Screwed.

I was in a good place for a brief time. A promise land. A place that allowed quite the opportunity to make something of myself. Poof it said on its way out the door.

I hadn’t been in a happy place for a long time, so I was understandably enthusiastic about it. My surrealistic enthusiasm has, over the course of 48 hours, transformed into realistic self-loath.

I rarely experiment with optimism, and rightfully so. The emotional hang-over caused by optimism and hope, that were previously of a prolonged absence, are rarely worth it. I would rather stick to my constant pessimism and at least have a glimpse of the inevitable cluster-fuck of a situation as it’s creeping towards me over the horizon.

I went and over-dosed on optimism.

People get screwed over all the time, if the determining factors are out of your control, one has no problem just moving on. But when you had even the lightest weight in how things happened, well then its straight to the emotional shit-can for you. I know I could have worked harder, even if it had pushed me over the edge into a state of oblivious insanity. I believe it would have been better than where I am now.

Because what is life if not a series of opportunities that you must grasp and work hard at. Its nothing. It’s what I have now. Something I have returned to after being relieved from for about a week and a half.
Like a vacation cut short.

I found something worth the investment. I’m not talking about school or a job or some habitat for humanity bullshit that takes any hippie shithead willing to attend with open arms. I’m saying something truly special. I know the investment was worth it, because the return was a guarantee of small dosages of happiness distributed over a long period of time.
This opportunity to me was a natural antidepressant.

I found a microscopic piece of my identity in the form of a hobby, that I could use to get through the tougher things in life, fall back on, and always enjoy being a part of.

Now I’m left with a friendship on the line, one which I’m swayed towards neglecting for fear of future resentment. Realistically, I shouldn’t blame myself, I should blame you. I wont, because I don’t believe you deserve it and I’m not that type of person.
But to be honest, I predict the type of person I am, isn’t long for this world.

I can feel myself loosing it. Slowly edging towards becoming a complete asshole, because its just safer and easier like that.
If I never invest emotionally, I cant get hurt. And fuck, am I tired of getting hurt.

The bolts in my mentality are loosened.
I’m unscrewed.

“I’m tired of screwing up, I’m tired of goin’ down
I’m tired of myself, I’m tired of this town” -Tom Petty

The End of the Clam

Its my nature really. Im charming almost always. Its how my mind reacts to fresh pussy. I meet these girls, lay the groundwork for all sorts of possibilities and then watch them unfold in completely unexpected ways. The only problem is, this way, in which im wired, negates any possibility for an actual companion. Rather it encourages promiscuous activity in my direction. Spoken like some kind of man whore in denial.

I was at a party with two girls dancing on me, not so much by choice, but rather by a coincidence strongly fueled by a couple of past introductory bump-ins laced heavily with flirtation.

Somewhere in the midst of 80’s beats, I knew, I always know, that the door of vagina would come to a close at the end of the night. At least until next time.

The very simple difference, I stride for the permanent but end up in a loop of the temporary. I loath this nomad-esque lifestyle of jumping from snatch to snatch. But that’s just me.

I can reel the fishies in, but they always escape the boat somehow.

Who Really Knows What Any Of It Really Means.

I realized something extremely important today about human nature. So important and yet so vaguely cryptic I surely wont remember it, but should definitely make an effort to.

Ive been trying for the last 4 years of my life, to create a set of standards, rules, basic criteria on the topic of human nature, so that I can predict how it is people will react to things I decide to say. I’ve been thinking with every social gathering that I finally hit the nail on the head, that I finally have it figured out. And then I go to the next one and am shocked and surprised by what transpires, even with the arsenal of experiences gained from past observations.

The thing is I figured out I never will be able to come up with a definitive human nature rule-book, but I don’t seem to want to stop. I want with a deep passion to be a social god. That’s not to say I’m bad in social situation, on the contrary they have always been my strong point. But something inside me wants to improve past a point that most people only think about every now and again. I want to be able to walk into a room and have an instant opening in every conversation. This status would of course take the guess work, and more importantly the creativity out of it. The creativity that comes with observing a girl from across the room, and fiddling with words and the English language in your head, trying to think of something clever, funny and charismatic to say.

Why is it that when you say the words “Turning Point”, it sounds so glorious and reserved. Like you should only really have 2 or 3 in your entire life. I feel like every time I come to a hard conclusion its a “Turning Point”.
Something interesting awakened in me with all this new data to process. The next morning was oozing the raw taint of a subtle hang-over.

I passed by her in my car while looking for parking. Something about her ringed biologically perfect to me. She was that perfect height for me that I’ve learned to really savor due to it scarcity. I parked and walked down her street with a face stuck in a mode that could only be caused by a hang over. Still I could feel the slight optimism in my mouths muscles. I stopped by her while she was talking on her phone and asked for a cigarette, trying to keep at a whisper, she hung up the phone, probably worn out by the voice-mail function and gave me one.

“How old are you?”, bio-goddess asked.
“18″.
“Not old enough to smoke” she almost interrupts.
“Yeah I’m actually 18, I know I look young”
“But you have to be 19 to buy ciggs”
My next look was part confusion, part confrontation.
“Nah, just 18, I do it all the time.”
“Oh maybe its up here”
“Probably. Where are you from?”
“Utah”
“Oh”
I proceeded to slowly pull out my cigarette pack, making sure she took notice.
“I’m not going to lie to you, I actually have my own. I suppose the jig is up, purely by choice on my part. I came over because something caught my eye. You could say I learned a lot of things last night. One of which is to go after what you want. I’m also a bit hazed as to where this conversation would lead us. See after we are done smoking our respective cigarette’s, we don’t have a lot of options. And I don’t particularly want that. See somewhere on a purely subconscious level, that I don’t really want to even understand, I like something about you, enough to actually want to get to know you, and not just have some shit-quick small-talk for a cigarette. You could say your exterior has enticed me to get to know your interior.”

…..