It’s friday night and the heart of this small city is throbbing and bleeding it’s vile fluids all over my doorstep. I just want to be asleep, but for some reason I can’t make myself go and lie down and forfit this useless day. I don’t feel depressed, but i show symptoms of it.
I want to sit still and read. I want to sit still and listen to music. I want to write. I want to write songs like I’ve always wanted to do. I want to play music with other people more. I want to make more art. I want to cut a new stencil. I want to work on the art for the show next weekend.
But every morning when I wake up I just roll over and go back to sleep and stay in bed until I realize that I have to get up at some point. I rise from my 8-12 hour slumber and face the same day over and over. Atleast I don’t use drugs anymore. Atleast I don’t smoke anymore. These are my two claims to fame. Fuck that. I don’t function at all till I get coffee at Blake’s and a rice krispy square at the Cambie Bakery & General Store. Every morning without fail. I have no time commitments. I can take as long as I want to do anything. I start calling people frantically at around this time. Or I take on some other meaningless activity to avoid the draw of my bed which sucks me luck a tractor beam back to it’s comfort. Sometimes I give in and nap till the evening. Or I dick around, playing computer games or riding my BMX around downtown. Then I feel like shit and unfulfilled, so I go to a meeting. After the meeting I am hungry again and get more coffee. Then before I know it it’s 1am and I’m wondering why and when my days started evaporating in to a meaningless blur. I then go play more video games or go to her house. Either way, it seems to fulfill the same selfish need – to not think, to escape from my own dwindling sense of reality. I need to get a fucking life.
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