#318

Greetings, bloglings! 

That's how I would start my post, if I wore long jean shorts and no other pants ever. In this scenario, I can't really do a push-up. While prone, I can raise my head and shoulders with my arms, and kind of be on my toes so my knees lift slightly, but the middle part of my body won't leave the ground no matter how I exert myself before giving up. Does this bother me? No. I have so much Reddit Gold, or whatever the fuck. Who cares if I smell like a farted-in slice of pizza dug out from between the basement couch cushions? I can push my glasses up the bridge of my nose as I flash my most superior smile. I have more opinions, better opinions, than you even know about stuff to have opinions on.

*

Today, as you can see, has started with some good old-fashioned baseless and unnecessary mean bullcrap. Why? Because it is the first week of school, I've been extremely nice and engaging to a lot of new people, and there's a killer inside of me. He needs blood, if only conceptually, if only the blood of purely imaginary victims. Living my best life and giving the best of myself to everyone I meet fucking infuriates this guy. It twists his fingers into claws.

We've discussed this sort of thing before, I believe, here on the blog. I behave, I act, I manifest the best of myself, my virtues polished and arrayed in a noble phalanx. Behind those gleaming armaments, those mirrored shields, is a regular person, and therefore, in my mind and in my soul, I can be a total prick. Before anyone gets to hear what comes out of my mouth, usually my brain has supplied me with something cutting, usually lightly, sometimes ferociously. It's just what happens. Rather than deploy this artillery at the world, I turn it at strawmen, or myself, or myself holding a strawman. Maybe the strawman gets it first, and then, in guilt, I get myself even worse. Is that what's happening now? Yes, unfolding on the screen, and even worse in my mind. 

How do I stop this? Death will free me from cognition. Probably.

* 

Anyway, school's pretty good so far. Still driving the bus in the mornings. Gotta go wash the dishes and read a chapter of something now. 

Hope you've enjoyed whatever this was. Not even sure. That was some rather febrile typing back there.

--JL