really care, I think I would like to write until I find an audience, as much of a cliché as it is, I think there's a fair place for cliché in society nowadays, and so-far-out irony that it leaves mothers quietly scratching their heads saying "Um, Brittany? What've you been getting into? Who's this Doc person you've been reading so much on?" And you're forced to have the awkward conversation explaining that I'm just some loser on the same wavelength as you and reading my stuff makes you feel better.

The point is that if you just kind-of surf in the murk here, I'd appreciate a tender little like every once in a while, a follow if you really like what I do. You don't know how much it means and how much it would motivate me to keep hitting this wall with more creative ideas. I think that's okay to say. I've kind-of been falling apart lately as I've struggled to wonder what's okay to put into written form, just trying to follow every rule, not hurt anyone's feelings, but lately it seems impossible, I'm just glad to have written something, at long last. That's okay to talk about, right?

Anyhoot, I'm going to be heading my large personage to bed, on this weekend night in Southwest Florida where the snow never comes, but the feels always do. I think we can talk about that.

I've been Doc, sorry for the long, overly-formal verbal signoff, Merry Happy, this year. I'm tired and blackout, and I love you all. I think that should be okay.

And it's okay for you to be here, too.

#writing #be gone #sorry #i'll disappear for a while after this #forgive the tags #sounds like there are monsters outside #christmas #hannukah #whatever you say #love to all #and to all a merry happy #so tired #eyes glazed over #sorry for the rant #i think that's okay #all good #my bad #healthy #coping #finally writing #finally writing again

[wiw3]

The Loudness of Thought

The volume that defeats my thoughts to procrastinate is exactly 65 out of 100 on the volume scale, just loud enough to keep my head focused on the monitor, but not loud enough to cause severe hearing damage.

It's strange, our unique experiences that guide us. I need to stop complaining as much. This needs to become a place for actual creative writing, not just writing that approaches venting and sounds "creative". I need to make it entertainingly-struggleful, or else nobody'll listen.

Typical profit-seeking humans, though can I blame them? Who wants to listen to whinging if it's not beneficial? If it's only beneficial to the one, then what's the point of art if not to self-indulge? This should be to help people, to make them happy, and I've been shirking that responsibility. I'm sorry that I've been so lazy with the things that you love.

And with that, comes the end of my whining arc. I want to think of more creative directions to take this blog. Maybe I'll turn it into a poetry graveyard, of things that don't make sense, that I need to get out in order to continue to live a functional life. Maybe I'll backslide into whining once in a while, but that's what I'll have the key of self-awareness to hopefully steer me back on track.

Nobody likes raw humanity, it reminds them too much of their own shitty lives full of shittiness, the things they'd rather see changed, the things that they see in me that frustrate them are things that they see in themselves, or used to see in themselves. My inability, or lack of a will to change, just exhausts some people. Seeing it in others certainly exhausts me.

So it's the end of my majority-whining arc, or maybe I'm going to double down and blow up even further, I haven't quite decided if the self-destructive path suits me yet, I've gotten a new job and things are still pretty rocky despite being a week in. I seem to have a manager that has my back again, and at 22, there's nothing a fat little boy like me could ask for.

So to wrap this up-- maybe not-so-neatly; I might whine, I might not, but it's the start of a new era for me, and I'm hopeful, but at the same time, cautious, realizing that hope is the suspension of disbelief for something good, and it's usually once you've fully given yourself over to the delusion, that it decides to drop you like a bad habit.

So in the spirit of retaining my habits, good and bad, I'm going to sneeze all over my monitor one last time by blogging a ridiculous amount of complaints related to hope, and then go to sleep...

...I have so much paperwork to do...

#writing #sorry #just sorry all the time i think #sorry for existing #maybe i should be #sulking doesn't help #get up #get over it #listen to your music #and do your paperwork

[wiw3]

Cataclysm of Victimhood

"I just need to decompress for a while" is a sentence I've been utilizing quite frequently, as of late. After nearly running out of gas on Interstate 75 today, I arrived home to find that three of my most awkward friends had finally cut their losses with me. One doesn't want to participate in the group without their pwecious widdle boyfwend, and the other doesn't want to participate if the other isn't participating. It's an expressly "all or none" attitude toward what is ultimately a complicated, nuanced relationship between a second family for those of us who have our needs neglected by our origin-families.

Hosting D&D as a hobby has become a mainstay in my 20's. At times, it feels like it's the only thing that I can rotate my week around steadily, and even then, sometimes things happen. My entire life has been about managing expectations and today reveals itself to be no exception to that rule. I trust my friends to show up on time, ready to play games with one another. I ask them to forgive me if I take it too seriously at times, because with the tunnel-vision I'm capable of having toward certain things, it can be helpful to have friends around to tell you that you're too drunk and need to sit down, when you're too incapable of seeing it, yourself, or... myself, in this case.

I need to get out of that habit, denying accountability by proxy of saying the royal You, instead of just... well, me.

One of them takes issues with the jokes I make, the things I choose to joke about, and would rather see my right to make them stripped from me than to learn to cope with the things they find unpleasant. I don't pander to my friends, I don't sugar-coat or powder-puff anything, but I'll gladly crack a joke or two just to help someone get through something. Traditional love doesn't suit me, giving or receiving.

I'd rather just make art that makes people happy. I'm far too susceptible to pressure and changing as to fit into a specific scenario. Doing so, I've forgotten who I am, which is the same magnetic polarity that has enraptured me, yet again. I let friends of a specific nature in, in an attempt to challenge my perspectives, then they try to change me too much, they keep pushing, and inevitably I snap, or they snap. It's the nature of things.

I'm personally in a perpetual cycle of self-improvement and then crashing right back down to the same (or worse) bad habits. It's my own fault, but I think we're living in one of the most self-righteous crises we've ever faced as a nation, which is the crisis of victimization.

Everyone's a victim, everyone. Doesn't matter what you've gone through, everyone I've met finds one thing or another to get them down, a woe-is-me pattern isn't particularly destitute on my own blog, either, I've come to find. Not to make it any more metatextual than it already is, but God knows I play the victim just as much, if not more than anyone else. The difference is that it's done here, and to get it out of my system. I don't think it's healthy to find victimization in every little thing, as these few I've met in recent years have.

It all stems from their "trauma", wah-wah, you're weak for not being able to move past things in your past, simple as. Things are rarely black and white, I'll admit, but there comes a point where you have to stop making your problems everyone else's problems with which to deal. I've had to grapple with people like that for my entire life, and it's getting *old*.

It's not my fault that things happened to you and that you can't handle jokes about it, especially when they aren't even directed at you. Grow up, get over yourself, stop making this shit my problem and killing the vibe because you're selfish and your feelings and comfort are more important than the enjoyment of the event. There's no such thing as perfect inclusivity. We all have to be a lot closer to being on the same page for that, which takes so much communication that it kills any attempt at humor or universal fun, unless you're finding the fun in controlling others' behavior, in which case I think that serves as more of an indictment on your issues over mine.

You show me a non-emotionally-stunted individual in North America today and I'll show you a million dollars.

I just need to decompress for a while.

#writing #ranting #angry #dentist #cheaper than I thought #that update might come next #maybe #tw #tw jokes #creative writing #sorry for the rant #blogging #post #blog post #blog #grow up #get over yourself #seriously #victimization