*Blog post started on July 27, 2020.
I must be placing too much pressure on myself to be something worthwhile. To make sure I had new content for today's post, Amazon Prime was activated as was my drinking habit. It started with "StageFright Aquarius" to determine whether "Screen Drafts's" number three giallo film of all time was actually part of the genre (As it turns out, I did not need to write this blog till Wednesday). Two drinks were not enough after the film concluded, so I thought it made sense to wrap up the first season of "The Boys".
The conclusion to the first run of episodes ran a little longer than anticipated. Drunk quesadilla grilling and toast with remnants of Domino's garlic sauce caused a couple of pauses. Deciding that I needed to get a back bump in for old time sakes led to a delay in the viewing. Skimble even put a stop to the broadcast when I went to pet Eva after I lectured him about being codependent towards me. Perhaps I need to be afraid of his need to love me because his accurate pounce on the Apple TV remote to return to the main menu was impressive. This one-eared fluffy monster must have been a rodent killer at some point.
I apologize for being stressed and depressed my feline friend. There are just times I need to register that and receive fewer boops. Reading my old Adrian Tomine journal led to me realizing how my life SEEMS about the same as 10 years ago, sans my stripper friends to distract me. At least my alcoholism has improved. How drunk did I get at the defunct Peoria Theater for the "Drunken Zombie Double Feature"? Was my five hours in front of the TV triggered by my decade old scribbles? Glory days?
In the end, I am glad that I am blogging now as opposed to journaling. Reading my past works, my life needs to be told in a narrative instead of free-flowing. If I have moments where I cannot make out what I was trying to say, it feels like I failed myself. On the plus side, my life does not FEEL as messed up as it once did.
Why can I not appreciate semi-charmed kind of life? It was pretty much the theme of my senior year of high school. Oh yeah, I did not care for high school. Since that album was released in 1998, that means it is associated with two years of narrow-minded Christian classmates. My mind was not exactly woke, but wide enough to women who did not wear long denim skirts were not sluts and the pitch that only Christians go to heaven was bullshit.
Fear of being totally alone has been consuming some hours of my time. There are times that I miss my recent ex, but my codependency never allowed me to be comfortable. Since there are many people who do not want to live alone, it seems like making a connection will be trickier. My method to avoid loneliness was to be chasing some kind of goal, but I have never caught anything, so I should rethink that approach. What I want right now is to try is some truly great hallucigenics to make sense of it all this. Why am I feeling like Stacia is calling me?
It is tough right now because the last three paragraphs was me just trying to make a connection with you, the reader. This is the first time I do not have to edit the middle of the intro rant when I republish this a third time on ninetyforchill.com.
The read on this experience is tough. Am I getting better with my structure or am I still practicing fruitless acts? I can still segue though because I am feeling a bit like a desperate actor trapped overnight with an owl-masked serial killer.
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