jared544

So it's like this, stream of conciousness, spelled wrong. I hate my job, but i hate looking for a new job even more, i hate being hungover but i hate being sober even more. It's amusing isn't it. I talk like I have a leg to stand on but I don't. I'm writing about zombies, journalists, and writers ironically, and it makes me happy. I got a chance to listen to bluegrass the other day and it got me out of a nice spell of depression. Yet I'm not depressed.

Here's all I'm trying to say, sometimes it takes a little bit of moonshine and pack of Marlboro reds to make you walk straight. Sometimes it takes a hit of the cleanest acid and the tastiest weed to make you think straight. Sometimes all you gotta do is sit down and drink a Brooklyn Lager and eat a burger the size of your skull to set you straight.

It's been a hell of a week, I started not wanting to write and than i wrote, i started not wanting to drink and then i drank, i started wanting to be a better person but i'm not and for some odd reason i'm ok with that.

I have an envelope on my dresser that has a picture of an ipod on it, i'm putting money in it.

The world works in a strange way, just listen to broken social scene at 3am and that will prove it.

I wish i could find some peace, but at the end of the day i feel like i'm not ready for it. I feel like i don't really need peace right now, all i need is an acceptance for what i can't control, and appreciation for what i can, and some fucked up realization that all i have is sitting in my lap while i type this.