Thursday, January 14, 2010

The best of 2009 can fall off a cliff...

I had a list going for 2009, of the things that made it better then the years before, or at least made the year more enjoyable. It has explanations, and examples, and situations that just made me happy.

Fuck That List.

Here it is, incomplete, like some form of all the other shit I deal with:
1 Penguins
2 Weddings
3 Mimosas
4 Music

That was as far as I got. I was working on it on Sunday, and I couldn't finish. See, here's the thing.

2010 was kicking my ass.

Intensely. And with no one to blame but myself.

So I was working on a best of list. And it just got worse; the day, not the list.

I decided I was starting over, I was making a new calendar; like the Mayans!

It has been three days of that. Here is what I have realized:

(These things are equally keeping me together and tearing me apart at whatever seems I have left)

I've used it all up. I have no backlog left. Every song/place/feeling/excuse/fuck-up is already someone elses. I either need to read more books or find new songs or figure out a way to delete all these people/things/places from my memory.

Technology is my enemy. There is too much information. I know every one's face, every one's likes, every one's college. We've all gone to Ball State, we all look like a poor mans president/poet, and we are all fucking falling apart. You are better than me. I see it; I get it. There's that beard, and those pants, and that fucking hilarious thing you did when you were nineteen and your parents were writing checks for you to take a class at some improv group so you could learn to be "funny" or "hip" or "relevant"; and all the while I was twenty-four and fucking falling apart and barely scrapping by. (It's OK, I mentioned it, so all the street cred is gone. Suffering only counts if you do it in silence or there is a video camera to document it.)

I'm twenty seven. I should be twenty two, if not a day above seventeen.

And the part that kills me the most:

This is all an empty room. It is just like the empty room I'm typing in right now. No one hears, no one cares, no one notices. There are passerbys, they wish their best, they say nice things, and I think something here makes something else in their life better. So fuck it. Here it is. In bullets:

  • I got left
  • I got left almost 10 years ago
  • I cant deal with either
  • I fell in love
  • It was too late
  • I'm going to bed
  • i cant deal.

I hope this makes more sense to you...

I'm sorry it took me so long; I wont hold my piece on your wedding day.


I failed to mention that making a new calender is working out great for me. I've been extremely happy. I've gotten back to doing a little of some of the things that make me happy, I have more of that to come. I don't want to sound like a whiny ass. Things are totally looking fucking UP! I was overwhelmed last night by the smell of Tim burning t-shirts to remember that THIS was the whole point of the blog:

I made my own happiness. It took deciding that MY year started on January 11th, but it is working. The New Year that everyone celebrates started with some of my favorite people. I'm working on MY year only including the people that look out for me. I've stopped making excuses.