Floorplan

I proceeded to purchase textbooks for college today. A friend of mine says that I'll die in class due to the destructive overload of influential knowledge I'll be bombarded with. I'm looking forward to it. I've heard I don't know what I'm in for. Good. I like surprises. A week of innocence left, I suppose. Like an ominous dark presence says to a pre-pubescent girl, "Oh yes. There will be blood."

I'm gonna be like 84% of the American population and bitch about me being a lazy slob of a fat person, yet not do a damn thing to change it. Sounds like a plan. I'm determined to eat a meal a day (far from any thriving cost, mind you.) and walk often. I mean, I'll be traipsing about campus all damn day, so some things are bound to give. I'm thinking it'll be one of my vertebrae.

I've become a preacher.. kinda. More or less a minister of happiness. Which is mostly ironic due to my convenient lack of said specialty. Friends of mine suffering from the single life discuss with me the perils they face and fears they're burdened with. I empathize and generate the necessary compassion, but that creepy voice that visits the back of everyone's mind whispers, 'They don't know just how good they have it.'.

Straight to the point, I hate me sometimes. Much more than the government requires me to. Proceed to me receiving an outstanding citizen award. Thank you all, this means so much to me.

I'm gonna go ahead and hit the futon. I've got crap to engrave in the morning.. in about seven hours. Oh corporate world, where are you now?

I Offer No Sympathy For This

The mistakes someone makes tells you alot about that person. I'm talking about deep personal flaws, not about ordering garlic nachos on date night. That's just nasty. When they keep searching for the wrong people and repeating the same monotonous cycle of meaningless self-hatred and the lovely ability to opt out of personal happiness, well.. I'm just saying it gets really old after a while. Especially when you're the fool that keeps begging them to make the choice (your selfish choice) to see the person in front of you as something better than a buoy to cling to. It's not one-sided at all, really. It's the flaws of both that make this situation disastrous for your emotional health. One is impulsive and ignorant while the other is a doormat waiting to be looked down upon.

The thing is, what if that's all the doormat knows. The tattered rug knows no other purpose than to be tread upon without appreciation and second thought. If the shred of carpet is found to be gone one day, it is easily replaced and the old one forgotten. So, rather than be completely obsolete, the good ole' welcome mat will take whatever it needs to feel needed. Tell you what, there's gotta be a sense of humor involved. When you feel your face beneath someone's feet, you just have to laugh.

Two fools, running parallel to each other. One looks onward past the road and hopes for the best. The other hopes the first will remember to keep him by his side.

Ressurection of Communication n' Such

The fact that I haven't posted in so long is a testament to my forgetful mindset. I guess it's easier said than done, keeping up with things like these. Remembering, that is. Take your vitamins, wash your face, update your blog, up-sell at work so corporate will acknowledge your existence. All these lovely details hold, of course, complete priority over breathing. And that's okay.

I start college in a couple weeks. Paint me excited. Like most post-nineties, lost somewhere between indie and hippie classification, hyper misfits, I'm pretty kinda stoked. Far from any one thriving emotion, mind you. It wouldn't be totally awesome with a twist of philosophy or mystery or whatever the hell these kids today consider hip if I was purely excited. However, if I was dreading it, why go in the first place. Find a balance, people. Be merrily bleak so everyone else feels better about (insert life's shit here). I am a people pleaser, after all.

Shopping for school crap sucks. Yes, these are things I am just finding out. Yes, I am aware that you've probably been there, but I implore you, let me bitch anyway. At least they have book buyback at the end of the year. Remind me not to let some angry freshman rat borrow my books for anything. I refuse. The academic side doesn't really bother me that much, it's the look-good-for-something-better-than-high-school-because-you-haven't-been-in-any-sorta-school-in-nearly-two-years kinda thing. Tell me I'm pretty shut up I don't wanna know. See? Alot goin' on here. Shopping's fun, but my quirky refusal to try on the clothes I deem worthy of purchase only to find they don't fit right or something kinda sucks. I realize the stupidity in this course of action and I choose not to do anything about it.

And, like the angst-ridden Jake you evidently see in early posts, I also have jack-shit going on in the relationship world. I hope college opens up new doors. I'm sick of turning locked knobs.

I finally put my room back together after more than a year of cluttered vacancy and couch potato living. I did the best I could making it my own kinda thing, but it'll do for now. A few more wall hangings wouldn't hurt. Some say it makes the place seem alot smaller, plastering the drywall with paintings and such. I agree, but positively; it gives me beautiful boundaries in which the little world I tuck myself away becomes a slightly more colorful one. I often daydream about my future living situations, past the dorms and college parties of the school I go to after this. The idea of a loft high into the lights of downtown brings a smile to my face. I will have wooden floors, a white ceiling, and earth tones. Hues of olive green, midnight blue, and raw sienna. Nothing vibrant and loud, but on the contrary; deep with echoes, so that when you peer into the room, it glances back deeply.

I can't wait to paint shit up sometimes. And I want an overhead shower, with water falling straight down. Let me feel as if I'm bathing in rain. I belong in a converted warehouse deep in the garment district.

To be continued, I'm sure. For now, I've gotta hit the futon. Lake of the Ozarks vacation in the morning. Three hour drive into the heart of the hillbilly nation. I know, I'm excited too.