I am sitting here swaying back and forth to music while I contemplate the infinite and, as always, prepare to format my computer because that is a thing I do to relax in this modern techno-age that we seem to find ourselves in today.
Originally I was going to write about the impending nuclear holocaust we are all going to broil in, but I thought that came across a little heavy, so I threw on Mr. Brightside on repeat and I am giving you the delightful Stream Of Consciousness that is me thinking of things at far too fast a pace and trying to shove everything in these little cubby holes in my head that not only do they not fit in, they were never even designed to be sorted, so, come on, should be a killer time.
First is that for the first time in a few years, I really, REALLY want a cigarette. I mean, it comes up now and again with stress and whatnot, but fuck it is harsh today. I am not going to go and get any, but I am going to bitch about it, so you get to watch that fantastic event. I think it is because I use to always go out on the porch and smoke a lot when there was a fuckton on my mind like there is today. It helped me process and I need that today. It is all good though, I will try to find a perhaps not so carcinogenic crutch for my psyche to lean on for a little while. I will stay sober too, mostly because that takes the thoughts to the wrong places and it is more counterproductive than anything else, you know?
Maybe it is a mania thing. I don’t know much about it, because people shutting down the option that I have such a thing, but it feels like all the literature I have read on it. However, therein layeth the problems my loves. I know the things so maybe I am manifesting the symptoms purely to explain other things. It is a real asshole thing to do to yourself too. I mean, if I gave myself Ebola at least I would have petechial hemorrhages in my eye holes and liquefied organs to show for my efforts.
So, instead, I am going to shut off my computer, put in the little stick of power, turn it back on and zone so deep into a world of ones and zeroes that there will be nothing left for me to worry about.
You stay motherfucking classy San Diego.
© 2020, TheJameyBear. All rights reserved.
I am JameyBear. Liberal. Hippie. Dad. Widower. Poet. Author. Sarcastic Ass. Friend. Lover. Hater.
I have lied and cheated, stolen and done violence in word and deed.
I have given the shirt off my back and they wanted the skin underneath instead.
I am a notorious soft touch, wearing my heart on my sleeve and wanting to make everyone happy.
I tip too much, too often, too many places, and it is has burned me even as recent as this week.
I love everyone I have ever hated still. I will always love the memory of being in love with them.
I want to be your friend. No. I want you to want me to be your friend.
I am clingy and needy, dependent and hopelessly lost in times that I will never live in.
I use language that was archaic when archaic was a new word in the early 19th century.
I want to record myself reading everything so people won’t forget me when I disappear.
I talk too much, listen too deeply, process too quickly and infer way too much.
My beard is also better than yours