Most of the Time

Mood: Despondent, with a tinsy smack of self-absorbed
Eating: nothing
Drinking: Labat extra dry
Listening to: Ryan Adams Easy Tiger album


There's a song on that album that I particularly like "I Taught Myself How To Grow Old"... good song... some of the lines in there are some of my favorite of his, actually.
Its funny how a song can sometimes capture the exact mood that your in during the time that you listen to it. You don't even mean to be listening to it but it randomly pops up on your MP3 and after its done you cannot help but think that it just finished chewing out your guts and handing them to you in a nice little take-out bowl, complete with soy sauce and fried rice. You know that its terrible for you but you just can't help from doing it, from time to time.
Sometimes I wonder if I've grown up too fast. Perhaps all the problems I've had with life over the past year have really been just inside my head and someday I'll wake up to suddenly realize that life is indeed the beautiful ray of fucking sunshine its made out to be. Not that I've never had days like that--I've had my fair share to be certain.

Can you blame me if I'm not the wit-filled idealist I used to be?
I'm just tired... so very tired mentally.
Which is the funny part, cause today has been one of my better days in awhile.

Would you believe me though if I told you that half the stuff I swear up and down I genuinely feel and believe I feel and believe only for a moment? Must there really be a time limit placed upon emotion, or thought, in order for it to be valid; if so, what might it be? I feel as if I am a Pawnee Shaman, sucking my sustenance from cactus and weeping, spitting my blood into the ancient Nevada sands. Hallucinating and twirling around with the biting wind to caress my naked loins. Hair splattered thick with mud and the happy grin of devils upon my face. Oh bliss! Bastard bones of the ancients! I desire the most right now to roll off a mountainside and brake all my innards like pottery jars. Then I'll sit down somewhere and wonder if I could still be happy.
Experience of others be damned--one can only learn from their own! If not they will only be living and breathing of air that is simply not theirs to begin with. What an awful waste of space those sort of people must be. Most are too concerned with doing things right that they cease from mistakes. They become perfect, and useless, and unhappy.

And I think I've talked myself out of any point that I wished to make.