The long one.

I could and should be blogging every day. Not because I think that what I have to say is so important or that the world needs to know that I had a ham sandwich for lunch but because I keeps me sane. I can put things into focus when I write it down. I need it and I shouldn't care about the reader but I do. I sometimes forget people actually read this shit. Friends, family and complete strangers alike. When I remember them I begin to self censor, and edit, or not post at all. Curiosity forces people to inquire about why I'm not blogging.

I haven't been blogging because something was (is?) wrong. It doesn't take any effort to write 500 words about a movie I saw or that Rob Ford is a fucking monster that WILL destroy Toronto IF he becomes Mayor. I have not been blogging because this is the worst it has ever been.

I was an interesting person once, I feel it slipping away. I have always felt a supreme confidence that I was special, but that feeling seems to have slipped away as the months turn to years. I hate this feeling, cause I know it's not real. Mom asks, "Do you think you might be depressed?"

Yeah you could probably call it that, but pills won't help. I need a job, a girlfriend and... I think thats about it. Not a career, just a job, I could take care of my debt and go back to Burning Man in 2011. Not a wife, just a girl who wants to be with me. Then I'm back on top.

How much of what has happened to me in life is by my own actions and how much was just chance or fluke? I can blame my handicap for a lot of things but really laziness was always the issue. 

If you could see my blog dashboard you would probably notice most posts marked as draft, meaning unpublished. I wrote a title and a few paragraphs but never completed the act buy clicking the "publish post" button. The ideas are often fully formed but I lack the fortitude to share them with the world.

I haven't worked in more than three years. I'm not proud of this, nor am I proud of suckling at the teat of an already overburdened social safety net. I could have gotten a job right away. I should have gotten a job right away. Instead I played around, living far beyond my means, my "achievements" during this time amounting to nothing more than anecdotal blog posts.

What kind of person goes to California without any prospect of how to pay for it, and then does it again 10 times? I was convinced some type of spark was waiting for me. I'm back down on planet earth now. No bailouts or lottery tickets are going to elevate my station. I will do it myself.

I have typed it before in this very space that I will do a better job but I really mean it now. I swear. The rash of posts that follow this will prove I am telling the truth. If you notice the months that follow are empty then I am a fucking liar.

I realized today that one year from now I will be almost thirty years old, a grown man with nothing to show for it but a collection of dusty souvenirs in a tiny room. If my loathing of Happy Hardcore* has given me anything it's the drive to not become him.

Click the fucking button, publish post...

*Happy Hardcore is an abrasive form of techno music popular for a brief time in the early 90's, I use the term as a pet name for my roommate down the hall who has little if any respect for the other people living in the house. The deafening sound of his terrible taste in music wafts from down the hall daily as does the smell of off brand cigarettes he constantly smokes. He is in the parlance of our times, a fucking douche bag.