joyrider

i don't think i've written anything worth reading for a while. this scares the fuck out of me: this is the nightmare where i wake up with no tongue and a mouthful of blood.

i've got this ongoing fight with the real world. i am not interesting in the real world - that's pretty apparent to anyone that knows me. i want to be firing a wood kiln in the desert, or listening and watching waves on the coast, or eating thai food with hungry friends. i do not want a shitty job that requires me to wear a name tag and run a cash register. i have problems with this. some people would get it, and agree, and bitch about jobs and the mundane, and others would say that i am a crybaby and should live in the real world. i could care less about either. what i need is to remember that it doesn't matter whether i am stoking a kiln under the stars or punching keys under floro lights: everything is, i am, and that's enough.