If you know me none of this will come as a surprise

So my last holiday vacation of the year is over. It wasn't much. I spent my time at home, back in Iowa. Most of it with family, some of it, not enough, with friends. I'm finding it increasingly more difficult to be nice to my parents. They really can't say much to me without me getting annoyed or frustrated. They feel like they are on eggshells around me. Other people have said this to me before. I don't quite know why I get like that. I have a tendency to make others feel stupid or judged, I've noticed. It's never been my intention to make people feel like that. I run out of patience easily. I jump to conclusions. I assume that most people know what I'm talking about. I'm kind of a resentful, hate-filled, son of a bitch. Or maybe that's just who I am part of the time.

Because you have to get that way, no one is ever just born a hate filled s.o.b. I think I pinpointed a major source of resentment this weekend with my parents. My relationship with them is a bit superficial. We talk, but we don't talk about anything. It's like they're almost afraid to get to know me. There's 3 things they want to know when we talk: how's the car running, how's work going, what's the weather like up here. I know they care about me. My dad still shakes my hand and will never say "I love you" unless I say it first - and sometimes not even then. My mother tries, but I can tell she's not really interested. She's just kind enough to know that it means something to me that she gives a damn. The only person I can talk to is my sister. She feels the same about me. Our family is trying to plan a week long reunion in Yellowstone National Park. I can't begin to tell you how unappealing this idea is to me.

Am I really this spoiled?

I used to pride myself on my honesty. But this past week I've been a liar. I've been only vaguely honest with myself and, at best, deceptive towards those I love and care about. I must be afraid that I have something to lose. Or maybe I'm just tired of dealing. Either way, I think I have some letters to write.

Haiku

We pay pro athletes
so that we don't have ruined
American towns.

Fuck This

Me: Drinking alone, listening to Earth, thinking about hatred and what it'd be like to have no lower half to my body.

Sid: Just gets home, walks into my room. Hey man, how's it going?

Me: Eh. Moderate pause. You?

Sid: Pretty good, what're you up to?

Me: Just drinking enough to fall asleep.

Sid: Yeah, I didn't sleep much last night either. I was having SEX in there. Points to room.

Me: That's awesome.

Sid: Wanna smoke a bowl?

Me: No.

--- The End ---

Fuck this world.

Drinking Malt Liquor To Stay Alive

I don't know what I'd do if I hadn't found that cat.

Drinking Malt Liquor To Fall Asleep

I had big plans tonight: drink beer, listen to the Celtics game streamed online. I came home, drank one beer, started listening to the game and then fell asleep. I woke up with just enough time to hear the Celtics come back from 6 down to tie and then lose on foul shots with .01 seconds left on the clock. Good job, guys.

So, it's 10:30 p.m. and I can't sleep. I have 3 days left of my mid 20's and this is how I'm spending it: drinking so I can fall asleep after sleeping to sports radio. Let's just fast forward to a 65 year old version of me who prays for a failing liver because his ex wife is dead and his grown kids won't return his calls. It'd save us all some time and complaining.

I need to start a band. God bless Cole, but I don't think Troubadour is a band. We don't practice, we don't write songs. I need to start writing songs. I need to find people to jam with. I keep telling myself it is due to a lack of practice space. And that could be so. But I don't know, if the right people were involved it wouldn't matter. Troubadour might have some big shows lined up, but I almost feel like saying "nope, not going to do em." I am not putting myself out there on a limb anymore for shit like this.

I'm kinda sick of being this negative. I think I was in a good mood a few days ago. But I don't remember. Maybe it's the Mickey's. After the holidays I'm getting my solo project lined up and in effect. Done bitching for now. I love you all.

Oh, go here: http://www.daytrotter.com/article/1107/a-black-lung-a-black-heart-a-black-beauty

Later.

SERIOUSLY, GUYS

Life is a dull vacuum of disbelief in which I am constantly wishing I was stoned, dead, happy, running, laughing, writing, or getting just enough sleep. Fucking anything that would stave off the anger. It's all pointed inwards. Things are happening. Accomplishments are routing themselves all over my red, pasty body. Like infernos of deference, they wake me up with just enough time to shower and go off to work. Just enough time to get 5 scrambled eggs and cheese and coffee for 2 dollars before I log into the terminal and begin an 8 hour day of talking on the phone and moving around more money than I'll ever touch over the course of a lifetime. Nothing is too far out of reach. Even the simple things I want. I want things simple. And I don't think it's fair that I deprive you all of the person I could be if I gave a shit about myself.

Don't Tell Anyone, This is a Secret Between Just Us

I feel that I can tell you all this because we are all really close and I know you won't judge me. In fact, I feel closer to each one of you at this moment than I ever have before in my entire existence. And I haven't even said anything yet. There's something about the build up, the hesitation, though that I love. Though, that I love.

I think I want a girlfriend. Get one for me, if you can. My birthday is next weekend.

KTHX.

The most boringest guy on the universe cares a lot about what is going on. The super most boringest guy around wants you to call him and see how his day went; the intoxicatingly dull, boring, handsome man wishes it was summer, somewhere, deep down inside even though he's been telling all his friends that winter has finally made him happy as he can now hibernate guilt free.

The most boring man you know hates to sweat and claims that melody is dead and he most definitely plays the saxophone. When girls dump him he goes to the Mall of America to buy fitted baseball hats and Nike shoes. He's going to get fit.

The most awful man is terrible at keeping secrets and becomes rather offended when you don't hand them over. He wants your children, your animals, and the way you smell. He might offer up his indifference to your horror in exchange. He'd really like to make it to your candle making party, but the boring son is tired and would rather say he'll call you tomorrow to see how it went. Did he mention he has a gym membership and likes to follow politics? He will even if he already has since he doesn't have much to say.

web log

Yeah, that last post was kind of a downer. But it was how I was feeling at the time and I just felt like being brutally and maybe embarrassingly honest. And to tell you the truth, I felt so much better the next morning. I think it was the next night I was sitting on my kitchen counter top, drinking a beer, reading a book, and listening to music really loudly and I just kinda realized that this is okay, everything is alright. Kevin called about half an hour into that realization and we talked for over an hour. It was a good talk. I've been having a lot of good phone conversations with friends lately; Ben, Lindsey, Kevin, Brooks, Dori, Shawn, Kat, to name a few or all of them. All of them except Dori (though she is soon to join their ranks) live far away. I love these people so on one hand it's a bummer that they do all live far away, but on another hand it makes me feel nice that we still keep in touch and we are still close.

I don't know, I've lived up here for a year and a half now (??) and I still don't feel like I have anymore than 3 close friends, soon to be 2 when Dori leaves.

I'm listening to the Celtics game on the radio... it's halftime and the commentators are talking about March of the Penguins. Sorry, that was a bit distracting.

But anyhow, whatever. I'm a homebody by design. Yesterday I barely left my bed, watched 4 or 5 movies and it was great. Felt justified in doing nothing since the night before I had gone out and actually stayed out until after 2 a.m. Went to the "last ever" show at the Organ Haus. Saw Pukers, Andy Spore's new band. There was actually a mosh pit. Sarah Johnson melted my privates off. I got a beer dumped on my head. I had a really good time.

Today, I'm going to finish listening to the game, play some guitar, get some label shit organized. January 12th is less than a month away. We're going to try and have 4 releases come out that night. Wish me luck. If you want to play at the record release show/party, let me know. Talk to you soon.

Can't sleep though I just was

I've been lying in bed for the past hour or so unable to sleep. I slept previously from 9 p.m. till 11 p.m. I can't shut off my desk lamp. For some reason I don't want to be alone in the dark. Under the covers, beneath the light of the lamp from across the room I listened to some music, I thought about killing myself, I tried to pray, I tried to write, and then I played with Underworld Dreams. She, for some reason, did not care too much for me praying. Started crying as I knelt. I rarely ever do pray, usually only when I'm back in Muscatine and the usual reversion-to-childhood mode sets in right before I decide it's time to go exploring in the basement. I only see long years like this ahead of me; trying to get ahead, trying to get some money in the bank, alone and wondering when or if my contempt for myself and others will ever just go away. That's what I asked God for. We'll see what happens.