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 Latest
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Diaryland |
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2003-12-03 - 11:00 p.m. Alright, I just want to say something and I'll try not to sound like Stuart Smalley. I don't like myself. There I said it. I figure I might just cozy up to my continual failure now, rather then acting like I didn't see it for years and years and do something retarded like buy a Chrysler Lebaron, start to play golf, and drink wine from Austrailia. I figure owning up to myself and realizing the unbelievable amounts of dumb luck I've recieved throughout my life is a start. It's just a damn shame I haven't done anything when opportunities are literally thrown at me left and right. I've developed a needy nature that is more suited to be called "parasitic." I've had all sorts of brainstorms on how it all should be. I thought for the longest time that I needed a good woman to worship. I also thought I needed to change the world.....signifigantly. I also even thought I had something that the whole world wanted, naturally. I had the grrl, I had the opportunity for education, I even thought I had some promise. It's pretty much been removed out my mind and body, not totally, but I figure if I ever wanted it all back it would take decades. I eat off alot of other people's plates. I so want the American ideal of pulling myself up by my own boot straps and seize the day for myself......no matter how much I know is beyond my control or not my fault. It's nearly all chronic dumb luck that's carried me I suppose and all that has smacked me down is my own lack of self-worth. The more I hear affirmations from here, there and everywhere, the more fake I think it is. The more I feel it's pity. The more reason to be just that much more hardened. I haven't cried in so long and I can swallow my breakdowns before they reach my throat. I live alot of lies you see. Smart? Hell, I make a good joke here and there. I don't read books. Shit, you know my grades in college. I should of been cramming today, but I don't even know what the fuck I did the last 12 hours except eat and sit. Talented? Talent comes a dime a dozen. My scratching is so-so at best and I don't practice at all and talk shit. My writing-I haven't wrote a damn thing other then these daily updates on my funny happenings and misfortunes. Film maker? Nick, Seth, John, they make the films and videos. I haven't wrote shit. I dance around in a pink tu-tu maybe, but I could just as easily not be in their things and it would be just as good, if not better I imagine. A good son? I hardly utter 100 words a week to both parents. They've wasted alot of money on my education.....paid for my bills......Oh yeah and even want to buy me a big extravagant Xmas gift when I ain't even buying shit. Trustworthy? I've lied here and there. I've peppered my life with lies. I make a good talk of things but nothing worthwhile to dwell upon. I know how to make you laugh and get your attention but not much else. I just don't sell the bullshit like I used to. It ain't cute anymore. Everything else is just shit I read in books or what I heard was the best thing to say or do. You know, things gotta get worse before they get better. I just wonder how much. I gotta learn how to walk again and get rid of these big kid dreams and live catch-up the rest of my life. It ain't pretty I guess, but I never was in the first place. How's that for angst kiddies?!?!?! BOOYAH!
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