I'm tired. And I just drank a 24 ounce Rockstar energy drink (aka poison).
Why subject myself to such a chemical invasion, you may ask (spell check wanted to change that to saki, hmmmm)? Well it has been brought to my attention that my last few posts have been, well, a bit morose. A bit sad. Even boring. I don't like boring. Boring is boring.
My favorite post (from a writing perspective) was typed on an iPad (annoying would be an understatement), while being in stage 5 exhaustion (on a made up scale without defined parameters), and under the neuron firing, stomach churning, nerve shaking effects of some sort of coffee/Rockstar combo.
I don't want to die. Dying sucks. In the past 30 years and 4 months I've existed as a body/soul combo outside of my momma's belly, there were three times I could have died (obviously not including every second of every day that an alien could have zapped me, or a really large elephant could have fallen on me from a passing airplane). First time I was 2 and some crazy dude kidnapped me and tried to take me to the desert. He took a wrong turn, found his way to Mexico, ran a red light, was chased by some poli?ia, had his tires shot out, and ended up in some Mexican jail.
The third time was when I was swiped by a truck on the 110 and spun across three lanes hit the center divider and ended up safely on the left shoulder.
The second time (and this is the point. Yay!) was towards the end of August 2002. Back when my email address was firstname.lastname@example.org (until it was hacked and shut down a few years later after logging in at some internet cafe (remember those?) whose homepage was aljazeera.com), and my AIM handle was puffkdragon (I made both of those accounts that summer). We (the counselors) were up all night and day for the past week. The days were of course spent by use counseloring, the nights by us making these elaborate constructions depicting either how many days were left to this great camp (to paraphrase the annoying, yet remarkably addicting song we were belting out constantly), or some other clever contraption for the kids to remember. In retrospect we should have just slept, but we were young and probably drunk. Thursday was Knott's Berry Farm day. Which is basically a Six Flags for those too lazy or poor to drive out to an actual Six Flags. Being all sleep deprived and such, and still needing to stay up until 6 AM making some sort of rock sculpture (followed by an insane alcohol+exhaustion induced moon dance (I don't actually recall if we were clothed or not)) two quadruple espressos and 6 red bulls sounded like a wonderful idea. Coupled with the mandatory quota of Millers Genuine Draft (thank G-d my tastes have evolved since then), the next day had me flat out on the grass, contemplating calling 911 every couple of minutes. My heart was doing double speed, skipping beats, and doing all sorts of trickery. I didn't call 911, and thank G-d I didn't die. Notwithstanding my taurine induced grass kissing, that summer was the first time I met Estee, so overall it was quite a success. But I did stay away from energy drinks for a very long time, and still only use them when I absolutely have to (usually driving home from the cow farm at hours of the morning that really shouldn't exist).
Yet since I enjoy writing, and my most interesting writing seems to come about while being under some sort of mental irregularity, I'm trying to induce such states. Legally.
This monologue didn't end here. It ended up wandering into some oddly serious pastures, and that was against the rules, so I just chopped out the rest (it meandered into some incoherent mashup of capitalism, advertising, social media, moral, blah blah blah). I have muzzled my fingers against those tempting fields. This time. But in my delicate trappings down over-thinking lane, I did decide to head back to social media. I may do another post about why, for now suffice it to say that I miss my friends out in the cloud, and unless I am going to do some hardcore alternate marketing, ignoring all the potential clients eyes out there seems a bit naive.
Experiment failed. Exhaustion + energy drink has been ruled out as a harbinger of good writing. Maybe I'll have to apply to jury duty again. Or some other situation in which I have nothing else to do besides write.
My site is undergoing some overhauling, and I'm contemplating breaking up my blog into two; a more photo-centric one, and a journal (or whoever I end up calling it) as a home for my rambling mind. Theoretically I would either have to link this somehow to the photos below (which would be quite a stretch) or put in some sort of break symbol (maybe a /// or a *** ) and write a bit about the photos. But I'm going to do neither and just plaster the photos below. As such: