I’m sick of spending all of time thinking about & telling myself I’m going to write something, then not.
I’m sick of wanting to be everywhere else that I ‘m not, and telling myself that if only, if only I had more time, or if only I werent spending so much of it with a girl or at a particular job, I’d be so much more creative & wonderful & live up to all of those expectations I have & others have for me.
But here I sit at a bar, drinking way too much, having drunk way too much already, with a job interview in the morning & more to memorize after that, and none of it fucking matters because I’m not FULFILLING MY TRUE PURPOSE, whatever that means.
(Hello double well-whiskey neat.)
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