Lazy, Media, Pathetic

AHH.. My Life is Over

I went outside and walked in the park sometimes. I wrote a little bit every once in a while.

That was before the incident.

Now I lay bedridden with my laptop bag molding at the foot of my bed and my clothes covering up the floor so that “stay out of the lava” is a really easy game. It’s scary how much this incident has affected me. It’s frightening to notice that the only outside I’ve seen has been what can be glanced at over my shoulder and out my window. It saddens me to think of how little of the outside world I really know.

The incident I speak of is Premier Week. I had to watch Glee, Castle, and Chuck over the past two days and I did not enjoy a single moment of any of it. This new influx of television added to my already annoying obsession with drafting fantasy basketball teams has made me some sort of hybrid between a hermit and a hobo. A hobo because I’m sure that a hermit at least finds the time to shower or eat, but the internet is not allowing me to. All the wonderful auction style drafts and pre-rankings I can do, all the hulu and megavideo I can watch. This is terrible. My life is over.

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Depressed, Nostalgia, Pathetic

Me: In Cars

Instead of discussing the New Orleans style flood of emotions that has occured upon coming back to Maine – a place I’ve hated my whole life – to realize that it is simultaniously as beautiful as everyone says it is and as horrible as I always said it was, instead of discussing the fact that the familiar water pressure of my childhood shower nearly brought me to tears, instead of discussing how free food and Tivo is making me rethink every decision I’ve made in life, I will be discussing why I don’t like to drive.

Driving is boring.

I love how in New York no transportation is wasted. I get on the subway only to write, read, and occasionaly masturbate. I can do none of those things while driving. Driving takes up the entirety of my energy. I have to stare at a road and hope that my destination comes quickly. In the car I had in high school I could adjust the display so that it would show how many miles per gallon I was getting at each second. I used to turn that on and then try to be the most efficent driver I could be. The problem occurs when you crash because you are paying attention to a small digitally displayed number as opposed to the road.

$3000 is the amount I’ve lost because of speeding tickets and cars I’ve crashed. That is about 10 times the amount of money in my bank account. Being back in Maine frightens me because most of this money was spent here as I would drive 80 mph on roads I knew well at 2am where the only other car out was the cop who pulled me over. This is why I moved to New York – so that I wouldn’t have to drive anymore.

I hate driving.

I also hate crying in the shower because the water pressure reminds me of waking up for high school, but I do it anyway.

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Horny, Lonely, Pathetic

Me: In Relationships

There is food in my bed a lot. People are all trying to take my money. Nobody wants relationships to last the way I want them to.

This is like that game two truths and a lie, except all of them are true. Instead it’s two bad things and a good thing. I like having food easily accessible.

I love being in a fully formed relationship that feels like you two can finish each other’s sandwiches (I should eat breakfast). I also hate when that lasts more than a day. It gets boring, routine, monotonous – much like a list of synonyms. The interesting part of relationships to me, and really anything to me, is that they are constantly transforming. They must constantly move forward otherwise they die. I can go through a relationship quickly. I need not three months to hit all the main points. I treat a relationship like a pithy writer treats an essay – make sure you get everything in, and put nothing else in.

My point is that I love relationships. I love all parts of relationships, and that’s why I don’t get into any of them. They’re all structured wrong. We should have fully formed marriages and divorces that last a week, or maybe a day. That’d be awesome.

Also a transgend’s girlfriend put a knife to my friend’s throat when we tried to stop her from beating the shit out of homelessman.

That’s another truth. Not sure if it’s a good or bad. They’ve obviously been in a relationship too long.

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Attention Whoring, Pathetic

Me: In Clothes

People refuse to allow me to not care about my looks. People refuse to accept that I just don’t give a shit about how I’m dressed and how desirable that makes sex with me seem. I’m not just talking about people who first meet me, but close friends who don’t understand my style of dress.

They come up to me and say: “Y’know that look you go for? well…” No. I don’t. I’m not going for a look. I just don’t care what I look like most of the time. That is not to say that I don’t dress up. I like playing dress up sometimes, but on a day to day basis my clothes are whatever dirty clothes I grab off my pile near my bed and those clothes are not typically bought with any forethought. Typically not even bought.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t care how you dress – it’s fine to have aesthetic that you aim for – it’s just not something I do. I’m not trying to be hip by looking like I don’t care, I”m not trying to be quirky, or pull off some statement. I’m just attempting to be comfortable – and comfortable sometimes means picking uncomfortable colthes that are sitting close to my bed and are therefore easy to grab.

I love attention, but I got over my need to grab attention with my body fabrics by freshman year of college. I can do it with my loud penis jokes, my untimely belching, and my loud penis jokes.

I get told that I look good sometime, always with surprise as though I tried something different today and they like it. “Try it again” No thank you. I will not try at all. Trying is boring.

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Lazy, Pathetic

My Mom – The Ultimate Hipster

I flipped over my laptop bag from its resting position on the floor next to my bed. It was covered in mold. I don’t understand how, but there are blotchy green bumps all over one side of my laptop bag. It now rests at the bottom of my bed with the blotches of mold face up. I don’t know what else to do with it.

This bag has been with me for 6 years. It is the longest I’ve owned nearly anything. I can’t throw it out, but I don’t know how to get rid of mold.

There are times when I’m reminded that I am not a good adult yet. That I still have growing up to do. Growing up involves an ability to be self-reliant, and when bad things happen that I don’t understand how to fix, I revert to my 11 year old self and want my mom to come fix it all for me. My mom is the only real adult I know. I don’t think there is a problem that she’s had that she can’t fix on her own. I respect her for it, but I also fear her for it. How did she become so good at fixing things? How did I get half her genes and still manage to be so unfunctional?

I think I’m going to leave the laptop bag with mold side up for a while and hope that mold grows on both sides. Then at least it’ll look like a cool hipster pattern. My mom knows nothing of cool hipster patterns – she wears horse riding pants and baggy sweatshirts with animals on them.

Fuck.

She knows all about cool hipster patterns.

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Attention Whoring, Depressed, Pathetic, Selfish

The Heat is Making Me Look Like I’m Cleaning Vagina

I only have one pair of shorts. The pair is also nearly the only non-undergarmet article of my clothing that wasn’t previously owned. It’s a pair of athletic shorts I bought during the week and a half that I wanted to play basketball with my friends because I had nothing better going on in my life. That was a bad summer. All summers suck. I hate the heat. I get dehydrated easily. This is the furthest south I’ve lived in the summer. This is the hottest summer of my life. Fuck New York. I’ve started drinking Gatorade all the time to try to maintain a decent level of electrolytes.

Fuck New York.

New York is making my look like a douche – Wearing athletic shorts and drinking large containers of Gatorade.

There was a douche in my nerdiest math class who wore the same outfit and drank the same thing while he didn’t take notes because he was “too smart for that.” I hated him. I was usually the kid who was too smart to take notes, but this class was fucking impossible. This was Number Theory with Bressoud. Known for being one of the hardest math classes at my school. There were only 7 guys in the class and I was the least nerdy by far. Not by far. By so far that I couldn’t even see the next least nerdy person if we were lined up on the nerd spectrum. I was suddenly the stupidest person in class. My weekly Risk games made me seem cool because I had three friends to play Risk with.

One of these kids way less cool than me and way smarter than me was Jacob. Jacob also liked weightlifting. He was a douche. He would chug 24 ounces of Gatorade every class period in the midst of answering questions I was struggling with. UGH.

I wasn’t jealous of him. He had a really depressing life. He had 4 facebook friends (the true sign of coolness), and I had only ever seen him hanging out with one person: his girlfriend – who was almost as depressing as him – and they broke up at some point, so his life must have sucked. I wasn’t jealous of him. I was confused about myself when I was around him.

Socially, I’ve never considered myself a success. I’ve never cared to be one, so that’s okay. I wear clothes I find comfortable, I am mean the first time I meet people, I don’t censor my masturbation talk. I’m not a social success. What do I have over this Jacob kid though? Not my intellect. Not my athletic abilities. But I’m definitely better. I know that. So I must be better then him somehow, and social prowess is my last avenue to blame. I don’t want to only have my social abilities to rely on to prove that I’m better than somebody. I don’t care about society. Fuck society… No. Fuck him for making me embrace society.

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Lonely, Pathetic

One in a Thousand

I am going to a wedding tonight. I forgot I was going to this wedding until yesterday, and I have a guest in town. I feel … bad? I feel fine. I feel as though if I hadn’t been going to visit people, having people visit and shit I would feel guilty, but I’ve done my good deed. Hanging out is a deed.

We went to a restaurant yesterday where a teenager had booked a spot to play his guitar and sing a couple octaves higher than he could and flatter than the chests of his not yet developed groupies. There was a large crowd there to watch him play. None of them were there to see him play. They were all there because this was an excuse to hang out. This was the excuse they could give their parents to be out of the house, to see other people their age. They couldn’t just go somewhere to chill. They couldn’t just get a call from their friend and be like: “My porch 10 minutes.” They had to go see their awful friend whine into a microphone.

I don’t miss being a teenager.

There was one kid there who accidentally got invited during science class. It’s a public area and it’s a kid’s “show” so nobody can kick him out. He doesn’t really have any friends so he doesn’t know that he could just leave and no one would care. He sits awkwardly at the bar waiting until this is done and he can go home and he can think he socialized so that he can pretend he’s not as pathetic as he knows he is.

I still find myself doing that sometimes. I still find myself sitting at a bar with people I don’t know and really don’t like – forcing myself to sit through the night hoping this is the night where something interesting happens. 99.9% of the time I’m wrong and I’ve made myself more lonely than I was before, but on that .1% of the time that I have a misadventure: I have a misadventure.

This is so terribly written so far. I haven’t edited a single sentence, but I also care so little about what I’m writing that I don’t want to read it again. I feel like this is so obvious – this is an obvious way to live life: To go against my desires to sit on my couch playing NBA2K10 while eating sandwiches and chips and instead hope for the 1 out of 1000 chance that my life provides me with interesting things.

Maybe this wedding will be interesting. I doubt it. I also have to wake up at 6:00am tomorrow for work. This wedding is gonna suck, but I really have to go and play the lonely-lottery.

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