Y’all Thought I Forgot?

It’s going to be a fast and fucked up week. I’m working twelve hour days every day from now until Sunday. Then one day off and then another three days on and then I’m going to my other brother’s graduation and then I’m going to a Tool concert.

I stopped meditating about two or three weeks ago, whenever Morgan showed up, because it’s hard to meditate in a house with two bedrooms, four people, and three cats. I think I noticed a difference. In any case everything seems more awful than before.

I stopped working out, too, on May 7.

I’m at work looking all fucked up, just wanting a drink and shit. I been drinking a lot at work. The girl I’m obsessed with only works one day a week any more, so getting through the work day is fucking difficult. I’m not even obsessed with her any more because I don’t see her. Out of sight, out of my mind, and all of that, to an extent. I’ve a lot of experience cutting people out of my life. Just moving on. Usually physically moving. Why let anyone get close? Just someone else I’m going to have to hide from.

But you know, I talked to the girl about the whole thing and she made me realize that, while we were playing perhaps dangerously close to a cliff, neither of us had done anything actually wrong. Well, I suppose I had done something wrong by not talking to Molly about the fact that I was falling in love with another woman, but you know what, we don’t even have time to talk these days. She works sixty hours a week now and she works during the day and I work during the night. That’s why I need a new job, you know, so we can see each other.

But anyways like I was saying, here I was all beating myself up about shit, because I was in love with this girl, but I remembered you can’t control how you feel, you can control how you act. I was all thinking in my head that we’re in some kind of sexually charged dance, me and this girl, and that was some kind of sin. Probably because as a super Christian back in the day, the only relationships I could have with girls were exactly this. I would have called this girl my girlfriend back in the day because we smiled at each other a lot and were both into each other. That doesn’t constitute a fucking girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. But there it was, hanging around on the back shelves of my mind, this whole box of bullshit about what a girlfriend is. That’s fucking dumb. No wonder I don’t have a healthy relationship with my wife, I don’t even know what a wife is!

I’m like a fucking guilt factory. Churning out the guilt. Like a fucking goat produces shit. What does a goat need to produce shit? Any fucking thing. A shoe. A fucking heirloom tomato. A bag of dicks.

You know why I’m a fucking guilt factory? A fucking super high efficiency guilt machine? I would have told you it was my parents. I would have told you it was Jesus Christ and the motherfucking bible. But you know why it’s fucking lying that’s why. Weak character, brought on by having no stressors. Only one artificial stressor, maintaining the fucking lie, man, is what.

Say I was to fall in love with this woman. I tell Molly about it and what does she say? Who fucking knows. Maybe we have a long talk about how we don’t fucking talk any more or have enough sex, maybe we modify our relationship, maybe we decide fuck it, I like you as a partner in life, I don’t give a shit about your emotions. Maybe we decide not to act on anything for now, because we’re both busy being broke as fuck, and put that shit on ice for a year, and if nothing changes, then we got to make some decisions. Who knows what the fuck we could even decide because we would both be strong people who knew each other, instead of me being some kind of weak ass bitch fucking creeping around like a depressed little crab.

Why do I curse so much? People asked me sometimes. Probably because I’m fucking angry all the time way down where I can’t even hear myself any more because I built this huge guilt machine to manufacture fucking lies all day to keep me from ever having to experience anything real.

Yeah, so anyway. Me and this girl are just chilling now. It’s not even a big fucking deal. I build it up like its a fucking world changing event, me liking this girl, and really it’s just that she’s super awesome and super hot and she’s attracted to me. Why does that have to be a big deal? Because I’m scared of myself because I don’t even know who I am, that’s why! Is that Molly’s fault? Is that Christianity’s fault? Is that Society’s mother fuckin fault? Is that my parents fault? Nah mother fuckers that’s my fault for lying my ass of for no reason all my life.

Oh shit now I’m going to feel guilty about that!

Haha nah I mean I could, but guilt doesn’t come from taking responsibility for your actions. Guilt, at least the kind I feel, the destructive kind, comes from a kind of self-censorship who’s aim is to keep you down, crammed down inside of a fucking shell so that people will accept you without any effort on their part or your part.

Unlike dumbass indulgent guilt that comes from overthinking and lying to yourself, taking responsibility for your actions empowers you.

Yeah so anyway I meditated and worked out today.

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Yay! Oh Man How WONDERFUL!

Shit I considered going back on my promise to post once a day until the end of 2017. I must have been on drugs or something, no one needs this kind of aggravation every day.

But I never do anything that I say I’m going to do and I usually feel bad about that so I’m making a mother fuckin change y’all.

I’m going to post today! Yeah! Fuckin A!

Sweet!

What do I even care. If my blog got popular I could never cash in on it anyways or else people would know it was me. What do you think I have some kind of artistic integrity or some shit? Hell no, fuck, most of these posts took as much time to write as they did to type because I did both at the same time. Who cares with this theme I can say anything and it looks great. Most of y’all don’t even know that because you read in the WordPress Reader, which is exactly what I do. I don’t know what the hell kind of weird themes you people are using.

Well I have to go to work now!

Stop feeling guilty all the time! You didn’t do anything wrong!

Can you do…NO! NO I CAN’T!

When people question me about my work, I am very defensive.

In life, I am usually mellow, albeit moody. I can usually put on a tranquil front at least. Usually I can do some deep breathing. I can feel the tightness of my shoes on my feet and remain in the present moment.

But when someone says, why does this character do that? Or, why doesn’t this ebook work on my phone? Or, how can I print this ebook out in a different way? Then I suddenly tense up and get super annoyed and answer quickly and defensively.

What I’m going to do about that? I don’t know. Shit’s annoying as hell.

I been drinking black coffee. Not today! I’m through with all that; there’s more to living than not dying.

I think there was a drug in the Franzen novel Freedom called Mexico that made people feel zero guilt. Am I remembering that right? I would take that drug! At least once in a while.

Guilt guilt guilt!

Anyways. Like I said before, discomfort = good! No drinking today! Dealing with the guilt head on, hand to hand, face to face, dick to dick and pussy to pussy.

Pachow! Don’t ask me any questions about the way I formatted this post. I will karate chop a nearby object or organism.

The Guilt Bomb

Last night I went to a concert where different people got on stage and sang Nirvana songs. It was like they didn’t even like Nirvana, half of them. They didn’t even know the lyrics. It was pretty awful at first. And I had brought my wife along. We were out on a Saturday night together with a friend of mine. This hasn’t happened in years. I couldn’t believe it was happening, and then I couldn’t believe how bad it was. I told my wife to drink up, but she didn’t. I did, and I blacked out around three AM after another friend showed up with shots.

I woke up in the morning all disoriented and my wife told me that I was “fine with everyone else but mean to her”, which is apparently what I “always do”. Then I felt and now I feel horrible about the whole thing.

I know I wasn’t being mean to her before I blacked out, so whatever happened if it happened happened in the car home or at home.

I fell back asleep and woke up around the time I was supposed to be at work and she had done all the chores and made me coffee and put food in the fridge for the cats.

Then I felt even worse about it.

I guess we should just break up. I don’t know. I can’t handle this guilt. Always with the guilt guilt guilt Jesus Christ am I that bad?

I texted her to see what happened but she won’t tell me, which is perfect because that makes me feel even more guilty.

I almost suspect that’s her plan. Because I’m supposed to go out tonight, which I rarely do, and I was planning to get wild, but now I’ll probably try to keep it together and come home at a reasonable hour.

Oh well I don’t know. That’s what I get for trying to include her. I guess. I am immobilized by guilt and nausea.

Said Lucifer to the Others

I am angry that we are not eating pie. I am viscerally fucking disgusted that we are not eating fucking pie. Who arranged this shit. Who can I direct my anger towards! The whole of life.

No, no, that’s ridiculous. I’m not angry about the pie. I am very, very sad about the pie. I am in the pit of despair about the whole of life and the possibility of the whole thing continuing for another day.

What can I tell you about anything? Expect everything. It’s all going to befall you and there won’t be a thing you can do about it. Stop making plans. You aren’t going anywhere this summer. Don’t be an idiot. Stay in bed and wait for death like a human being.

As for me I’ll stay in my chair, gnawing at the bedrock beneath the guilt and regrets of this decade. And there’s no use crying now, if you haven’t already started. There won’t be any pie in the great black void below the earth.