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Tuesday, March 30, 2004

I looked in the mirror today (Longingly, the only way to look)

There is a noise in this room that I'm surprised I can hear, seeing as my ear drums should have exploded a long time ago.

I didn't think today. At least, I didn't think about my life. I thought about video games and for a moment pondered over the health consequences my coke swollen gut might be bringing about (And the possible benefits. There is more caffeine in my blood right now than there is iron). But as for goals, dreams, and aspirations, well they didn't really factor into anything. And in my shaky, yet heightened sense of self, they still don't.

tomorrow they'll matter.

Right now what matters is the pimple on the bridge of my nose. It's not big, but if I look in the mirror, that's all I see. I have other zits too, but this thing must have connections, cause it has clearly scored front row seats. And don't go thinkin' this is some normal pimple too. It ain't filled with no sissy puss. No, this thing is quite obviously filled with cruelty and hate. So until good eventually triumphs and the malicious zit is no more, it's goopy contents ejected and splashed across my otherwise perfect face, I'll complain about my wonderful life, and hail the fascist pimple that rules it.

My Grandma and I were enjoying another lazy day of TV and cheesies when we got to talking. We talked about my Grandfather, and when he died. He had one leg and I used to poke it because he couldn't feel it. He used to feed the dog under the table and when I was really little he cut out a picture of my sister and I and put it in a heart shaped frame. He kept it next to his bed. My Dad says it's one of the few good things he can remember about him. I remember the day of his funeral my sister and I watched bowling on TSN at a friends house. Bowling? I must have been around 7 years old, what 7 year old watches bowling?

My Grandma and I kept talking about "back then" when a commercial for ladies anti-perspirent came on. To show the head-strongedness the anti-perspirent could give a women, the lady in the commercial, who was sitting with a man in a movie theatre, yawned and put her arm around the man. My Grandma said "Girls can do that these days" and I laughed. She was pretty serious it seems so I didn't say anything. "It didn't used to be like that". I smirked this time, sensing it might not be something we agree on. "I liked it better like that".

I was amazed. Not only by what she was saying, but by the fact that my Grandma was being such a Grandma. This is the same lady who smokes, swears, drinks and plays video games. She'll yell at the top of her lungs if it'll help out a bad joke, but she still talks about the good old days. It's scary to think about being so lost in a world that you wish it was the same as it used to be, even if it used to be much worse. Even more so when you're surrounded by people like me, who just can't, don't, and won't understand. I know even at nineteen that growing old can be worse than anything. Anything, but the pimple on my nose.

I've been wondering about kids lately and whether or not I want them. Yes, in order to have my own kid that would mean I need a girl to impregnate (That's how I think of women, as host entities, like in Alien) but I'll ignore that for now. Thinking about kids brings up about one million questions (give or take) about my life and how I see it turning out in the long run. When I think about it now, I can foresee a few results which vary greatly, from should-be-dead-gutter-dweller to snotty-obnoxious-mansion-dweller. In some ways, I'm incredibly excited to see how things work out for me and in others I start to think, what's the point? But yeah, in the end, I guess the point is to see how things turn out regardless.

I don't want this to be the end of my entry, but I have to sleep. And yes, the rumors are true, that is where I'm a Viking.





Monday, March 29, 2004

Just to give you an idea

It's 3:15 on a monday morning. I have no job, no idea what I'm doing, and no clean clothes.
Right now, I love the sound of my own typing.

Oprah would be disgusted.

I had no intention of re-starting this blog, I just think I need it so that I might lose the urge to send lonely and pathetic, sometimes angry letters to girls I used to know.

Like Oprah.

Oh god, I've given in

I couldn't resist, I'm weak. We'll move on.

I just finished watching an entire A&E report on Oprah with my Grandma. Cause I'm cool like that. The problem now isn't that I know way too much about Oprah, oh no, the problem now is that I know one thing about Oprah.

"Could you please tell your Oprah to let go of my leg...oww...Seriously...I think she's broken the skin"

My biggest worry now that I'm "one of them" is that I'll start using my extensive Oprah knowledge in everyday conversations. Screaming at would-be aggressors "If Oprah were here...!" in combination with a good fist shakin' should work well...Unless of course your would-be assailants aren't afraid of the ol'circumstantial defence. But C'mon, really, who isn't afraid of the thought of an angry Oprah....
Mind games, man, its all mind games.

Ba-dum-ching. [Cue echoing cough]

So on with the show.

I've decided I'm not very good at being lazy. Yes, yes, I know it would appear that I have, in fact, re-invented the very idea of laziness and taken it to a brand new level (a very, very low one) but look again. Ok, again, yes, I do have the skills, lets not get crazy, I am a lazy man. I've slept on couch after couch after couch, eating bag after bag of other people's food (I call it bag-food). I can tell myself ANYTHING, and I'll believe it.

"Nah, everybody takes months to make simple decisions, go ahead and spend your food money on movies"

I owe everybody and everybody knows it. I am lazy. However, despite having "The skills to...Not..Pay...Bills" I've come to the realization that, unfortunately, my heart just isn't in it. And that's what hurts. Inside, way deep down, I really want to do things. I want to be fit, and smart, and I want to see the world. I want to spend my money wisely. I want to have a job doing something I really love. I want a girlfriend, oh god how I want a girlfriend and of course, I would do anything it takes to make that girl happy. Inside, I am possibly the most ambitious man that has ever thought about being ambitious, and then gone to his Grandma's place to watch A&E and eat doritos (a very good example of bag-food).

"So what's the problem?" You might be thinking. "You're lazy, and you know it. Who cares? I mean, when have you ever heard someone say 'He's lazy, but he just doesn't have the drive?'. Well, you're right, I've never heard that. The problem is consistency. Another word that doesn't exactly conjure up images of Max 'God, I hope that's grease' Hazen. I find it incredibly difficult on my psyche when part of me has a plan in mind, for the life of Max. The plan includes a whole lotta fame and creative output and one mighty fine lady (Who just happens to be a "Professor of Fucking Coolology"). Whilst the other side of me is panting "Holy Shit, you mean you want to actually DO that shit, fuck, I thought you meant like, pretend, like in your mind...Shit man...Who got you thinkin' that man? That's dangerous shit...Just sit down a minute, that's right, Wolf Blitzer is your real friend".

The battle of how I should live my life rages on inside and both sides are giving it everything they've got. Naturally, they both want to live.

So you'd think at this point, after coming so far in understanding myself (Ha!) that I would choose one side and make the choice I need to make. Take a stand. Change my life. Nope. I know that every promise I make slowly deflates, like a big shiny balloon animal. A proud horse that eventually becomes a puddle of doubt and latex. I want to tell people that I mean well, because I do. But what does that mean when my great ideas and stories are, in the end, absolutely meaningless?

I can feel it now actually. It feels like just knowing about my problems, is the solution, when in fact, its just another problem.
Pessimistic hope is my mind killer.





soupface says:
Haha, What are you doing online?
Y'all best check yoself," I caution, "fo' y'all wreck yoself." says:
at me grammas
Y'all best check yoself," I caution, "fo' y'all wreck yoself." says:
writing like a mutherfucker
soupface says:
Don't you know what time it is?
Y'all best check yoself," I caution, "fo' y'all wreck yoself." says:
time means nothing to me now
Y'all best check yoself," I caution, "fo' y'all wreck yoself." says:
i am one

soupface says:
Jesus, I have an exam tomorrow at 9:30.
I hope to God that you're writing something for the motherfuckin' magazine.
Y'all best check yoself," I caution, "fo' y'all wreck yoself." says:
it could be
Y'all best check yoself," I caution, "fo' y'all wreck yoself." says:
i guess
Y'all best check yoself," I caution, "fo' y'all wreck yoself." says:
nah
soupface says:
Because if you're not, I'll have to skin you.
Y'all best check yoself," I caution, "fo' y'all wreck yoself." says:
I gave in, its more of a blog
Y'all best check yoself," I caution, "fo' y'all wreck yoself." says:
go to sleep
soupface says:
Arr.
I needs my sleep.
I'll go.







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