Alone With Infinite Opportunities

Each morning I go through a period of feeling alone or depressed to the point where I don't want to do anything but sit and think about all of the possibilities I have had. I don't know if this is normal or not.

I have spent almost six years working at the same place and am not any closer to doing what I really wanted to do with my life. I almost always feel like a mass of wasted opportunity or potential.

I want to work at home. I want to get paid for my creativity. I don't ever want to have to wear a uniform again.

The song In My Mind by Amanda Palmer comes to mind. Every time.

Something has to change at some point.

Double Screwed

I have lived my life through multiple personas before. I have been two people at once. My life isn't easy by any means, but it's not particularly difficult. I know what it's like to have secrets you can never tell anybody. There is one big one I have never told anybody and I don't think I ever will. I have lived with it for eleven years and I think I can keep on living with it for longer now.

In retrospect it doesn't seem to be that big of a deal, but what is life without hidden secrets and mysteries?

It's cold and dark this time of year and it certainly is taking its toll on me. The after effects of the chemo I went through aren't making things any easier. Despite all of that, I somehow get out of bed in the morning. Even after my morning caffeine was taken away from me due to increased risk of debilitating anxiety attacks, I still get out of bed in the morning.

To everyone who goes on to state that I don't know what it's like to be them, it's true. Nobody ever will. You can write melodramatic blogs to your heart's content, but it will never be enough to let somebody see what it's like to be in your shoes. Me to be in your shoes. I never want to be anybody else. Ever.

Our fucked up pasts and our fucked up futures to look forward to are our own. We just have to manage with the shitty hands we've been dealt. I don't care about how hard it is for you at work because its going to be even harder for someone else. I don't care about you're shitty love life because for someone else it is even worse. For everything someone has to complain about it is even worse for tons of others. People have to learn to deal and cope with what they have or they end up failing at their life. Giving up isn't an option.

I wake up every morning and part of me wants to die but I still put my clothes on and go to work like the rest of the world knowing that if I keep this up for long enough I will have the means to make my life into something tolerable or even enjoyable. Life is suffering. What everyone suffers through may differ in magnitude but everyone goes through it.

While all of this may sound hypocritical coming from me, it's because it is. While this is what I truly believe, I don't always follow my beliefs. Do I feel terrible about it? Of course. Beliefs are meant to be lived by, not followed blindly and strictly. There's always a difference between a guide and a set of instructions.

The Lost Entries 4–Seasonal Shifts

The relationship between my mind and body has become disconnected over time. When the mind sends the signal to the hand to move, it moves. My body, particularly in winter, balks and refuses at times. A pause, whose presence feels like infinity, interrupts the communication.

As seasons change, my body and mind disassociate from one another. Walking becomes confusing and alarming as the experience of not being in the proper vessel rises. Actions and interactions no longer feel like my own.

Already the seasons begin to change. We, as a society, have mapped out four distinct seasons; winter, spring, summer, and fall. To me, on the other hand, only see three; bright, gray, and dark.

The bright season fills me with a sense of normality. The sun shines and proper sunrises and sunsets occur each day. My body and mind seem as one. My actions and reactions are my own. Rational though outweighs the irrational. My personal world is as it should be until the bright bleeds into the gray.

The gray season occurs between the dark and bright and comes twice a year. The first is when the dark grows weak and the bright seeps in, little by little. The world stays brighter later in the day and becomes brighter earlier. The world, as a whole, remains constant gray, however. Storms come and go. My body and mind remain mostly disconnected, but have moments of oneness. This all is the first wave of the gray season.

The second gray season takes the light and bright into the dark. Daylight grows lesser and lesser as days pass.

The Lost Entries 3–A Reflection on My Creative Endeavors

No matter how much time I spend reading and learning, I can never shake the feeling that I’m only smart enough to realize that I am stupid. Everything feels like an uphill battle that only gets steeper the harder I try.

I know now that my writing is crap. Everything about it is terrible and worthless. I have wasted my time on yet another fruitless venture. Nothing about failure ever gets easier.

I can only ignore the bitter taste of bile and self crushed spirits and keep trying or give up.

Currently, I don’t know what I should do. Even if I pushed aside my failures, should I even finish my current ideas or leave them behind to rot?

The Lost Entries 2–Universal Placement

I am the person people only tolerate. I am not outstanding or special in this world. I am one out of billions of people on this planet. I am only one out of the innumerable amount of people that will ever exist. I exist only by chance. I will be snuffed out in what will seem like no amount of time to the universe.

I am not special.

I will not be remembered for long after my passing. I will be forgotten to time like so many others. I will have no legacy. My continuum will be ended without having gone anywhere.

This if the future that I see. The world is cold and gray. Black and white are a lie; it’s all shades of gray. The world is monochrome.

There is no reward at the end. The closest we get s seeing a palette of gray before returning to the earth.

I can see. I can hear. I can feel. These senses normally go ignored.

I am still and will forever be nothing.

Top 4 Myths About Burritos

Most everybody knows what a burrito is. It’s an edible sleeping bag for food which happens to be the food’s final resting place before being devoured and shoved into a meaty face hole full of sharpened bone shards that proceed to mash and grind them up into nutrient paste. But, what most people know about burritos isn’t the dark secrets behind their production.

Myth 1: Tortillas are innocent.

We all take for granted the edible sacks of food we know and love as burritos. If you say that doesn’t apply to you, you either live in communist China, or are a liar. The myth that burritos contain innocent food products in a tortilla, or as some call it, a meat and vegetable suffocation device, is just that, a myth. In actuality, those tortillas are made from the Egyptian mummy wrappings. I know, I was shocked to discover that, too. It’s been happening for centuries. The first burrito dates back to ancient Egypt (like a hundred years ago or something) when the Egyptians ran out of food one cold winter and were forced to eat their dead. Luckily, there were plenty of mummies around to snack on, and everyone lived happily ever after.

Myth 2: Meat goes inside them.

While this one is partially true, it’s not what most people think. Everyone bites into a burrito for the first time and thinks about how good that beef, chicken, or pork tastes. Something you may not know is it all tastes the same. Only the color and texture changes. This is all because it’s not really animal meats inside that strangling device, but orphans.

Have you seen the movie Oliver Twist? You know about all those hobo children running around being little shitheads then. Look outside your window right now. How many orphan kids do you see out there? Only a couple, right? There should be hundreds of them, but there’s not. It’s because at night, that creepy guy from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang comes out and rounds them all up and takes them off to packing plants for distribution to all major restaurants!

 

Myth 3: Guacamole is avocados.

Guacamole is that baby poop looking stuff that people like to smear on things and eat, or dip things in. Something not known about this magic poop sauce is that the stuff you can make at home tastes nothing like what you’d buy from a food emporium or food distribution/devouring center. It’s because it’s not. Avocados have nothing to do with actual guacamole. It’s really souls. Having seen Ghostbusters at some point and eaten guacamole at least three times in my life, I was able to piece this together. That green poop looking floating ghost soul thing was what guacamole is made from. I know! I was surprised, too! It’s true, though.

Myth 4: All burritos are the same.

You may be surprised with this next one. But, all burritos are not the same. Have you ever eaten a burrito and then realized it wasn’t all that filling, and was a lot like eating ectoplasm? Well, it wasn’t because of too much souls guacamole on there. It was because it really was just a dirty looking ghost. Over half of al the world’s burritos are just dirty ghosts that got lost and packaged as burritos. It’s sad. Over seven billion ghosts are eaten a year because of this mix up.

 

All I can say is before you bite into that orphan meat, soul slathered, delicious sack of stuff, check to see if it has a face, because you might just be eating a ghost.

Gray-World

I live in a nest. The walls that surround me are nothing more than clutter I have finely and precisely placed. Neatness and organization are two separate things; similar, but both don’t always apply.

Depressed Babble

I have a theory that people aren’t really who they seem when around me. I don’t mean in a Truman Show sense of all of that, but more in a way that they’re hiding something from me. They don’t want to tell me something that they know will bring about certain emotional responses from me.

Artistic Disconnect (The Lost Entries 1)

The disconnect between my emotional state and the physical world happens to be larger than I previously thought. The firm grasp of reality I thought I had is nothing more than a thought lost in the sea of the intangible. My cyclical thought pattern of figuring the world out is a flawed method. The physical world is nothing more than an eclectic assortment of atoms bonded together left for interpretation by impersonal floods of light and electricity in an easily persuaded mass of tissue. Color is nothing more than light and texture is nerve endings shooting electric pulses.

The Lost Entries (Explanation)

I mentioned, previously, a new project idea that I had, but I gave no details on it. A lot of the time, I spout a lot of crap on Twitter without backing it up. I know I do. For a long time I was a man of a lot of talk and no show, but after finishing my rewrite of Unstable Part 1, I feel like I’ve been blessed with motivation once more.