Hell Weeks

Is it just me or is everyone absolutely fucking miserable these last few weeks? I’d normally blame sunspots, but from my own point of view I can validate feeling like poop.

I guess it began when I lost on fantasy baseball. My summer was caught up trying to win money from people who work for a company that’s going out of business. I can’t feel too bad for them. After all they have children to feed while my extra food intake is just from a lack of self control.

After losing that, I felt my whole summer had been wasted and I needed a victory. Work was getting busy and I has less time to work on the creative aspect of the job as I had previously. So I decided to submit what I assumed was the best thing I had ever written to a website that gives professional and liberal reviews. Accidentally, I ordered two reviews. This was fine until I got a 6/10 followed by a 4/10. Granted the advice was helpful. However when seeking an easy victory in life it sucks to be called average.

Like I said, work has been stressful too. Between my every day duties, silly requests, and telling my coworkers to use the n word less I’ve been very busy. I’ve also fucked up and so have my coworkers. And when we fuck up, rightfully so, our boss is mad. She’s not fun to be around when she’s mad because well–she’s a she. I’m also in charge of most duties so in the end it’s up to me to enforce the law.

One small victory, and I’m talking the size of a three inch penis, was having a blog post I wrote read on the radio. The two hosts enjoyed it and made me feel good. Actually my hand made me feel good. They just supplied the background noise.

It’s weeks like the last few that make me question a lot. I was at one point so driven to succeed and make something of myself. I guess I still am. I write every day and I think I’m better at it. But who knows? It’s all a matter of opinion anyway.

I’m sitting on the floor of a train as I write this too only because my feet hurt too much to stand. I’m getting old and this Thursday I’ll officially be there. I turn 27 then. I’m at the age where most musicians die in their own vomit. I have trouble smacking my own stomach to a beat so my fate is something else.

Changing weather, darker evenings, and general reasons to be upset are what have made the last few weeks a little hellish.

All of this losing, I wonder how people on Cleveland live with themselves.

(Pepsi drinker hell)