My new website

Yes, you read it right, I have launched my first official website! If you’re a fan from the days of way back, you’ll like the content and the format, so give me a read. 

It’s a blog with a section for my resume and I will also release my fiction and other stories as well, all free of charge  

http://www.dannewmanwriter.com

See you on the page!

Waffle anyone?

I need to just poop words for bit to find out if I have any overflow emotions from the other day. Not really sure, but it felt good, so I might just let off a little more steam.

And the Scottish folk call rambling “waffling” or say have “Bloody good waffle.”

Anyway, today was kind of a blur. I let off so much stuff yesterday, since thing is my outlet, I let it all settle in. I made a few important calls. Job related stuff, pitched an article, sort of. I got things done in any case, hung with my boy for a few hours, then went grocery shopping and bought food since I have him this weekend. Now I’m watching movies and vaping a nice tobacco flavor my buddy sent me. My mod, or e-cigarette, is very nice, and very powerful. If you don’t know, I’m quite popular in the upper crust of the vaping scene.

All the makings of a moderately productive lazy day to celebrate a small hurdle jumped. It didn’t bother me when the ex dropped off and then picked up our boy. It didn’t burn my ass like it normally does.

By letting it out the way I did, I gave it you guys so it doesn’t belong to me anymore. It was very therapeutic, so thank you.

I can let go of this. I can lose the weight. I can pull myself out of this, and I can have sex again. It’s available, I simply need to work to availing it to me.

It’s chilly here, so I’m covered up on the couch in a fuzzy blanket, my beautiful medium-hair grey girl kitty is asleep on one arm, a dumb movie about an apocalypse is my background noise, and I’m composing this piece on my phone. I forgot how much I enjoy doing this.

I wrote maybe 85 pages of a novel I’m working on at a park in the woods, covered in Deep Woods Off, typing away on my phone. It was natural feeling, and in the fall I really would miss it … again. I’m starting to do this again because it’s free and feels good. Plus I have a second story private deck now so I could sit out there in the evening.

At this point, any small thing can be major. A little writing, and a few schedule tweeks, and the introduction of some sort of order, and I’ll be back on track. I can start slingin freelance articles until a job materializes. Maybe some on the side after that. It’s a skill, and getting back into my own life will be fantastic. I’ll write my book and work on stories and be a writer. Even if I have to keep a normal job to support myself. Long term goal is that job goes away after a certain degree of success, but that is not the kind of thing one should count on.

It’s all about a slow, steady grade. Uphill is the only option. I need to sit down in the command chair of my live again. Tell the helm to get back on course. Engage. And the biggest thing is I know I can. Forget that heartless bitch and try and not ever fuck another one. Well, maybe. Who knows. That sort of thing isn’t entirely up to me. Sometimes shit happens.

And maybe I should dump the idea that women use sex as a weapon, and only want money. I’m sure there are good women out there. I just have no clue where to find one just yet. Again.

And I have to let go of the again thing too. That shit don’t matter either. The past was for learning. It’s only there to teach me what to try and avoid in the future. That’s all I can take today. I might be back tomorrow.

OOPS! Wrong blog.

Please follow my new project!

theforgottenmajority.wordpress.com

Thanks, and have a good day.

More than a day by noon

What’s normal a normal day? If you live well, any day should be a wave, flowing with the will you put into it by how you choose to view your situation. But that’s not always how it goes. Sometimes you get hit with both ends at the same time, and it reminds you of random shit really can be.

I’ll start this with an admission. A shameful one at that, so here goes. I’m in a very bad place. I’m unemployed, and while I interview often, no jobs have materialized as of yet. I’m also eating comfort again, and gaining weight. I’m trying not to turn into a raging drunk too. It’s … starting to get ugly. But I’m on top of it because I know the cause of it this time. I’m just unable to let it go just yet. That damn woman, man. The way it all ended. It was just so unforeseen and unfair.

So here is admission: It’s been two years and I still feel nothing but contempt for my ex wife. I need to get over it, but I just can’t let it go. I’m searching and trying to keep my shit level until I see the damn light.

And this morning, I had the latest in a long string of interviews. It was a suspect and janky kinda sounding gig, so I went to bed last night knowing it more than likely was a waste of time. I woke up with much the same thought, but I have to check out every situation, just in case. I got ready as I could feeling the way I have, and surprisingly, I clean up pretty nice This factoid’ll be on the quiz later.

So I get to the office, which is obviously a new startup since there was no sign on the door. There was music blaring and men were installing cubicles. This created a noise floor I’m uncomfortable with for a work environment. At least it wasn’t country. Small favors, you know. Anyway, I walked up to the desk where an attractive guy sat looking confused by a giant stack of folders. A woman who looked the same as any other in this sort of joint was filing folders or something behind this man, and it felt like I interrupted a fight. I asked if this was the place. As if I had asked him if him for a ticket to the moon, he said that, yes, this is the right place. I stated my name and the interviewer’s name, but the music was so loud he didn’t hear me. I repeated myself and he said he needed me to fill out an application. He put me in a room closed the door to give me time to fill that shit out.

I thought, “I have just allowed myself to be detained.” And the application asked for my parent’s names, and I knew what it was. It was a place peddling wares on the Kirby Vacuum Cleaner business model. That means, unpaid training and no guaranteed wage. Fuck that. I’m not pretty enough to go into strangers homes, and I can’t stand people who buy to excess, so this job? Not a good fit for me. But I went through the whole interview as if it was the greatest thing ever, and it was like delivering a dead baby. I walked out of there into the pouring rain and got into my brother’s truck (he’s my ride everywhere now) and he knew it too. I went home and basked in a funk for a half an hour and said fuck it, I’m gonna order a pizza, and I did just that. Watched YouTube vids until I heard a knock on the door.

I went to get my food and the delivery girl was pretty cute. We had this moment, and it felt like she wanted to stay, and I woulda let her. It’s something that never happens to me because I try at all costs to avoid women. That’s for my whole life, but it’s gained prominence as of late.

Women often treat me like a rapist. It gets to me, but I honestly don’t know if this common for people who are similar to me, but I already have obvious self-worth issues, so it bugs me. Shut up.

And the meeting was random, straight up chance, and it was brief, but it maybe was just what I needed. I haven’t been elated since then, but I have been slightly elevated by the whole incident. The wave of the day is in the upswing. It showed me a cute girl can be into me. And that felt good. It’s been so long since any woman has shown that sort of interest in me. But alas, I never know how to pursue these things, so she walked out of my life, hopefully only until the next time I get to see her. I almost wanna order something else and ask her if she’d like to get a cup of coffee sometime.

So, since my firm belief is “Your focus determines your reality” (a Knight said that a long, long time ago, in a place far, far away), I need to take this for what it was: Fucking wonderful feeling. And I looked online and that pizza place is hiring …

A girl

To the girl who told me I could have stole her away from her last boyfriend, thank you. You did more for my self esteem than I care to admit.

My inner child has grown up

P!nk makes me cry. Her older stuff at least, but it’s without fail. Sure, we all know her music is about pain, the past ripping you apart, and inner turmoils that serve to make her not fit in, but that’s not what rips tear from my head. It’s the fact that her music exists within the confines of those walls instead of getting over them. And that is the part I relate to.

 

I never really have admitted this, because my situation is different and from a lost era, but I come from a broken home. My siblings however do not. I was an oops baby, conceived after most of my siblings had left the house. My youngest brother was in college when my mom died right front of me, but I was only eight years old. Then my 50s style father had me, a young boy, dropped in his lap and all he knew of child rearing was going to work and coming home. Then, he was retired by the doctor for a medical condition, so he was stuck with me everyday all day. He was in a world he never wanted, never even considered being in, so he married a bitch who hated and abused me for her her own devices. He did this because he had no bearing on how to contend with an adolescent. He had no idea what role a single man had to play in helping a child develop, nor how to prepare a child for a successful life, especially one who witnessed a horrible tragedy which was his first experience with death.

 

Then, after the second wife turned out to be a cunt, he had no way to defend me against her because if she left, he would have been stuck alone with me again, which maybe would have been a fate worse than death for the man. I understand this now, and since this issue, the deepest of all I’ve had to deal with, has finally been named, I have to start working on forgiving my dad for that weakness. Or maybe it was a selfishness on his part, I guess I have to figure that out as well. But most importantly, this is over 25 years old, and in the Facebook /  Instagram era we live in, it’s older than the pyramids,  the sphinx and recorded history. So I guess first I have to reprogram myself to realize that old wounds cause more pain today. They’re not just something I can look past everyday at the mirror. 

 

This is why I hate myself. This is why I feel worthless. This is why I have such issues with understanding that if I enter a conversation, people may want to hear my words. Also, it’s what causes me to subconsciously make my voice small and irrelevant as a safeguard tfrom being taken seriously. This may be the oldest issue I need to work through before I can find true and real happiness in my life. And I’m turning 41 this month.

 

I suppose after all is worked out, that’s the next god damned thing I’ll have to deal with. Why it took me so fucking long to see through all the bullshit and waste half my fucking life under the shroud of protective layers which ultimately served only to hamper my personal growth and to protect ideas that were based in fears that weren’t even mine I may never know. I want to be in a stable enough place inside my own damn head to deserve the right to develop my own fears for once and not just play off a layered scab of all the fears in others I’ve allowed myself to represent. This is coming as a shock to me but it’s familiar like an old friend. This is the railing I’ve held through my entire life on the stairway to failure and if I don’t let go at some point I will continue down instead of up. But in a world based on gravity, all you have to do to fall is lay down. Staying upright is a struggle 100% of the time.

 

But is it not in a human being’s nature to struggle? Is this because we are tethered to this Earth by an invisible force that moves at the speed of light and it’s only purpose is to, quite literally, keep us down? If we were children born in a vacuum would our most internal struggle be the need to settle down? In a way I wish I was born a creature native to space, with anywhere to go, but I wasn’t. I was born of the Earth, and the only possible way for me to go is down, toward the molten core of what lies ahead. Fucking oblivion. (cheery, huh?)

 

So with my stable base for life this fucking shaken, the myriad levels of stupid baggage I’ve been ripping away over the past couple years of my growth as a man in this world, what the hell do i have left? I can no longer live for my stepmother’s abuse because I forgave her for that. She made me, in her own sadistic way, into a man with the power to change people. My wife for showing me with a hard slap of sudden realization that marriage is a human system and ultimately not an answer but a flaw in society. And myself for blurring any line before me with drugs, toxic friends and false idols in the hope of finding someone who thinks I don’t suck beyond reproach. I also have had to forgive my mother, though that was the easiest step because you can’t choose where you are, nor where your children are, when you die. I was looking her in the fucking eyes, and that was neither a cruel trick by life nor god’s will. It was just a thing that happened to me. An event in my life. She wasn’t last person I saw die, and I may live to see more people die in front of me too. But still, it took me years to get over that few minutes of utter hell. I wanted someone to blame. I wanted someone to tell me why. But there is no one, and no answer to the question. It just fucking happened. The rest of this shit was the doing of myself or other people. They still walk the Earth, most of them at least, but with my mom I had a grave stone to point at when I needed to and cry at when I felt that need.

 

I used to blame my childhood on my father. I used to call him a pussy and I thought of him as weak. But now, after my own marriage died in front of me, as suddenly and unexpectedly as my mother did, and all that’s happened since, I have arrived at a place where I can look back at him as a man, and I can see where he was coming from. For me, because of who I am as a person, I was there with my boy, for my boy, from the start. I changed diapers. I watched him alone more than half the time while his mother was on Facebook. I still do have him half the time, alone, with no help. I guess that is me trying to not be like my father. To not sort of hire the first bitch to raise him for me, and her methods be damned. I have always put it to myself to be his alpha. I am there for every daddy moment. I hold his hand to cross the street, I read him stories, I do things he likes even when I don’t, and the only ulterior motives for me are personal gratification in that I can say I’m better than most men in my situation. And the other motive is to fend off my image of my father as a pussy, even though he may not have been as bad as I thought. He was a fish out of water, I never left the lake. When my boy was born I was right there. I have saved his life twice since then, and maybe he’s saved mine as well.

 

He mentioned that the other day. We were crossing the street and he didn’t think we had enough time to get across but I did so we went. We made it with maybe 50 seconds to spare, and he said “If we waited you’d have to save my life again.” We had a small conversation about that, and I told him that in the movies and on shows, people always say “You own me one” when one saves another’s life. I told him that he doesn’t owe me for the times when I saved his life. He asked why and I didn’t have a simple answer. I collected my thoughts and I told him, “Because it’s what a father does.” Maybe just not my father.

Can’t sleep

I bet my constant readers will think I have insomnia brought on my inner turmoil and am sitting here hugging a teddy bear, crying and staring at an empty bottle of wine. Wracked with guilt and self-loathing and plotting suicide.

 

Nope, sorry, but cool story bro!

 

The reason I can’t sleep is simpler than all that noise. I work a swing shift that I have never gotten accustomed to, and I made the fatal mistake of taking a nap after work today. Does it every time. I’m not tired until I’m at work the next day for about an hour, then my ass drags and I start hitting up the coffee. It’s like this every time I take a nap, but sometimes it feel so good it’s worth the trouble.

 

Now, I wanna clear some things up. I’m not some idiot trapped in my own head dwelling on shit like killing myself. This is my blog, and I’m gonna post what I feel when I feel it. And to all the people who came out of the woodwork, especially the one who brought friends, I would like to say this: nigga please. I don’t need help. I don’t need United Way 211, and I sure as fuck don’t need god. I’m in the worst spot I’ve ever been in, and I’m fighting off a massive relapse. The shit is hard. I go through days where I don’t remember much of what happened, but ask any addict (and pot is not addictive) and they’ll tell you similar stories. I’m clean a long time, over a decade now, but it never gets easier. It doesn’t get harder either, it’s just different. Granted, I bet a full blown relapse now would be nothing compared to a relapse after a month or so clean, but it would still be bad news. I know this, I do not have to be told. I didn’t make it ten years on my own by running for help every time things get rocky. I did it by kicking the sheets and writing out my thoughts. And here they are, for good or for ill. You should see the shit I write that I don’t publish. It’d curl your fucking toenails if you think this is hardcore.

 

This is the way I deal with shit, and putting it out there with something with my name attached to it makes it more effective. I can go back and read these posts and see where I was at and look at it in third person. Sometimes I’m shocked at the shit I said, but I’d never in a million years delete anything I write here. That would defeat the purpose of all this.

 

I do have things to live for, and genetically, I only have about 25 years left on this rock. So I intend to take care of my shit until then, but I know there are fewer days ahead than behind, which is something I’m ok with. As long as we’re being honest here, the only place I’ve ever fit in in this life is with the scum of the Earth, so really I don’t think there’s a lot I can leave for those after I’m gone. While I’m here, all I can do is make people laugh and dream about having sex. Raise my boy to NOT be like me, and just do what I always have, which is fight until I can’t. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon, and I don’t have the will to be a leader. I in fact want no one as a follower, and have been crabby at people, pushing them all away, ever since my wife left me for crystals and tarot cards. It’s obviously a phase, but before all that went down I made a choice to get toxic people out of my life. Thing is, I don’t really like non-toxic people. But I think I’m getting over that now too. Online friends seem to be filling a void. It’s just I can’t fuck any of them, and I could really use some IRL companionship.

 

So I soldier on, stuck in the suck and not giving a fuck. So readers, read on. Just don’t tell me I need god, should seek help or any of that. If you want to help me out, buy me a car so I can find a job next month, or send a girl over for me to play with, I promise I’ll be nice (and probably quick, lol).

 

Until next time, play on playas.

You Wonda why they call you bitch, I betcha

You know, I refer to my ex in my head as “that ugly bitch.” It feels good, I think, to disqualify her and all that, but the truth is, she dumped not only me but a shit ton of weight. I know she did that in order to snare the next man, and I am as sure of that as I am that I don’t have what it takes to get another woman. So she left, is ugly but thin, so she’ll have love in her life and all I’ll have in mine is a cat and my kid. That should be enough, but I really need someone to talk to about the intimate dealings within my head and things best left unsaid outside a committed relationship. I need contact, and moreover, I’m a man so I have a chemical need to fuck something. I have been trying to hold back the urge to talk to women, and the fact that I know every woman knows the only reason a fat guy ever talks to them is to try and trick them into spreading doesn’t help. Truth is, I not only am not rich, I’m being drug under the poverty bus. I can’t afford to have sex, even though it supposedly is free.

And somehow all of these attitudes, which since I see them as true, they are, all come back to calling that ugly bitch “that ugly bitch” in my head. Because while it takes away from her the only thing any woman needs to score a wealthy man, it also says a bunch about me and where I stand. See, by thinking of her as that ugly bitch, I am saying that an ugly bitch dumped me to find any number of other cocks to fill her stinkhole. Then, she lost weight to find a better quality of man. I’ll admit, she could find a guy fresh out of prison and get a better man than me, but it says she never saw me as worth enough to try to work with to make me a better man. And if this woman didn’t see me as valuable enough to try and change, or help (which is a dangerous word in the context) then I need to find an even uglier bitch than her to think I’m good enough for her. And yeah, that hurts.

I don’t think I will ever get over this. How can I trust a woman after this? I had a good marriage. No abuse, nothing more than a few disagreements and general bickering. We didn’t hate each other, everything was stable. And then she left. And during the trial she loaded up every statement to turn me from what I am, a good man with no criminal record, into some fucking cartel leader who rapes and kills children just to fill his bathtub with blood. It was outlandish, and since there is no divorce in my family, like, ever, I was unprepared for it and had no idea it is a typical strategy to try and get me to fold out of fear. Which I didn’t.

The deal I got out of this divorce is pretty standard fare, but I lost everything. But the spot I’m in now after everything is exceedingly grim. I have a fracture in my foot that causes me pain all day but I have no insurance to get it fixed. I have no car. I have no money to get a car, no credit, and my job ends in about 3 weeks. So where I’m at is I’m unable to work. This job I have now is ending after 9 years of employment with this company. It’s not like I’m a loser who never has a job. It’s going to be tough, and if I was a woman, I would just lose weight and find a man to pay for my life. But I’m a man, so that’s not an option for me. So where am I at? I am going to stock up on sleeping pills while I try and work through this. If I can’t find a way out, I’ll say my goodbyes to this ugly bitch of a life I’ve led and go to sleep one last time. I would have no regrets because my life has been shitty from the start. I’ve never had it easy. I’ve never found my groove in this world. Never fit in anywhere. And maybe it’s because I never wanted to, but really who cares? My boy will have almost as much time with me as I had with my mother, and I’ll never be able to see his tears. Truth is, I am not for this world, and after getting fucked over this hard, again, I know the rest of my life will be a struggle just like the past 40 years have been.

I do vow to at least try and find a way to get out of this, but since I am unwilling to start turning over banks, I have to see that there is no way. I’m in a corner here, but I’m no danger to anyone except myself. I have no will left, nothing to even want to rise too and I won’t even accept help anymore because it’s a bad investment. Ok, fine, I would accept a car because that would at least make me able to get a job, and would elongate my life, but short of that, nothing else really matters. It’s over, but I will go down swinging, just like I always do, but I’m already walking around thinking about what I want to do with the last 16 months of my life. And I have no means to do anything worthwhile, so I’ll just end up sitting here, in front of my computer.

2013, you’s a hard bitch

Well, 2013 closed hard for me too. This year past has been one of the worst ever. It was like in the fight of life I was down, turtling on the mat as my opponent barrages me with body shots, my arms protecting my face. Trying to only achieve the lofty quality of life known as survival. Just. Do. That. I’ll not give you all the details, but know I have less money, the same time with my boy, and I’m really god damn fat. But the worst thing that happened is (the name we do not speak) is actually doing a good job as a mother. That’s a great thing, but it really fucking hurts.

 

It’s because I lived with her, and she wasn’t always, well, you know. And now, without me, she comes out swinging and does right by our son. That makes him and all who interact with him a better than average ‘Murcan, and I can’t figure out much I’d be happier about. I am half of that stability because I have him half his waking hours away from school on a schedule we have worked out so well that it wasn’t contested so we agreed to work it out between ourselves. No problems there at all. We aren’t bitchy, we don’t interact. I feel the primary placement is better this way, and I also feel confident that support will mostly go for my son. It’s really going well, except it always feels so disjointed and shitty. All like “fuck you fatty,” but it goes unsaid and may not even be a thought. I can’t tell. 

 

But the holidays went well. I’m too old and not confident enough for the whole new years thing anymore. I mean, where I live? It’s too cold at  four in the morning to be walking home from the gay bar decked out in the fucking pink crown. It would be nice to find a face to to flirt with or fuck, but at this point in time, I ain’t have it in me. Like Tupac said, You let the ghetto get the best of ya … Wonda why they call you bitch. I betchya.

 

And this also is the first joint I wrote in a spell, and I’m feeling a little bit of ring rust. I want to get back into it and maybe even do some valid shit before the final bell rings on me. Like get back into the novel I was feverishly working on. Full works, characters, plot, outline with a few ways to hook the end scene, and half the text done. Then I got bitch slapped and then kicked in the ass and writing got too fucking emotional right away because my already elevated emotions just run wild in a fancy oil painted heaven, touching everything to only to see it change. And then it all sours and the fear and loathing come out, misogynistic crap because, though I know men and women are essentially incompatible, women can still be good people. They have lives like I do, and either they have more to worry about in life, or I have less. Can’t ever seem to agree with myself on just which it is. 

 

So I have to get my eating under control, like soon. I’m a fucking whale, overhere. Anyway, the money situation is stable, but I’m taking a hit. I have it hard, but I’m being a man and just taking it in the ass cuz right now it’s what I got. Sucks balls though. Thing is I try and not ask too much of family and friends because I feel bad every time I ask for a ride somewhere. I walk to work, don’t bitch about that. I just buy nicer shoes, which is an expense I fully accept. And I don’t whine, nor tell woe is me tales to try and get shit out of people. If I am calling someone for something I ask in the five words of the phone call. That way, I can still call to chat with these people in a semi-normal tone because they are wondering when I’m gonna ask for something. It’s the little things like that that make this shit all work in a small town setting. 

 

But while I should be writing or working to get some forward motion in my life, I’m watching true crime shows on Netflix and spending hours reading about, chatting with online friends about, watching videos about — vaping. The million devices, what who is doing with what and why, how shit all works, I been mixing my own e-liquid at home, started blowing clouds, I have a solid place in the scene, for what it’s worth. It’s a thing I took up after the divorce and it keeps me from turning back to smoking, which is something I can take away from her. But it’s an exciting industry and if you get into it, know the people to talk to, it’s pretty interesting. The funny thing is, no one suspects it’s nearing it’s perfected technology phase. The market for this shit’s like five years old and it blew up. Things happened to make large advancements at a rapid pace, and there was a lot of innovation. But we nearing a place where everything is just like the other thing, and I guess I’m fine with that. The device I’m vaping on now is so good I don’t anything else. This thing is flawless, hits like a dream, if it was a women I’d never even ask to fuck her in the ass, out of sheer respect. Even if I was drunk … and so was she. 

 

Nah, I would. 

 

That device, for the vapers out there, is an Astro with a Kick 2 on a Kayfun with an mtank. I have other shit but try and get this one out of my hand. I vape a lot of tobacco flavors, and this one I been on all day is a real nice, mellow blend, but with layers of flavors. My favorite lazy day vape, and to an extent that’s what it was. 

 

So now, what should I expect in 2014? I know a year is only a construct of time, which is a system of man, therefore a mode of control, and really doesn’t exist. But I’m hoping this next clump of a few hundred days is a bit better. Every says it gets better, but you know what folks? sometimes it don’t. That’s the ugly fucking truth which is veiled by a lie so deep it’d take more than a dozen bodies a day to bring it to the light. The truth is lots of people are thrown under the bus. Most of them have a bad enough life they just expected it and it happened, and they live out their lives shittier than I do. And maybe that’s what I’ll get, because I tend to take for granted that in any given situation I’ll get assfucked no matter what happens. It’s a flaw, I know. I’m working on it. 

 

So cheers, and best wishes for 2014. Hoo-ray. If you need, me, I’ll be the lonely weird fat guy sitting a on a couch alone, surrounded by chairs with 3 people on each, and yes, it’ll feel bad no one will want to sit near me. And yes, all of you are being stupid. So sit the fuck down and realize you will not get hit on, much less talked to, and you won’t get eaten or farted on. I won’t fat guy all over you. I won’t stalk you, I’m sorry. That goes for the ladies too. 

Vanilla update

I was flattered by the response my last post received. It was refreshing to see so much caring come out of the woodwork. It seems I was wrong, and some people out there on the net do care about my continued existence. Though it wasn’t about that. I always say, the real suicides are the one’s don’t hear about. Don’t worry about me offing myself until I start shitting my pants.

 

“Fuck you” and “Stop whining” were the replies I expected, lol. Good to have some wants not satisfied.  The original article about Broke American got a comment that said, “If you’re so hungry, eat your cat.” Stupid fuck didn’t read the article or blog, decides to comment anyway for the singular purpose of proving he’s an inbred douche bag. I don’t post pics because I want actual reading, not gomers surfing for tit pics.

 

Anyway, I know I shouldn’t let my life get me down so bad but it does. It’s just a thing I need to learn to live with. I’m trying and venting is my medicine. I think it works better than any pill, and I don’t keep high doses of medication in the house … Today feels brighter than yesterday, and I’m in a good mood.

 

What I did yesterday was something. I did a few things I have been putting off, and put my life back in motion. It felt like taking a big dump. A nice one you been holding for a spell. Did some paperwork, paid some bills, made arrangements to pay some others … And even did a little life planning. It was a trip. After all that I did the dishes. All the shit I been putting off. Got some paperwork in order and ready for working, even started reading my novel. I gotta finish that fucker. I’ve written longer works before, but this one takes place in such a fun “world” (not as in scifi, though. That project is next :))

 

That book is fun to read and dig into, and I think it is a valid work, and it’s my time to get out a book or something a little bigger. I’ve been more more successful at writing than anything else I’ve tried, except for doing drugs and being fat. And I’ve reached elite levels in the vaping world. I’m much bigger than a B movie caliber guy, and to get there you have to put in your time and been born with a huge lung capacity. It’s fun and quite a positive experience, so I’ll hold on to it a little while longer. It’s cheap since I already invested the money, and I still need my damn nicotine. I like vaping more than the nicotine, so I’m trying to get down to 0 nicotine juice and just keep vaping for pleasure.

 

Been listening to a lot of Amy Winehouse lately, too. Little different than my usual 90’s gangsta rap, part of the appeal. Thing about her is she was a junky, and so was I, so there’s so much in her I understand that most people don’t. When two former junkies meet, they always just know. It’s like the shared experience of working fast food, or going to college. And that dragon leaves scars you can’t see unless you know how to look. It’s in her outlook, flow and harmonizing, and you can tell she would have been a musician anyway because of how deep in the pocket she always is. It feels like she was someone I would have got along with.

 

I really don’t have much more to say today, but thought I’d give y’all that little piece to let muffas know I’m still alive.