“Andrew, nothing about you will ever be hot.”
I don’t know why I don’t get down on myself in situations like these. Maybe that’s just my coping mechanism. Maybe it really does hurt my feelings as badly as everyone else, and I just subconsciously get furious.
You know what else weirds me out? When I get really angry, and I mean like, REALLY angry, I don’t lose control. I think I get more in control.
And if I’m being completely honest, that scares me.
I’ve lost a lot of friends in my life. It gets easier and sadder the more times you do it.
I worked myself into the ground last week and the week before, and now that my big project is over I’m bored out of my head and having a fuck hard time actually accomplishing anything. Additionally, tomorrow I’m leaving for Chicago after spending last weekend in Pittsburgh and Erie and getting zero sleep, and I can’t tell if I’m excited or annoyed that I won’t have a weekend to chill. Every emotion I’m feeling contradicts another emotion I’m feeling.
I sometimes wonder like… if I’m legitimately a little crazy. Like, empirically speaking, there is no fucking way that everyone on Earth can think the same way that I do. It’s impossible. The world would have ended centuries ago.
Man I haven’t been this angry at people in a long goddamn time.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that there are very good reasons I am alone. Most notably, I’m good at it, and it’s when I’m at my best.
My life was easier when I was working so hard I couldn’t sleep.
The older I get the more I realise there are no grown ups and nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing.
If there’s no risk of death, why bother doing it?
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this. There are two very strong sensations which by all rights should cancel each other out, but they don’t.
On one hand, I’m lonely. I wish I had someone to watch me work and be here supporting me, fall asleep even though I won’t tonight. Or even a friend to text back and forth with, honestly would be nice. Someone to speak to and complain to, to listen to what I’m doing and stand witness to the effort I have been and will continue to exert.
On the other hand, though… I’m thrilled to be doing this alone. Moreover I’m actively avoiding people who are interacting with me. Because there’s something nice in resisting the people who are trying to talk to me. It’s not that I’m mad at them, or anything. It’s just that there’s this solitude I’m feeling, this singularity of purpose. I haven’t felt it for ages, probably nigh on a year. I haven’t worked like this since college, not since Hosey and the Black Winter. I’d forgotten how in control you feel when you pour every living, breathing ounce of your soul into a project, so much so that it begins eating away at your life force. It’s sharpening. It’s cruel, and painful, and I’m not getting paid overtime, and it’s hard, so hard.
But damn it do I love this feeling.
Damn Negro, I am drunker than I thought.