I mean, I told myself that I would make a conscious effort to not talk about getting stoned or drunk as much on this blog, mostly because sometimes I forget that people actually read this blog and then I forget that sometimes those people are my friends and/or acquaintances. I should also really stop talking about Chris Pines bulge and my penis.

That aside, tonight a friend and I just came back from getting stoned and then watching Valkyrie. Listen. Listen. That was fantastic. Who knew?

Highlights:

* The preview before the movie that was about a bank that is also a terrorist? Which sounds like it could be the worst Transformer ever. They showed an ATM on the screen and the options to press were “withdrawal”, “deposit,” and “murder”.
* I read or heard a warning somewhere that the fact that some people have a British accent and then some people (Tom Cruise) have a Tom Cruise accent is annoying. That is an understatement. It’s the worst.
* “I can’t believe I have to watch a movie involving a man with an eyepatch while I’m stoned and somehow not laugh.”
* I laughed.
* Tom Cruise, you guys? Tom Cruise is still hot! Can we all take a minute and realize that? As long as he doesn’t bring Scientology to the party, he is always invited to my house. Him and that jaw. That man has a sexy jaw. I think I have a jaw fetish?
* I think it was a good movie. The dude who played Hitler scared the shit out of me and I’m really glad I didn’t have to watch Jews get shot all the time like other movies starring other Hitlers. Although sometimes… Sometimes I think we might have the Holocaust to thank for all of the good comedians? Like, as a People they just found this really great way of dealing with shit? I mean, it’s just a theory, but I’ll put some science behind it soon. Pop in a few math equations and shit.
* I’m a little bit of an asshole for this.

Here’s the thing about inspiration and creativity: it comes, and it goes. One minute, you’ve got the clearest fucking picture of exactly what you want, right there in your mind, detailed, colored, three dimensional, and crystal clear. You know what you want, you know how to go about it, and you know it’ll always be there, in your mind, to refer back to. It’s beautiful, it’s inspiring, and it’s all right there, in your head.

And then it’s gone, it’s fucking gone. Your mind is blocked, your thoughts, clouded. That high definition, life-like image that once drove you mad with desire is now but a memory in your head. You can remember vaguely what it looked like, a color scheme maybe, sometimes a shape or two, but it’s just not the same. And you tell yourself the image will come back, but it never does. And if it does, it’s just not the same. And even if it is the same, there’s no way to keep it there long enough, again. Not even a master sketch artist is quick or talented enough to transform that moment of beauty down onto paper, and that’s the problem with it. This is why projects always end up completely different than how they intended, and while they might come out better than if you had stuck to that original plan, it never looks quite how you wanted, and there are few worse feelings than a failed project. Failed in comparison, that is.

Such is this.

Most of the time I feel like a bumbling mess of awkward. My laughter constantly sounds too loud and occasionally forced, my contributions to existing conversation feels asinine and unimportant and whenever I try telling a story I rush my way through, because halfway through I can’t help but focus on the silence of the other person. Which is bullshit, because what’s the other person suppose to do except listen?

It is bullshit. All of it is bullshit. January 1 my motto for 2009 was “take life by the motherfucking balls and make the future drop down on all fours” and now my motto is “everything is bullshit.” All of this is an upgrade to 2008’s motto, which was unofficially “make really fucking awful decisions when you are drunk, and make them often.”

I have wonderful friends and wonderful acquaintances. Most of them do not put up with bullshit people and that’s the only reason why I think I might be okay, that maybe everything I mentioned above is untrue. I just can’t shake the feeling that I do fucking suck sometimes, I just can’t shake my wonderful talent of playing and replaying every fucking conversation I have and wondering where it went wrong.

Earlier this week I spoke to someone I don’t speak to very often and I ended up telling him about my crazy ass uncle, my fucked up cousin, my other cousin who may or may not be fucked up, and my heroin addicted acquaintance.

DURING CASUAL CONVERSATION. WHY. I can only imagine what the fuck everyone around me thought of me. It just came spilling out, these things aren’t big deals to me - they’re fact. It’s no big deal. And then all of a sudden, right after I left, I was reeling over what I said. What is wrong with me? Why would I bring those things up?

BLAH BLAH BLAH, HI MY NAME IS DANIEL I DON’T EVEN HAVE AN EDUCATION TO WORRY ABOUT RIGHT NOW AND I HAVE ALL OF MY LIMBS, BUT I’M GOING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT INANE SHIT REGARDLESS.

i do not feel that i am good enough for anyone to be with me.

being alone is more than circumstance, or the result of bad planning. being alone is a choice i’ve made to protect myself. i do not think the next will want to stay, and i’m terrified of the crash afterwards. i can’t cope with the crash afterwards.

i made damn sure i had no regrets before i finally turned my back to him. i said that i needed him, and regrettably that i would change whatever person i was to the person he wanted me to be. i gave everything i had left to give. it was still not enough to save.

time went by. now i’ve found and accepted that seeing him is a inevitability. we mingle in the same group. and every time he ignores me, it reaffirms that i am still not good enough. not worth a conversation, not worth a second glance, not even worth an acknowledgment. certainly not worth a fraction of someone’s day. and every time a wave goes unreturned or a path is changed, the self-deprecation delves deeper and deeper.

the walls that i’ve built since him are high. i refuse to have another man make me feel as if i’m not good enough, so i don’t get close. i find myself thinking of the end before it even begins. how i will be the one that is left, and how i will be the one reeling in the crash. i don’t want to sink to that low for a second time. i refuse to sink to that low for a second time. i refuse to put myself in a position that makes me feel as though i am not worth something. i refuse to be weak, when i’m so used to being strong.

so i reject. i reject hard and i reject fast. i reject before i am rejected. i’ve rejected every single man that i’ve met since january 2008 and have missed many opportunities because of that. i erase any connection we’ve built. i reject strangers on the street. i turn my head and pretend not to see them looking my way. because if i do something and things go wrong, even a second of rejection is pain. pain that is nonexistent when i’m alone, and pain that i have only let one person give me.

i am an extremely proud person. it will always kill me to admit loss, defeat, and hurt. i will learn to cope with the residual effects of him. i will learn to put the past in the past. but i will never let anyone make me feel as if i am not good enough again, as long as i live. even if that means remaining by myself.

it’s kill or die. i choose me over you.

I don't know why people run. I don't know why things fall through. I don't know how anybody survives in this life without someone like you.