That has absolutely nothing to do with much aside from the word play I wanted to play with--somethings I get into the tonality or pace of the words over their meaning but sometimes the pace I assign even internally assists in its connotation.
I finally have a damn plan for my life, eclipsing 43, I am at the point where I am done leaving it up the whims of whatever. The timing ended up working out quite fruitfully as well given the whole loss of family and home a few Decembers ago. Truly with the maturation of the pension/401k thing I have building in December, the lease in December, and December being the mighty month of gifts, well--let's say it's due time.
Basically what we have is a 6 month timeline to fix my life, and I am bringing you all along for the ride. There will be other sites pointed to, maybe, as nobody comes here expecting much besides heart shit and that is in many ways a secondary concern to who I am. Yeah, I've got some problems, but I survived them and in a lot of ways, survived things many people did not as well. I ...
You know, the more I write the more I wonder why the fuck I am not writing more frequently, but also I notice some of the things I have written lately I have repeated in terms of sentiment and meaning. Always to help, never to hinder, anyone who knows me this is who I am--very concerned about everyone doing as well as I think everyone deserves to do. The advice below is perhaps a good overarcing of how to deal with shitty things that can happen to us. It has worked for me at points, but clearly I am not adverse to being human or admitting my own bullshit because I just don't care enough about what anyone thinks to bother hiding. Anyways, check it out:
I think there are some things that make heart disease and all disease especially devastating to who we thought we were. We all had plans for other things for our lives and clearly your aorta exploding impedes a lot of facets and can leave people totally bewildered by their body's betrayal of their own plans. Most people didn't do years of cocaine to accelerate this, but everyone has lived their own lives ...
I have some drafts again, guys. Last night's was epic and then I got focus-deprived when I realized I had no idea where the fuck our ballots are, and I despise criticizing people for things I plan on failing to do (voting being one). So I looked and looked and saved my many thousands again for a draft I might instruct to be revealed upon my death. Then I went to bed because that is one thing I am best at, passing out. I never found the ballots, btw.
Maybe it's the weed maybe it's the caffeine, all I know is venti cloud macchiato is sitting near me and I drink and I drink and I am still no more awake than I was an hour ago, which is what I was looking to solve, the waning exhaustion that is.
I do this thing sometimes where I write to myself. Not to you guys, not to anyone else, but myself. I do it with Facebook, I do it here, I do it with text messages that never get sent. I keep shitty notes for posterity as some are just shitty posterior moments.
But I am still writing and most of ...
