Lies, deceit, and Cecil Brockton.

What does one type when they cant seem to get into character? Is their a certain direction that I should be following when I hardly remember my name but am too wired to actually fall asleep. It's Sunday night and it's late. Only 23 minutes separate now from a mere seven hours of sleep. Not that this will be restful, post coital bliss nirvana sleep, nor will I doze off to a never never land, mind flooded with endorphins and good good good, good vibrations. I will not awake refreshed, ready to tackle the day the Tony Robinson way, greeting random strangers with a nod and a smile, "hey haven't seen you round this parts in awhile." Most likely I will fall asleep at the wheel approximately two times. My right eye will stay open as I allow my left eye to nearly collapse thus gaining a few extra minutes rest before I switch eyes. Soon enough traffic will be so jam packed that both eyes will close, for an instant, an instant where I could swerve into and jump the curb, release the passengers side airbag, destroy the oil pan, shred both right side tires, and completely demolish two rims. Nothing like the smell of gunpowder in the morning to make one reevaluate their lives.

And that's the fcuking rub. Straight and too the point. Change, reevaluate your life. As the great Russian auteur, Tolstoy says, "everyone thinks of changing the world, but no-one thinks of changing themselves." Of course I can't believe that applies completely in our society today. Facing myself, my narcissistic, blind to everything and everyone in front of and around, perpetually daydreaming about changing the world-self, is a task long placed on the rear burner, the one with the least amount of gas to catalyze a progression onwards and upwards. It's much easier to be lazy, to blame life on a problem that one carries out surreptitiously rather than face the undeniably overwhelming emotion associated with confrontation, with growth, with ultimately being uncomfortable.

I've been lied to at least once nearly every day of my young life. It's the truth. Society hides behind lies and half truths to "make things easier socially." Lies have brought tragedy to people of all races and color. Lies have cut through the hearts of once happy soulmates driving them to points of irrational insanity. Lies cost lives. Lies are what I hide behind for fear of discovering the truth, for fear of accepting the arduous responsibility associated with achieving greatness in life.

In high-school I excelled in many subjects. I enjoyed to learn on a level that some might call dorky or nerdy, two terms that generally come back to haunt the "haters" who end up stuck with their high school sweethearts, preparing for their children to relive the glory days of hail mary touchdowns, or clutch shots to win state championships. I was extremely anxious about everything, every fucking situation I found myself in caused me anxiety so intense, I might have thrown up had I not subconsciously realized how much more anxiety that would cause in the long run. Just the mere thought of rumors spreading like wildfire, destroying what little reputation I had created for myself. I was physically healthy, I was mentally fucked. Fear drove me to pursue Engineering. Fear of facing my step father. Fear of rejection. Fear of not excelling in the academic setting. Fear has caused me to veer off course so many times in my life, I find it difficult to move on without dwelling on my mistakes and ultimate regret.

It drives me insane to thing how efficiently I've destroyed my memory over the past 5 years of partying. Exstacy and pot, two vessels which guided me towards a state false enlightenment. I'm high as I write this nonsense. Stoned out of my gourd, alone and continuing to make the same mistakes over and over.
But if I go back to school I'll be putting myself at serious risk, what if I hate the idea when I'm in the thick of it?

Well it could hardly be any worse than five years of Engineering, a period of time that surfaces periodically throughout my nightmares.

There's so much money at stake.

In your case, money can't buy happiness. Self-fulfillment, realizing and working at your passions will.

The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.

But.....I don't have enough time, I'm swamped at work.

So instead you do ???? You drink, lay around and watch television, don't work out enough, pout, moan, continuously blow off answering your phone.

Part of me believes that this is part of God's plan for me, but the other part fears that God doesn't exist, that my stepfather is right.

Well that there, in and of itself should be a mirror enough to see where the root of my problems lay. You want to grow, but it's beyond impossible in your current situation. Too many distractions cause a lack of efficiency in your ability to not only learn, but retain and contemplate that which you study.

I'm beginning to get tired.

I've just had a conversation with myself.

This will most likely never get printed, but was damn good practice considering the circumstances.

9-19-05
12:08am