Let me digress here for a bit.
This weekend was interesting. I basically spent the entire weekend by myself getting as fucked up as I could and I really want to talk about it.
Thursday - Thursday was a good day. It was the last day before spring break and I thankfully attended all of my English classes this week- aced the quizzes, too. I also got back my first exam that I barely studied for and awesomely received an A- (A B+ on the essay portion, but no one's complaining). So, blah, blah. Went to work, etc. And now with the house to myself I decided to stay home, hot-box in the bathroom, and get fucking baked. And I did.
Friday - Woke up in a hassle, dreading work but got that shit down. Again, with a house to myself, I decided I didn't want to see people today and lazed around by myself until about 11PM. My mind literally walked to the half full handle of vodka my parents left around so I just got seriously drunk. Honestly, I wanted to try writing something while drunk but zilch. Anyway, after sobering up a little bit, a friend decided to come over to smoke and this is where I get crossed and just begin to spill my sob story to my friend. I don't think it really mattered to my friend, though.
Saturday - Woke up dazed and confused to smoking a fat ass joint with the friend and him leaving me unbelievably stoned. Munched out of take-out delivery (thank somebody for delivery, I swear) and ended up falling asleep for a few hours. Woke up at around 1AM (technically now a Sunday), drove to a friend's little get together and decided to smoke some more.
Sunday - Didn't really feel like doing anything, but decided I should add a little productivity. Everything sounded bland but I don't think I did anything besides smoking and munching the fuck out. Needless to say, I obviously got nothing productive done.
Regardless; Back to the first order of business, I think this is where the problem lies. As I spent basically the entire weekend in solitude, I don't think anybody really noticed. I've been out and about daily disregarding my weekend in solitude, and I've been feeling this for a while.
Whoever the writer may be- I'm not the protagonist of the story.
I'm neither the protagonist or antagonist of this story somebody is writing.
I'm merely the side character people don't necessarily want to delve deeper into. I might be the one to snide sarcastic remarks or relieve life with a bit of comedy, but I'm still not the protagonist.
And then I began to think of you and just how fucking stupid I am.
Like... what the fuck.
My gum on you had nothing to do with you.
It was about me and my want to be the main character because you're a main character. And maybe if you were here, I'd be a bit more important too.
Does this even make any sense?
This has nothing to do with you.
And, if I may say, I'm fucking done with this. Why do I have to always feel this way?
It's pathetic but all I'm trying to say is, hey, I might and kind-of be a catch, too.
I also don't even know what to do with this piece of information that I've recently acquired about myself. I'm really trying to learn positive thinking, but this utterly just ate my mind and I'm not sure what to do with it. And I'm so prone to simply chuckle and tell myself to just fucking blow my brains out. And my fucking mind proceeds to tell me that that'll get the writer's attention.
But I don't want to fucking do this anymore, either. I don't want to always hope that I'll accidently drive off the wrong side of the road or anything.
To be honest, I'm beffudled.
And if it takes $70 an hour for somebody out there to fucking listen, does that make it genuine?
Regardless,
Welcome to the
*Please, refrain from believing this has anything to do with anybody in my life.
This has to do with me and the writer of this story.
P.S. I honestly think the weed has nothing to do with me feeling this way. Let's keep an open mind about that wonderful plant.
