It gets so dark here at night. Like the air is trying to swallow you up.

Summer's screaming in my mind, tugging at the fabric around my memories. I need the sun and the green grass and the nights that never get dark. I need youth, eternal youth, flowing through my veins. I'll feel that when I'm back home with my friends, I think. Maybe. Maybe not. But it's something to hope for.

A Brief Conversation:

E.: I was just thinking: what is it you do with your life? You stay up until 5 AM. Then you make resumes and cover letters. Then you complain about your job. When do you do real things?

Me: I'm currently watching internet videos. I read two books yesterday and I've made three business calls/contacts today. don't try and understand.

E.: I'm going to make a 48-Hour long documentary called "Christmas" where I follow you around for two days. And try to figure out how you survive. Try to figure out the mystery of your existence. It will all be filmed on a flip camera and have bad lighting and poor sound quality.

Me: You're gonna be really disappointed when you figure out that 95% of my existence is snorting klonopins and drinking scope until I'm too high to drive. Then I go driving. The reckless nature of my vagrant acts gives me an adrenaline rush equivalent to that of a distressed mother when her baby is trapped beneath a bus.

E.: That's exactly what I was expecting I would find.

Staying up all night gives me the best ideas:

It's only on days when I stay up all night that I decide to listen to as much Eminem as possible, facebook stalk the people from high school who have anime profile pictures, and apply for a job.

Empowerment!

Weaknesses:

-Seeing my name in important places.
-Books.
-The promise of exoticism.
-Pretty girls.
-My bed.
-The 1990's.

That about sums it up.

Upbeat Post:

The guy from Golden Shoulders sounds a lot like Willy Mason and The Avett Brothers put together. Just sayin.

Also, I'm listening to a lot of new music currently, and I'm just infatuated with it all. With all of the ways that people can say things. And how people sounds next to a banjo or piano or drum kit. I love it all.

That is all. The end.

Things I Love About My Job

When anyone asks me, "Why do you hate your job so much?" I have to think of all of the reasons why I hate it. I think that the example of right now is perfect:

I was sent home with a rough cut DVD over the weekend to have names and lower third logged and ready to go for monday because we're making a font to put all of the names in by the end of next week. When I watch the DVD to log time codes, there is no rough lower third to reference. There is also no set of credits. I haven't ever seen this project before, because it was outsourced to an independent contractor. I called my boss to tell him this but he answered and then hung up immediately. I called back and only got a voice mail. I then texted him and said, "[Name omitted] this rough cut has no lower third."

His response was: "ok lets get it asap"

Bewildered by this cryptic response, I responded: "I would make an excel outline to commit to in FCP but there are no credits on the show either. So I don't know the names of anyone except for Ed and President Monson."

And I've had no response for half an hour.
In a nutshell, this is my job. I am assigned to do something within a three day span of time with one half-assed resource, no aid from my boss, and no real understanding or expectations of my job or its supposed results.

Everyday that I go into work it's literally as though I'm expected to identify the appearance of over 7 people I've never seen or met before and log the points in which they show up over a period of an hour and a half.

And whenever people wonder what my job is or why I'm unhappy with it, I'll just refer them to this blog post and make them read it for 4 hours straight, but only on the days when they can muster the self-confidence and will to drive 5 miles to sit in a dungeon of a building and be confused over and over and over again.

P.S. I will try to make this the last complaint about my job because I know that shit is annoying and I'm lucky to have a job, etc. But seriously, you deal with this for almost a year. You think, "Some day it'll be different. Some day it'll change." Nope. Working for a strange, restrictive, and utterly disfunctional international corporation is just as retarded as it sounds!

God how strong I feel today, with my nostrils wide, my eyes blinking, window shutters clanging closed, doors shutting then opening. I am a man, a solid stable rock, and time and wind and snow and crowds push against me but I won't budge. I am alive, I am alive, I am alive baby.

Life isn't a fight. But, in the smallest of ways, we can't escape the fact that we are constantly pushed and tested. I thank God for everyday that I can look myself in the mirror and remember simply: I am alive, I am a man, I can outlast the winters.

Updating at work one million times

I'm gonna blow your minds open with all of these work updates. I'm not even going to be mopey about work anymore. That's useless.

I'm listening to good music. I'm making money. I'm going to fail a latin test in two hours. All is well in the world. Yeah?

Heyyyyy, here's a thought. Can the world give me a job where I just read my favorite books while I hang out in bed all day? Is that the life of a "published author"? Because, if so, I'll try my hardest to "make that a reality".

I walked into my work and looked around and literally said, "Psh. Amateurs."

Want to die. hate my lyfe. want to just eat slab pizza and walk in the park and read books and see pretty girls and want a cat and want to write about the weather outside right now and want to never worry about money ever again the end goodbye

The internet makes me feel...

Powerful. It makes me feel awesome. It makes me think of a future where I will be able to lounge in a glorious palace built of ivory and jade, lighting cigars with hundred-dollar bills. It makes me think of all the rap music that I can listen to. It makes me happy.

I don't know why the internet makes me feel like this. It doesn't make me feel like this always. But maybe it's the weather outside. Or the time of year. Or the candy I just ate.

Who knows? I don't. I'll never know. But I hope that someday I'll be so rich that money will bore me. That sounds so cool.

If I made you a mixed cd would you listen to it?

Things I Need to Do:

Get out of this state/country. I think it's high time I travel.

Being in school is for nobodies. Being in the world is what's up. I'm going to be listening to White Panda remixes in London/Norway/Jordan soon.

I’m full of love, I swear I am. And if it would just burst forth, it would smother whole cities. If I could just let this out of me, stop trying to spread blacklamp all over my face and eyes, I’d let it out and then this whole fucking world would see. You’d eat my love for breakfast. You’d store it in your cellars. You’d go to sleep with it.

Sometimes you just have to keep reminding yourself that you’re actually alive.