Folding/rolling burritos fills my days. I spend less time with my friends. I don't stay at their houses long enough, or try hard enough, or even show up enough. I go to work while roommates sit on the couch and come home and they are still there. I smell like burritos. I feel like a burrito. I don't hate my job. I don't yell at anyone or punch boxes of frozen fries. I'm just there all of the time. I can't find time to write, I can't find time to post blogs, I can't find time to write songs. I can't give all the time stephanie wants from me or all the time I want to give to her. I don't cook. I don't read. I don't take baths. I don't walk anywhere. I don't have any money. I get on the wagon. I fall off the wagon. Everyday is a blur, but not like it used to be, when I would work 5 hours, make 20 hours worth of money, and have a great time doing it. Now I work 11 hours, make 11 (or less) hours worth of money, and don't know where it is or where it goes. I'm on my break from work right now. I'll go back in 20 minutes. More burritos. More tacos. More people not saying please. More headaches. More calculated breathing. More. More. More.
I want less. Thank you.
Tonight: Bill's birthday.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
days bleeding together
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3 comments:
I know that feeling, maybe better than most feelings. It's a hard one to take, and even worse, an easy one to become numb to.
You wake up one day, and you're 30, or 40, or you never wake up. Whatever magical age when you look around and think, "Oh, shit."
You want less? There is always less, and in achieving it, always more. How's that for a meaningless zen platitude?
Seriously. The best part about jumping is that you always land somewhere.
Fuck 'em.
~Dan
What he said.
If it's any comfort at all, I also feel like a burrito, and a Bean burrito at that. In my case however I actually resemble a burrito.
Bah.
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