A (Not THE) Moment of truth
It's funny how all of a sudden I can't stop being creative. All day long, inspiration and ideas flood my mind, but I'm too goddamned tired to do anything about it. The closest things to poems that I'll ever write formulate themselves in my head. My mind must be some kind of hell though, because they try desperately to escape, bribing me to write them down, so they can get stuck in someone elses mind. This doesn't make sense. But then, when do I ever? And on top of that, who ever reads this fucking page? No one. That's who.
Now, the really unfortunate thing about all this is that the fact that I have no channel or outlet for this sudden onset of creative flow is that it's beginning to effect the way I percieve people, or the way I react to them and the things they say. I'm becoming paranoid about the things that people say to me, or about what they're saying about me. I read way too much sometimes, or just assume that they're being sarcastic and implying something hurtful. That kind of thing can affect relationships. But do you know what affects them ever more? Lies. And boy am I caught in a mess of those. I tell so many of them that I've started to forget. Or I tell ones that contradict. Perhaps It's pathological. Then I have an excuse, and isn't that what we're all looking for in the first place? I lie to make my life seem more exciting. I lie to make the people who piss me off look as bad as possible. I lie to make the people who piss me off feel as bad about themselves as possible. I lie to make myself appealing, or pathetic, depending on which one will get me more attention. I lie because alot of the time, lies spring into my mind before the truth does.
At first I thought she was standing far from me. Even from a distance she was beautiful. I realized eventually that she was not distant at all, but right there at my feet, to be admired close. She was just small, tiny in fact. Delicate. Like a child with an insect, I scooped her into my hand, ever so gently. She stood on my palm, and it tickled when she moved. She fascinated me. My curiosity eventually got the better of me, and I began to prod at her, curious about what I could learn from this little wonder She tired of it quickly, and bit my finger. It hurt and made me angry. So, like a child with an insect, I closed my fist tightly around her, and crushed the life from her. I felt momentary loss as I stared at the wreckage in my palm, but I cast her carcass aside, dusted my hands, and went to look for another one.
Finger Eleven To the Rescue
Now, I'm a big finger eleven fan. I own the CDs, keep track of their tours, try not to miss any nearby shows. That kind of thing. I catch myself singing their songs all the time. But, it wasn't until the other day when I caught myself writing out the lyrics to sick of it all at work to pass the time that the meaning hit me. Well, the first verse really. I kind of realized that my life was in a slump, and that alot of things were passing me by. I'm working 70+ fucking hours/week, and I tend to spend my time at home cleaning up after my roommates (which is probably an entire post in itself), sleeping, or sitting at the computer like I'm doing now. I realized as I scrawled out the lines on paper, that I was in fact sick of it all, and I want things to change. Not just my work life, but my love life, my social life, my routine, my habits, my vices. It's time I scrap it all and start anew. But I can't. And why not? The almight dollar. That's why. I can't afford to quit a job, to give myself the time I need. I can't give up a job and still afford to get out on my own, out of this hostile territory. I've tried to figure it out. Even if I cut out beer, don't get cable, or the internet (GASP!) once I'm out on my own I'm still screwed. I'm pretty much jaded against getting any new roommates. I wouldn't want to live with people I don't know, and I've learned that I shouldn't live with people I do know. I need to be by myself. Hell, i'd be happy if I could get away by myself for a week. Just to unwind. Maybe it's this city, this province, this country that's driving me insane. The familiar surroundings. SICK OF IT ALL! What do I do though? Do I quit one job and get another? Will that be enough? Do I quit one, make what changes I can, and live even closer to the poverty line that I already am? Do I quit both, sell all my earthly possessions and move to the west coast with my best friend, and hope I can hack it? That seems like the right option. In my head anyway. Maybe not the most feasible at the moment, but with enough planning, I can probably do it. In any case, at least I've realized that I can't go on living the way I have been. And I have Finger Eleven to thank for it, so go buy their CDs.