locked up with nowhere to go

It’s strange that you can work all week anticipating your day (‘days’, for the lucky people; meaning not singular) off, only to realize when it comes that you have absolutely no idea what to do with it.  It’s not that I’m ungrateful, more that I’m not in the mood to do much with myself. Yet, laying around being useless sounds rather dull. What a dilemma.

Lately I’ve been driving around aimlessly, wasting precious premium fuel for no reason. I don’t even have the money to be wasting the fuel, yet I can’t come up with anything solid enough to keep me from meandering about. I catch myself driving 90 on the backroads, usually up to the lake.

They say people are drawn to bodies of water, and that a huge percentage of the population dreams about something related to it.  Lakes are often deep. They go black in the middle, and ripple around the edges. I like watching water because it sways like it’s alive. It’s this strange, massive blob of untapped potential that can be a relief in the heat or can drown you on a whim.  The best things are always polar like that. Maybe that’s what makes them so terribly attractive.

I like things that make me feel like I’m going to die. Fear is a beautiful thing; it can take something mediocre and make it extraordinary.  Living things are on this endless mission to avoid death, to avoid pain, when really it is the key to everything. It is what makes us tick.

That’s why it feels good to get fucked up the ass or good to get choked by a dick. Our very nature dictates that we flee from it, yet when we turn to it for comfort it becomes something else entirely. What if pain and pleasure are the same thing, but we are just too stupid to know it?

The minute pain is desired, is the moment it no longer hurts.  Or, to revise that statement: the moment it no longer hurts one way, it hurts in another. Isn’t it pain when something so good feels unbearable? You don’t wish it away . . . you desire to keep it, yet you unconsciously flinch away, force yourself stiffen and take it. Your brain tells you it feels bad, but your heart… Well, let’s just say sometimes it says otherwise.

I feel like I’m in grey. I’m so confused about everything. It blends together then melts away.  I feel more and more like myself every day, yet different. I feel more like the person I’ve always wanted to be, but somehow it seems twisted, just off. This isn’t quite what I imagined. It’s darker than I thought. I figured this would be a place of light; the lack of shadows and confusion, but there are even more now. Every corner I turn is another shade of grey, with black blurring out the edges. I seek it out. I wanted darkness, somehow. But I still never thought it would be this way. It’s certainly not what everyone else has, but maybe it works for me. Maybe it really is what I’ve been wanting.

My own inner arrogance is stifling. I feel murdered by internal thoughts. I feel so beyond everyone and their way of being because to me it’s just a game and I don’t care about winning or losing, just sheer, unadulterated enjoyment. Fuck, be fucked, eat, be eaten.  Having a job is just a test of endurance at this point. I can quit any time, but I haven’t. I’m making more money than all the snobbish assholes who went off to college with their noses upturned at me when I dropped out. Somehow, that makes me smile. I’ve never been above revenge, even the more petty kind.

The real irony is that I work at a fucking fast food chain. I feel like that teenager that all the adults are secretly laughing at, murmuring about how I’ll change my tune in a couple of years, grow out of it, settle down and have my 1.5 children or whatever the fuck the average is now.  I’m still too immature, I still talk like an angsty 14 year old.  But it doesn’t matter, because I see them now, I see them for what they all are: teenagers with kids and bank accounts. They never grow up, and they certainly never gain enough intelligence to recognize that fact. The world is stagnant, nothing but a putrid cesspool we continue to dirty.

I still have sex dreams about Marilyn Manson.

There are some things you just never grow out of.


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