Sunday et Fin

Post wise, it was a fairly good weekend, though nothing too creative.

I’m happy to be back and interacting with the lovely folks of WordPress. I hate social media, always have, but this community is so pretty and inspiring and encouraging—it’s kind of surreal how much I like it. I’m a cynic and a pessimist, so I tend to look at every good thing expecting the worst or searching for a catch, but I’m happy to say, I don’t need to do that here. I’m still suspicious of the kindness and support towards me and my writing, but that’s just because I’m a chemically unstable, paranoid asshole, though I’m learning to believe all of your kind words, and all of the kind words I receive in my real life, and kindness in general.

I learned a weird thing about me today: I don’t wear boxers most of the time. Yes, I free-ball. How did I not realize this? I have no fucking idea. I’m neurotic and obsessive and hyperaware, yet I’m also an oblivious ditz. What’s weirder is, none of my past lovers have ever mentioned my lack of underwear. Maybe it’s a new thing. I don’t know. I do develop weird quirks out of nowhere, often having to do with things I deem unnecessary—so maybe that’s what happened. Again, I answered my question shortly after posing it to myself. I’m a weirdo. And there has been some head and/or ball out oopsies while cycling. Yea, I’m a moron. I knew I often go free-ballin, I just have horrible short term memory. This is my thinking process, folks. A dumpster fire, yea?

Hmm I actually feel like writing more.

Some new things in my life: I changed roles recently at work, with an embarrassingly small raise that makes me want to firebomb my building(that’s a joke, NSA, not a threat), but I’m kind of stuck at my job right now because the healthcare plan they provide is amazing—a must for the amount of therapy/medication I require to half-way function—but I really need to start looking harder for a new job, preferably telecommuting and independent contracting. Anyways, I’m now a Graphic Support Coordinator; it sounds fancy, and definitely looks good on a resume, but it basically means I coordinate our Graphic Support team (duh) to fix live designs and root designs on our marketplace, work with engineering(who are crazy smarter than me, and autistic…I think) to fix issues in the tools/programs we use and propose updates and fix/report glitches. I do a lot of shit on the side, writing instruction manuals for our tools and processes is probably my favorite task, that I do despite having a team that could do it for me—I guess that’s just my love for writing. I’ve had a few “that email was fantastic, I want you to write all mine,” which is pretty funny, to me. I love writing epic emails, that, unbeknownst to the people I’m sending them to, is just me mocking the company, and my bosses, via verbose explanations for inane processes that could be explained in two long sentences. I find it hilarious, but again, that might just be my weird personality.

Alright, no more work talk. How about some spicy stuff: I met a new girl, one that my lover will love once I surprise her with our new plaything. She’ll be the super freak in the equation. Some of her fets involve fire play(scary) rape play(I’ll never do, not my thing) extreme dominance(I’m down) being fucked on top roses, thorns and all(kind of interested in, but I don’t like wasting pretty flowers) double domination(down, but my lover is not very dominate) cutting(ehh no) watersports(the name is creepy, but peeing on girls in the shower is funny, not sexy) and a bunch of other interesting fets, many I have never heard of, nor will ever likely try. I’m still the vanilla one, but I love to please, so I’m pretty much down for anything, as long as it doesn’t creep me out. Dominance is a weird thing for me; I’m able to be a dom, but I’m such an easy going, you do you, type of person, that it makes it hard to tell a girl to shove her ben wa balls in her ass then lick my cum off my boots(yea, TMI? sorry). I’m a novelty whore—I love trying new things in all aspects of my life—so I’m constantly looking for new ways to get my rocks off, and the number one thing that gets my rocks off, is getting another person’s rocks off. That makes me a good lover, I guess.

Hmmm what else? Ohhhhhhhhhhh I bought a new bike. Fuck, she’s amazing. Her name Is Cabrini Green. She’s a mean 24 speed with disc brakes and an incredibly sexy lime green frame. Fuck. My lover got mad because I describe Cabrini like she’s a gorgeous woman. Sorry, I’m a cyclist :). I can’t wait until spring. Currently, I bike 30 miles a day, but once the weather gets better, I’ll double that, on average, and likely triple it more days than not. I fucking love riding; it’s so fucking fun; it makes me feel so fucking free. One day, I’m going to disappear on my bike. Head south down the coast, into Mexico to chill for a bit, then smash through the rest of the shithole Central American countries(sorry, they suck) except for Nicaragua, it’s beautiful, then skip the first two countries(?) in north east South America(?) and go straight into the non shitty countries, then Brazil, and settle in Uruguay. I think that itinerary is correct haha. I’m fairly knowledgeable geography wise, but I got drunk while writing this.

Uruguay will be my home one day, maybe Argentina, though I’ll be outwardly anti Che Guevara if I live in the latter; he was an asshole, murder, and hypocrite, the last being the worst. I can’t stand people who like Che Guevara, it’s fucking annoying. Yes, he had an enviable life, but as a person, he was shit. A failed capitalist turned communist; a doctor that enjoyed killing people; a homophobe; a possible rapist; he was a slew of shitty things people ignore because he was hot as fuck. HOT AS FUCK. I’m not gay, but I’d bend him over. Jokes, kind of–I’d let him suck my balls.

Simon Bolivar is a real Latin American hero; the George Washington of South America, the liberator of five(contemporary) countries, an amazing leader and thinker, up there with the founding fathers of America. The US really fucked up by not assisting Bolivar in his revolution. South America would be so much better if the US had assisted two hundred years ago, not turn most of the countries into banana republics. Ew, I’m getting into politics.

I want to move into South America, only a few handful of countries, because they maintain Eurocentric values(people might not that I call it that, but it’s true) that mesh well with my personality. America in a vacuum is lovely, and perfect for me, but I hate the mechanics that keeps it as the world’s soul mega power. Fuck, politics again. I’ll leave it at, I’m proud of being an American, and despite all the shitty things it’s done/does, it’s still an overwhelmingly positive force today…though, it might not(probably not) won’t maintain it’s position for much longer. Hopefully, it goes down the route Sweden made: a former empire(small, yea) that turned isolationist, and created a self sufficient economy(I can’t remember the term for that). FUck, no more politics. I’m drunk and rambling haha.

Oy vey, 1200+ words of me saying nothing—I’m a platinum rambler. I’ll leave this at, I love all of you. Thank you so much for reading and liking and commenting and being you. There are so many unique souls on here—it’s quite comforting. You all make me feel weird and normal at the same time. Thank you. I hope everyone had a great weekend and have a great week. Good night.

And ehhh I’m not spellchecking or going over this again at all, so sorry if there are any errors. Blah blah blah, I say this every time, you know what’s up.

 

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How should I begin this?

Hello?

How have you been?

World, I’m back,

Fuck that.

Nothing has changed. I’m still a curmudgeon. I’m still better off left alone.

Though, I think it’s a good idea to attempt to post something of worth on here, yea?

Why?

I don’t know.

I don’t really have anything to say. I haven’t posted in weeks, and I feel like that’s a good thing. I said that I’d delete this blog if I didn’t make it sober into Feb; well here I am, and what? What the fuck? Stupid, stupid, stupid. I learned fucking nothing. I might have well been in a drunken haze for the last month. Instead, I was painfully lucid. Painfully in touch with myself. Painfully aware of all the pain others feel. I fucking hate it. I’m so fucking sick of it. I should’ve never quit drinking. Now I just have pent up anger and annoyance and indignation and all those stupid feelings people who feel too much experience.

I made it to Feb, only barely though. I can’t be around a lot of people sober, so I shut myself in for long periods of time. It’s not them, it’s me–at least, mostly me–but I can’t control my caustic nature. I hate fucking everything. I need booze to function; to like and love; to not sit in a corner and plot the point in time I’ll bash their stupid fucking heads in. I’m crazy, I hate it. I’m nice, really. Or maybe I’m not.

Again, none of this makes sense. Nice post, B—you stupid, fucking moron. Nobody wants to hear your shit. Die.

Nearly four weeks of sobriety and I learned nothing. I didn’t expect to, but I hoped and wished I would. I want something more. I want something more than me but get nothing.

I don’t sit idly. I spent all the time reading about various subjects to better me; none of that retarded chicken soup for the stupid fucking soul or how to not lose your shit and punch your sister in her stupid fucking face.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean that.

What did I do in my sobriety? I added further annoyances to my purview. I binged on conspiracy theories–flat earth in particular. I laughed at morons not understanding basic science while chastising myself for not knowing the same science.

Conspiracies are hilarious. I fucking love them. Of course, I don’t believe them, with the exception of every Jew conspiracy—they really do run the media and control the weather.

I find the psychology of conspiracy theorists interesting. Maybe, it just gives me the chance to not feel like a fucking dolt.

“Oh, the earth is flat? What about equatorial mounts?” silence.

Easy peaxy.

Oy, another rambling post. Did you miss me? I don’t, didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t, never would. I s/b put down. What a whiner I am. Sorry.

I can’t remember the day I quit drinking, and I refuse to look it up, but it feels like weeks. I think I’m right. I’ll guess, first week of Jan–so maybe a month? I don’t know. Who the fuck cares? That’s the sign of an alcoholic. Counting the days like a convict in prison. I think I’d like prison as long as there’s a proper library…how stupid.

I made it sober this long because I shut myself out from society. Bedroom, bathroom, road, train, work, and the same in reverse. The same for weeks. The weekend? Locked in my garage chain smoking, with the exception of my lover coming down one weekend to see who I really was: a sober coward.

I made it though. There was one close call. I hadn’t hung out with one of my best friends for a few months, so I agreed to go play pool with him and my brother. I was excited, high off kratom and Gaba (kinda cheating), but soon after getting to my pool hall, my friend came back and told me my ex was there. Normally, I wouldn’t give a fuck–I’d actually trip more that it was brought up at all–but it was an ex I particularly loathe. An ex who spent her time talking shit about me behind her back to friends I introduced her to. An ex who had the personality of whoever her friends were/who she was dating. She was a chameleon, and I actually envied it. I’ve never had the ability to blend in; to adopt the personality traits of the people I’m around; to fit in; to take advantage of other’s desire to find those like them.

I envied her, but I also hate her, because she’s fake. The fakest person I know. Normally, I don’t give a shit about those type of people, but she stole aspects of my personality–and I’m not being a scornful lover–she stole my fucking personality. The same people she thought she could talk shit about me to laughed as she mimicked my personality.

Fuck, that sounds so bad. I’m a piece of shit, not worthy of emulating. I guess that’s why I hate her so much. I have so much self-loathing, so much pain inflicted by myself and others,; so many lonely years, without anyone, without myself…all I had was my personality, and she stole it. I hate her. She stole a black and blue personality and rocked it like it was a name brand. I hate her. A chameleon cunt. A stupid, fuckingĀ  biter.

I ignored her at the pool hall. She came up, expecting me to be something(?), I’m not sure.

I told her that my precum has more personality than she does.

I told her that her Asian pussy is equivalent to a black micro dick.

I’m ashamed of what I said, but I’m glad she got a bit of my wrath.

Maybe I should thank her for inspiring me to write a few clever things.

Now, I’m done with her.

and I’m done posting.

I think I’ll be able to post something pretty manana.

Thank you, all you beautiful individualists.

Oh, not spellchecking or rereading :)/