July 2009: If I could, would...

Current mood:  morose
Category: Blogging

Just trying to write something everyday. I don't know, it maybe a need to be challenged I guess.

If the older sister isn't hogging my bedroom (better known as my parents office space), I'll blog.

If I got time before class, I'll fill a page in the notebook next to the fabled first draft of my second screenplay.

If all else fails, I'll try to write based around the graphic on the next page in my Adrian Tomine journal Stef got me.

If I wanted a challenge, there's one. Every image is about relationships. What do I have to write about that topic?

It seems I've been getting little thrills out of simple stuff.

Conquering this cold, sinus infection, or side effect from all the Lipozene (which was working, but I decided to stick out the "if your throat swells you got to quit" warning). I think all the junk that I didn't leave on I-55 south just past Dwight has gone to my ear, so...

If I can resist the temptation of using my coupon for "Tiger Woods 10" (just so I'll have two Wii Motion Pluses so I can actually beat the crap out of Stef when I pick up my copy of "Wii Sports Resort"), I may have some change for a couple more bottles of the overpriced fiber. Got to keep pissing my little sister off by keeping up the weight loss.

If some for reason I get the break that I seem never destined to receive, and not off myself before the unemployment runs up, planning my third associates degree by Summer 2010 will kill sometime.

And I guess...

If I got to thank anyone for the turn around, being Danny's disciple it pains me to say, I may have to thank Ian Rotten for it.

I'd like my $15 (and inevitably an extra 40 come July 24) because I shouldn't be paying to work. Out of principle of course and finding out what the point of trying out was? Ian said the word got to him that I have a "big mouth" when really it's just typing 40 words per minute in proper webiquite...Alex, Andy, Lawrence, etc. I ain't ashamed of it, so fuck him...

If he can't take a joke.

The point is, he said my shit wasn't bad. Wasn't good, but I hadn't received that high a praise since Keith Walker said I didn't mess anything up with that job. Well, I take that back. No body hassled Tigger Mask, and that's about a match, not the behind the scene stuff.

Really, the point is, since it ain't bad, I just gotta plan out better matches to get it up to good, and the wrestling should be going again.

But the thing that kills me about this recent motivation, aside from sweltering at the keyboard. My parents never gave me a well ventilated room (and fuck them...)

If they can't take a joke.

What bugs me is that, I still don't see shit getting better. I honestly believe I'm helpless in improving things. I write, well I got to die right now to make that important. I wrestle, and I still have to give it up for the real world and back stage bull shit. I stick around, and I remain a foot note to the rest of the world. Just that great guy who never has anything great happen to him.

I don't want anyone to feel hurt by that statement.

If something good happens, I pray I unexpectedly walk in front of a bus. Nothing has happened to keep me going. I've kept myself going, and that's been in fucking vain. Fuck you Stef...

If you are going to get the dictionary out to check that I wrote the write vain/vane/vein down. There was a reason I call myself the Rough Draft.

In the end, I'm just building my argument for suicide. Damn it, I'd just wish I finished my thesis and get on with it. After I get the Master Degree in Fatalism for it of course.