Why am I an asshole?

Because fuck you. It’s all about me. Actually not really. I often think to myself that karma is paying me back BIG TIME for the things I’ve done that have been less than ‘write-home about’ worthy. Or I could simply be so self absorbed and concerned about nobody except myself that it’s really a cry for attention.

IT’S WHO YOU GO TO BED WITH THAT MATTERS

For those that know me, I don’t see eye to eye with certain members of my family. One of the few things I do agree with is that statement.It may not even literally be who you’re in bed with… or who you’re fucking at the moment. It’s the ones you think about as you turn in for the night. And it’s also for the ones that keep the feeling mutual.

We often fall in a trap of being too concerned with what other people think. Sometimes we bring it on ourselves, and sometimes other people volunteer their criticism and give you a complex that you un-admittedly can’t escape. I have a few. But it’s really not that big of a deal. I usually make a joke out of my shortcomings (pun intended) just in case someone else doesn’t know what to say in an awkward moment of self-realization.

There’s no point in worrying about the opinions of those who have no concern about where you are laying your head at night. Even if the only person is yourself, then you should only be concerned with yourself. There is also no need to be concerned if someone is there with you or not. We are all on our own path so don’t force something that you have no right to. If someone else comes along and says ‘let’s ride’, and you want them to ride then by all means, take them by the hand and live your god damned life. Make it fuckin’ awesome.

PERPETUALLY UN-IMPRESSED

This has been a huge problem for me. It may sound like I’m full of myself. Maybe I am. Fuck off. But for reals….

I can’t stay still in my life. In fact lately I’ve been stagnant for too long. I do however, always look for what’s next. Of all the things I’ve done, I’ve learned about people more than I sometimes care to. People can be disgusting. People can be beautiful. Everything in between as well. Nothing surprises me anymore.

Not being surprised doesn’t mean I don’t find myself amazed at what can come from someone. Garbage or Awesomeness alike. Thing is, I get bored of it… Quick. Maybe because I see too many people do what I’ve done with my life. Something gets started and there’s no follow through. It’s quite frustrating.

DO I HAVE TO???

Dating sucks. Talking to people sucks. Making small-talk sucks. Why is it so damn important? Sometimes I just want to be. Simply BE. Maybe I don’t feel like talking. Maybe I do. Maybe I want to talk shit because stirring the pot is a lot more fun than simply watching the flies collect on the surface.

I feel so out of place if I find myself forcing conversations or actions just to please other people. ‘Oh cool dog, what’s it’s name?’ – ‘Tell me more about your ex’ – ‘Can you please just stab me in the eye?’   I remember a topic of discussion in college Literature class. We were reading short stories by David Sedaris. The professor mentioned about how he loves a good story that doesn’t waste your time with things that don’t need to be said.That comment has actually made me wonder why the hell I even do these blogs.

I have no clue why I do this shit anymore. They say it’s good to write… Keep a journal…. whatever. This is dumb.

Cosmopolitan Dating…

I recently met a girl… Oh god, another blog on the internet about dating and experiences that no one else really cares about right? Well, I wanted to write about a concept that I’ve been thinking about the last few weeks.

“Does she like me?” “Is he stable?” “Does she shave?” “Does he love his mom?”

Typical questions we may ask ourselves in the initial process of getting to know someone. The rush of uncertainty within the first stages can be fun and aggravating all at the same time. Why do we do it? I call it Cosmopolitan Dating.

In current times we have social media to help carry us through those ‘oh-so-tough’ personal situations. Motivational memes that tell us to be strong or that being single is the best thing ever or that we are meant for greater things…. Yawn…

My first handful of dates with this girl were great! Really. For me at least. I really liked this one. She was a sight for my sore eyes. She had a slight bitchiness that went along great with her apparent passion to enjoy life however she could. I wanted to do everything right just in case this was one of those elusive unicorns that we all hear about.

Weeks later, I still got excited to see her. Sweaty palms and all. I was excited to see a text from her at any random time. Problem was, each subsequent date felt like the first date over and over again. A connection I was yearning for still seemed like it was dependent on how each first date went. I would talk with friends about it and a common piece of advice was to play a game of sorts. “Make yourself unavailable” or “Ignore her for a while”, “make her feel envy”… Sorry, but I’m not a game player like that and even if I was, why the fuck would I want to pursue someone who I have to play those games with?

Before social media, we relied on these magazines that guided us with articles about sex, dating, being single, being a player… and so on. Why do we have to conform to those standards? Is it because some angsty journalist had some bad experiences yet can write really really well so we take what they say as gold? That’s my guess. It’s probably from decades of Dear Abbeys as well.

Dating should be about doing what YOU feel is right. Not what someone else pushes on you as the way things are supposed to be. As soon as I realized that the only feasible way to ‘maybe’ get anywhere with this girl was to play this game, I shut myself off. I got the hint… whatever that means.

I’m 35 and I can reliably say that I don’t need newsstand advice on how I should feel about pursuing a relationship with someone else. It truly should be ‘Fuck Yes’ or ‘Fuck No’… (google it) This in-between shit isn’t worth it.  

Let’s Fly Away…

The popularity of my blog has waned since I finished up my 365 run last year. I had another weird motivation to write something tonight as I was driving home from work tonight. It’s not really anything to do with a new year resolution… It’s about taking a look inside to what we are most passionate about. For anyone that cares that is…

I was on the Harley quite a few years back when I found something that for some reason I’m still looking for today. It was a post deployment gift to myself. Sixteen thousand dollars of pure sexiness. Of course there are faster bikes out there but there is nothing that can quite compare to over 1500 cc’s of power that erases every care in the world.

I found it at around 130mph on the backroads of North Carolina. A fire was lit inside that I wish I knew how to share with others. After finally ending a toxic relationship and making the leap to join the military in the middle of a ridiculous war, I finally knew what it was to be alive. Everything everyone ever says about the freedom of the open road is true. Solo or not, it’s something I think all of us need to experience one day or another. That feeling is creeping up on me more and more lately.

When you find yourself immersed in the murkiness of a life that you may not totally enjoy, nothing seems to make sense. Friends betray you, lovers leave you, family may shun you… maybe work or your social life just doesn’t seem to be what it should be. I see too many people wasting away their lives on other people’s dreams. Other people’s standards. Other people’s expectations. It’s time to break free.

You know you’re going to die some day right? When you’re finished are you going to be proud of what you’ve done? Was it worth it? Did you waste too many days dwelling on how you want your life to be instead of making it what you want it to be?

No one is going to hand anything to you. You may have people hold a hand out and offer some company along the way but the one who can make you feel the fire inside is you. We can’t stop dreaming or hoping for something better. We shouldn’t waste our time on what some would call the devil’s work. Fear, loathing, depression, apathy, jealousy, envy, egocentrism….

Get off your lazy ass, take a look at those around you… Some people are talk. Some people are walk. Decide who you want to be around and fucking do it already. Quit relying on what everyone else thinks is the cool thing to do. I can’t count how many times I’ve been coerced into doing something I really don’t want to do and I end up regretting it almost every time. It’s partly the reason I have so few friends.

I wake up every day now to an empty pillow beside me so I have to fight to find reasons to keep fighting the good fight. I’ve done my share of bad deeds to make enough people loathe me. I get it. But ya know… when you live your life according to the expectations of others, you end up looking forward to the day it finally comes to an end.

It really is time to start living for yourselves and for the people who really matter. Truth is, you won’t see who really matters until you’ve seen who has walked with you through the hard times. Maybe it’s my own advice that I’m trying to convince myself of, but I’ve done so much with my life and experienced so many things to know this truth… Keep on keepin’ on and one day… You’lll see…

My second greatest love affair…

With my last entry I’m sure I disappointed some who were expecting something juicy about a nefarious encounter with the fairer sex. Though I have plenty of stories hidden away to make the most open-minded people blush, this affair has to do with someone special that I’ve written about a few times before. I figured I’d revisit my thoughts and share them with the bored and easily captivated crowd reading random blogs on a Sunday night.

I’ll cut to the chase… Her name again… Turtle. Turtle Sloop to be exact. The sea slug of sailboats. Fat, Heavy and a little too tender for winds above 10 knots. That being said, there was nothing quite like the feeling I’d get when I’d step outside after a long night of being anchored out in the Puget Sound. Aside from the times of regret of not being aware of what I ate before a venture out into the high seas… err I mean inland waters, There’s not much that can compare. Maybe sex… Maybe flying… Maybe Key Lime Pie…

As I was sitting on the crapper tonight, I was pondering how the fuck I got myself here. My bathroom may very well be as big, if not bigger, than the whole living area on my boat. Some may ask me how I didn’t feel claustrophobic or like a prisoner.

What’s crazy is that the more space I end up having in my living quarters, the more closed off I feel. It was a crazy idea to think that the only real barrier to me not taking off without looking back was a few dock lines and a power cord. Sans the fact that my boat probably wouldn’t survive the open water for long, I literally could go anywhere I want. I’d figure out ways to survive. Fish, hunt, beg… My story would begin. The book would write itself and I would be known as the guy that no one knew because he never stayed.

Even when cozied up in the marina, Turtle was my escape. Every single day. My foot pump sink and musty sleeping berth humbled me. I couldn’t imagine having anything else. Now, I have two faucets in my bathroom and a microwave that doesn’t fall off the wall when it gets windy. What the fuck do I do with two faucets?

I could get teary-eyed thinking about what Turtle did for me… and still does. My story can’t end here. Not like this. There’s more to life than being annoyed at the fact that my cell service doesn’t work in my apartment parking garage.

My Not So Secret Love Affair…

I’ve written of this before but tonight I decided to revisit the romance I’ve experienced and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget. My first time was when I was 14. I barely remember what was going on but all I knew was life would never be the same again. It only lasted a half hour but that was all I needed. I had been working my ass off for the next few months just so I could do it again. I did it four times before my parents found out and I was ‘discouraged’ to say the least. It wouldn’t be until many many years that I would be able to do it again. And let me tell you, there’s not much in this world better than this…

“Big Bend 2, Runway One Eight, Clear for Take-Off”

I had been in plenty of military aircraft (and jumped out of them) enough times that nervousness had no factor in it. It was pure love. Aside from the cocky instructor on my right, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place that has given me as much joy. Then the first big drop came from the crazy thermal action alongside the lake right after take-off. My heart said, “Yes Dave, this is it!”

For the next few weeks it was hardcore studying, chair-flying and immersion into everything aviation. My first solo was in quick order. Unfortunately it took about a zillion landings before the instructor finally jumped out of the plane and let me at it. I never had a problem getting the plane on the ground safely, it was really a process of perfecting it more so to cover the ass of the instructor that signs off. Along comes the first solo. I took to the sky with a love in my heart that no engine stutter or wind gust could shake.

Many hundreds of landings later, check-ride after check-ride and amazing flights along the way I was at the end. I had just passed my instrument check ride and was a few weeks from taking the commercial ride. There was only one check ride I failed… damn plane that I hadn’t flown before gave me a secondary stall about ten minutes in. Gillespie looked over at me and said “Are you serious?” I was dead on the altitudes, radio calls, everything…. That was the one and only time to date that I had experienced a secondary stall. Unfortunately, FAA says some things can’t be overlooked.

After a crazy-stressful instrument ride where I was a thousand feet above my final fix and a half mile out yet still managed to nail the ILS, lady luck was on my side. The chief pilot, who gave me that check ride looked at me after we landed and said “There were two times during that flight that I almost failed you, then you did something amazing and redeemed yourself.” He didn’t actually say if I passed until we got inside and everyone was waiting for the answer. He reached over, grabbed the paper and with a smirk on his face signed off ‘Passed.’

So on to the commercial ride. The last flight at the school. After this, I had one more annoying math test and I was set free. I don’t think I could have been more happy with my last flight. My spot landings were about as perfect as anything. I was even challenged (ungraded at this point) to land dead-stick with no instruments. Not even an airspeed indicator. The check pilot adjusted himself to turn towards me as he blocked off the instrument panel and killed the power. He says “I don’t think you realize how good you are. Now land this plane on those numbers.”

I turned towards the numbers, listening to the whistle of the wind to keep my speed. I came in a little high so I slipped in. 65 knots in a full deflection slip to lose altitude. He was about to rip the ‘oh shit’ handles off if there was any but I had never felt in more control. There was a fence about 40 feet before the threshold that he didn’t think I was going to clear. I aimed at the fence, got my speed up and at the last minute used the last notch of flaps to lift up and over. I straightened out from the slip, full back on the yoke and got the most amazing ‘wert’ from the wheels. Dead on the numbers. Nose wheel dead centerline.

“Take Us Home.”

The final landing at Grant County was actually a bit sloppier. He was used to a different style of soft field landing so he gave me the ‘What The Eff?” look when I came in with more power than his students ever used.

We got back to the ramp, hands sweating, heart racing. He was the kind of guy that always had a list of ‘things’ that I could have done better but he didn’t bring too much attention to it. When he turned to me in the plane he paused. I thought “Oh Shit.” He held out his hand and said “Congratulations, you’re a commercial pilot.” I almost felt like I was going to cry. Not really because I was relieved of the stress of it all, but because I knew this was it. When would I see my love again?

I have neglected it for far too long. Only taking a few flights here and there. I keep my license right in the flap of my wallet and see it every time I open it up to check my phone or grab my debit card.

It’s time for me to find a way back to my love. My happy place. Let’s Fly Away.

“When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return”

Well shit…

I’m realizing it’s really time for something new to happen in my life. Hopefully I’m in some sort of control of what happens.

For the last many months I’ve been trying to wrap my head around some craziness that has occurred in my life. I’ve also realized that there really truly, is nothing stopping me from doing anything worthwhile except for… myself. No, really…

The Dog House Saloon in Fayetteville, NC was where it all came together. Well, most of it. Some of it came from the once in a lifetime love affair I had with a Colonel’s wife. Anyways. I’d drag the Harley out of the garage most nights and ride straight down to have a few cold ones. Coors Light was my vice at the time. Maybe it was the fact that I had a for-real Harley that I got treated like family there, but one of the best things about that place was when I walked in, I didn’t even have to ask for a drink. Daniel, Sarah, Chris, Tara Lee, Clint…. and Ame… Oh, Ame… You were the butter to my bread when I was able to drag you out for company… Or karaoke… Or just kickin’ it listening to cover bands all night.

I remember sitting there one day with Daniel and I said… “I’m going to open a place when I get out.” I was never so sure of anything in my life until that point. Well, mo-fuckers…. I did it. It was a humbling experience really. I got support from people I never expected and I also got hands held out from people I never expected. I lost my soul in that place. It was the moment I’ve written about before in this blog… I sold my .45 to quell those thoughts from coming to fruition. Though I wasn’t a high volume place, I was always running out of food, short staffed and I found myself starting at zero every damn month. What could have catapulted me to the next level was spent on keeping people off my back. It’s surprising who has your back when such things are on the line.

I’m determined to open another place. Or multiples of places. As much as it’s about the money, it’s really about the passion you find within yourself to do something. I can’t quite preach the ideals that I think will carry me through to the next big thing in life, but I can do my best to wrangle up the demons that seem to keep me from progressing.

Somewhere, deep down the fire is still alive… and I’ll be able to tell a bad-ass story someday.

Jesus was a bastard child…

It’s been a while. Oh how I’ve missed this whole writing bit. I found a peculiar motivation tonight to start writing some more. Not sure it will be an everyday affair as I made it before, but ya know… Fuck it.

I’ve hated having to be someone for someone else. I remember having to sit through some bullshit lecture from a camp counselor when me and my friend Kevin didn’t bring our bibles to camp. When they forced us to take possession of their renditions, we got in trouble if we didn’t put them on top of every other item in our drawers. As a kid, I never understood it. I never felt it in my heart. I’ve never been ‘saved’ even when I told people I felt the ‘blood of Jesus running through my veins.’ It was all a shit show story to get people off my back.

The night I was on the floor in the Papa Murphy’s getting my face beat in by some fat fucker trying to rob the place was my first taste of what life was really all about. The only person responsible for saving ourselves is in fact, ourselves.

Come ye bible thumpers and born-again disciples of the almighty. Rip me apart for speaking such foul sentiment of your beloved savior.

My question of the age is this… Why on earth would anyone want to live a life where they are expecting the spirit of a zombie Jew to carry them through? Why not do it yourself? CAN you actually do it yourself?

How’s that for returning to the blog-o-sphere with a bang?

Whether you like it or not, we are all here for a purpose we won’t understand while ‘in the flesh.’ What I will tell you though is that we must learn to be compassionate to one another and understand that regardless of why we are here, this life is not meant to be lived without trying to make some sort of impact on the world. Do it how you please, but quite simply; don’t be an asshole.

It’s not about the money. It’s not about the fame, or notoriety. It’s not really about who you’re fuckin’ or the drama you create because you’re not the one doing the fuckin’… You jealous bastard, you. Take a look at who you really are. Take a look at what’s been put on your plate right in front of you. Quit looking at the heftier portions that are given to those sitting across from you.

Let the friend self-pruning process begin…

My story…

Playing Your Hand Right

This is a blog I found while getting started on this WordPress journey of sorts. Taylor Ocean is his name and there is an eerie familiarity between his life stories and mine… Sans the drugs, SWAT raid and crazy car wrecks… For my modest amount of readers, I suggest you check out his blog, and maybe even check out his book on Amazon.

His stories will more than likely offend many, and literary structure nazis would have a heyday with his prose. Personally, I think he’s got some real balls for doing what he did, telling his story as candidly as possible. I read half his book already tonight and pressed with the fact that I’m due to be up for work in a handful of hours, I’m going to save the last half for a well planned night with a few fingers of whiskey by my side. Kudos to you, man.

So this brings me back to some realizations I have about my life. I need some better stories… Well, ones that I can tell on this open forum. I’ve held thirty something jobs since I was thirteen years old, passed up an opportunity to go to the Naval Academy, passed up college after high school, passed up enjoying my twenties… Got my (then) girlfriend pregnant… (Actually, during post break up sex), got hooked up with a girl eight years older than me, bought a house with her, almost became dad number three to her kids… Spent years working my ass off for her and sacrificing so many opportunities of really good income… I left her cheating, alcoholic ass. Managed a pizza parlor, became a garbage man, then joined the Army at the age of twenty four. Went to Airborne School after basic training, (insert a ton of Army stories here), got deployed twice, (insert more Army stories here), got out, rushed home for reasons I still can’t accept, opened a restaurant from scratch… Ran it, grew it, loved it, hated it, sold it… Became a truck driver, then became a tree worker, onto becoming a tree climber at times… Oh, and I lived on a sailboat for a few years… Then flight school… Got my commercial pilot license free and clear using the GI Bill, learned all about the new age of how entitled kids are nowadays, finished flight school, enjoyed the sailboat before I finally sold it, drove trucks again for a few months then moved to California. Decided to continue using my GI Bill benefits to attend a joke of a school. Name is withheld until I finish this session. All in all, that’s where I’m at… There’s a lot of people in between all of that who have made their way into my heart and I will never be able to get them out. Others I wish I could go back in time and ‘un-meet.’ This can’t be it for me… It’s not my time to begin writing my story. I’ve lived my life for myself and I’m ashamed of that.

I’ve been pondering more than people can ever imagine about what to do with my life right now. I’m thirty three years old and feel like I’m twenty at times. To say the world is my oyster is an understatement right now. I’m trying to live a life of normalcy for a while to help finish the affairs of a lifestyle I chose to live and quite honestly despise. Debts are to be paid, demons are surely waiting to knock on my door again real soon, and life will probably kick my ass beyond recognition real soon.

Here’s my dream… Finish this shit life I’m in. Save up some money, open another restaurant. Make it damn good… Better than I had before. Open another… And another… I want to employ people and give back to people who support me along the way. I want the feeling I’ve gotten a few times in my life where I actually want to get up in the morning. I want to go beyond a simple restaurant. I want to build something to inspire people. I want to live a transparent enough life where I don’t have to pretend in front of anyone. And when someone asks ‘who the hell are you?’, I can say ‘I’m Dave-Motherfuckin-Smyth.’ Hah, well, maybe not in that context all the time, but the passion will be there.

My reality seems to be as far from that dream as ever right now. I spend my days hoping and praying that I don’t get that call that brings me to my knees. Yet, I also wait for the other call that brings me to my knees for another reason. I’ve been acting too long. I’ve been trying to wear this facade in hopes that it’s good enough to carry me through so I can jump in the deep end sooner than later. I fear if I truly let it all hang out, I’ll lose it all… Or maybe that’s the best thing I can do right now…

Dying art…

My writing has dropped off, I know. No one really cares and that’s perfectly OK with me. This is just as much about a discovery for me as it is a discovery for anyone who stumbles upon it to learn about me. I feel less and less motivated to write lately, yet I am finding some aspects of life that I don’t think I’d otherwise feel about if I didn’t come out with the simple truth that is inside my heart this last year.

I’ve confirmed that guilt is not my happy place. Anxiety is not either. The only one that matters at this point is me, and as selfish as that sounds there is really nothing wrong with it. We are allowed to love ourselves and we don’t need confirmation from anyone else. I’ve learned that walking away is sometimes the best thing to do when life isn’t going as planned, yet giving up is not an option either.

I’ve been noticeably weaker lately. I’m tired. I want to sleep because I like it. I want to say nothing sometimes because that’s truly what’s on my mind. I’ve spent enough of my life being crucified for not talking, or talking too much to really give a shit anymore.

What I want to create feels like a painting I haven’t painted yet. I’m sitting in a run down old studio apartment in a city I’m still itching to love with a huge blank canvas ahead of me. Every random thing I do in life seems to be merely the motion of lazily dropping the brush in the paint jar, picking it up and slopping a line or two for me to look at and say “no… that’s not quite right…” and then I rub it off and try to start again. My canvas has the undertones of black and gray along with bright blues reds and greens. All smudged out with a full canvas waiting to be made love to. My art is my life and my life is at a standstill. I know what I want to paint. I can see it clearly yet just like Picasso can’t be told to paint a masterpiece on demand, there’s nothing that can be done to me at this point to force it out. I may never be remembered as anything great. I’m simply a memory of those who have crossed my path and may or may not still be in my life.

I’m standing, waiting, with brush in hand, dying to turn my back on the world and put my love of the fire inside me that I cannot deny onto this huge canvas that has been given to me. For some the traditional arts is their way of communicating emotions. I’ve tried to pick up a few instruments yet I’ve had little luck in channeling the energy to learn the technical aspect. Same as dance or song. Oh, how I’d love to be able to sing. As for me, my instrument is life itself. Orchestrating movements in a world that otherwise makes no sense. Every brush stroke has meaning yet all I want to do at times is tear the canvas down and start completely anew.

It’s the moment of inspiration that we all seem to be needing. Even those who are on a path of altruism have room for more. At this specific point in time I am setting the brush down to walk to an area of life that seemingly does me no good. What is good will come to me, I know.

Still…

I find myself in the same damn spot in life all the time. I wonder if I actually don’t mind it. Being single is actually an understatement. I love people, but I’m constantly going alone. I don’t mean that in a pouty whiny fashion either. I live for myself too often and it gets old. Then I’m reminded of times when I tried to live for someone else, and I got fucked. Prime example, family. It’s ok though, because in something like five billion years the earth will be consumed by the sun and we will be nothing more than…nothing…

After a marathon of a day (15 hours of work and school) I decided to go to my new local watering hole. Guinness is my poison and a good crowd keeps me coming back. For some the toilet is their thinking spot. For me, it’s the bar. A good bar. I’m happy with where I’ve decided to take my life currently but I’m not happy with certain aspects that should have been different.

I decided to open a small little diner in my pseudo-hometown. The support I was expecting was nothing more than a hand ready to be held out with the palm to the sky waiting for a handout. I sold it not because it wasn’t working, but because I wasn’t happy. Plain and simple. I’ve burnt a lot of bridges with it and quite honesty I don’t care at this point. The demons inside me have decided to speak out a bit tonight. Not because of the time at the bar (I only had one Guinness), but because of the overwhelming fatigue from the last few weeks. (And really, the last ten years of my life)

The last visit to my parents was quite sobering for me. For the zillionth time I recently turned my life upside down (flight school)… Seeing my parents after a few years amongst hate-filled emails of guilt and shaming to me, I couldn’t have wanted a faster exit. Everything I’ve done and every decision I’ve made is my fault. Got it. I sold my place still owing money.. Got it…. I paid off people that truly helped along the way. When all is said and done, I was sitting in a house that I’ve never felt comfortable in. Ever. As I’m looking up at the thousands of dollars worth of Thomas Kinkade paintings and the ridiculous amounts of trinkets and random shit, I hear the undertones of guilt being thrown my way. “Oh, the big news…. Me and your dad are going to Ireland for… ” if I had a gun I would have pulled it out, polished one round, stuck it in the chamber and pulled the trigger to my fucking temple. Reminiscing of the time I got my ass beat to a pulp when I was a kid and dropped my wallet on the ground after tossing and catching it like a baseball. I was informed to never ever disrespect money.

Welcome to the first explanation of a part of my blog that I’ve left out this whole time. Ever seen the movie American Beauty? Totally different story line but same sort of effect.

I’m tired now and feel like sleeping. As much as I haven’t shared too many details of a part of my life I hate, there’s plenty more waiting to be vomited out someday. Because of some other really good things in my life right now, I’m finally content with my path. I have no clue what it is, but living for myself once again is an amazing feeling. Guilt is waiting right outside for me though…