deflated

like a chocolate croissant
beaten like a jumbo egg
melted chocolate
stupid croissant

The sound of inevitability

At some point I will die, I will cease to exist.

Intrigue

The words that I put up here are essentially just a monologue in my head right? Occasionally I pose a question to the shadows and I'm not really sure if answers matter all that much to me. What is it about this journal that attracts (or will attract) people to reading it? Do I write this for other people or do I write for myself. I think this thing is like a car wreck or something. I have plenty of good ideas for humorous little vignettes or weird concepts for fictional stories but I always end up writing here when I'm feeling introspective/idunno (I can't think of the word I want here).

Tangent: I think I have a slight stutter, is that possible? Isn't that genetic? I feel like when I'm speaking that I have to find the exact word in an exact order in most of my sentences. As I do this my brain is constantly tripping over itself attempting to scan it's limited resources. Anyway it's fine I just don't think I've ever really articulated this feeling.

Tangent#2: I have this expired trail mix from work with almonds cashews fruit and shit. I want to make a spaghetti sauce involving this for some reason. Probably because I've got this wild mushroom linguini my mom gave me for Christmas and I need to do it justice. I'm going to go search for complimentary flavors but if anyone has past experience with this I'd love to hear it. Let me add an addendum real quick, I'm not going to strain any tea anywhere near this shit.

The funny thing is I made fun of my brother for sitting there looking at a comment he was going to make on facebook, completely written out, deleting it and rewriting it like five times. I've been sitting here writing three almost completely unformatted paragraphs for forty minutes now? Not to be too bleak but these words have a maximum potential effect, these aren't going to change anyone's life, they are purely entertainment. Yet I still have to sit here and make sure that each word is perfectly placed in this box, even the ones that aren't recognized by Oxford just yet. The very gibe jokingly (lovingly) spat at Barry is what I like most about writing, what I can't do when I speak. Sitting here staring off into space while I find those words lurking somewhere in my subconscious. As much as I wish I could do that in polite conversation, I'm already at maximum awkwardness.

I'm pleased with how this has turned out. Thank you all for encouraging me to write when it sometimes feels like a chore that I'm unwilling to do. For the record, I often spend ten, fifteen minutes typing out a comment or status on facebook and delete it thinking, "what the fuck is the point of this? why should anyone care about this?" Sometimes you just have to scream out into that void, I know. I never feel like that with this, and that makes me happy. And yes I will probably sit here for another half hour before I hit publish.

So...

I was lying awake in my bed a second ago trying to recall whether I had locked my door or not, which wasn't a terrible excuse to come down and write this. Thinking if someone came in and stole what few possessions I own while I was unconscious a few feet away, I probably deserve it due to some shitty karma. My inspirations are incredibly corny but I feel like it's relevant and easily relatable. I've been watching a lot of the American Office and the relationship between Jim and Pam is written in a way that I think many of us can relate on some level or another. I kind of know how it ends and I generally disagree with the whole fairy tale ending but hey, it's good TV. I pretend I'm watching each episode for the first time which is not particularly difficult because it's been a while since I've seen them and the show's very well written and acted. I just finished watching the episode where Jim confesses his feelings for Pam and kisses her, which probably led me to my karmic epiphany. Speaking of epiphany, Nick was telling me about a chemical that ceases to be produced in your brain after the age of twenty four. The absence of the chemical makes it impossible for you to question the nature of existence internally or something, must follow up on this.

So I've always marginalized my role in pursuing Marina until just recently for whatever reason, or maybe it's because it's the exact situation in the Office, I don't know I'm not an analrapist. I'd like to think this is part of me getting older thinking back on past antics and truly grasping the gravity of my actions. The fact of the matter is that Marina was engaged prior to meeting a seventeen year old me. It was all pretty much down hill from there. I somehow convinced myself that she wasn't in love with him in virtue of having feelings for me. It's funny, I wonder what I could accomplish if I was actually that confident. All of you have had some choice words about Marina over the years but I enjoyed all the ups and downs we shared. However, in the year two thousand eleven, I must admit to myself that morally, getting involved with her was probably not my best decision.

Now it would be one thing if this was an isolated incident. I'm not going to go into detail but sufficed to say I have a terrible fucking track record with this. I'm positive that the forbidden fruit is what attracts me at this point. What I don't understand, is why? In case you were wondering, the door was unlocked.