I actually went out on a limb and wrote an opinion editorial for the local newspaper last week. The word limit is 250 but mine ended up being 481. I didn't figure it'd get published anyway so I kept it all intact.
Long story short the editor emailed me saying they're going to run it in it's entirety.
I actually feel worth a shit. A glimmer that maybe I'm worth more than just a body with the knowledge of blowing shit up for a coal company.
Then again giving hope and self-worth has the potential of being the worst thing you could ever do to someone.
I thought I was something fierce, I thought i was 10 tens smarter, love would be something that i just know, how you gonna know the feeling until you lost it. I been losing plenty since.
MMm new Jimmy Eat World. I had to buy the new cd again because some Jew bitch stole my last copy.
Read The Kitchen Readings by Bob Braudis, Hard Call by John McCain, and re-read Songs of the Doomed and Generation of Swine by Hunter S. Thompson.
I think The Kitchen Readings is the best reflective book on Hunter sans The Joke's Over. They're both great but both are written by different people to Hunter. Yes Ralph Steadman knew Hunter well and was close to him, but it was almost always work related. However The Kitchen Readings is pretty much wrote entirely by his neighbors. Who obviously saw alot more to him than just his work and persona.
My books from Amazon should've been in today. I have no life obviously because this excites me to no end.
Come on damnit, I have the autobiography of the legend Lemmy Kilmister coming to me tomorrow!
The bridge with Misty and myself was burned completely last week.
I have infinite patience and kindness to anyone that I've shared things in my life with. The moment you use anything private against me, fuck on ya, you're dead to me. The bridge will be burnt but I'll still be gentleman enough to not return the favor.
I'm listening to a cd that I went out to buy on the day it was released. I got to my ATM and found that I was overdrawn almost $500. Keep in mind that I'm staying at my dad's house and at the time drove a shitty ass cavalier. I had no overhead OTHER than paying for everything for Misty.
I couldn't even buy a cd even though I made $52,000 last year.
Right now I'm raising hell with Lindscore online and it's keeping me from a spiteful mood. Especially since I just got done raising hell with her via phone.
Now it's time for the new Atreyu cd.
I loathe thinking someone thinks bad of me. I can go two years being perfect to someone, but let them push me to the edge and I simply burn the bridge and all of a sudden I was an asshole from the start. The "finally he shows him trueself" bullshit line.
Honestly you know the true me, but the true me doesn't make it easier to get over shit. Paint me as an asshole, a cold heart go no where, and of course it will make things easier.
A cold heart go nowhere, shall be my new saying.
Misty knows these things are my fears, and she used them against me.
I have no use for anyone lacking of personal convictions, enough so to use personal information against someone.
Love is caring enough for someone to protect and help them in times when you should hate them.
Maybe things will be easier with the bridge burned.
I hope I don't feel wronged forever. I hate to think that Misty and her family erases everything I did for her over this.
Hell maybe that will help them deal too.
Deal with the fact that a good guy did love their daughter and would do anything for her, just to realize that she didn't really love the real him. So he did them both a favor and moved on to better things for himself.
Sorry but after all this experience that I've had with the opposite sex, I've figured out what to give up on.
Fuck I don't know.
Maybe it's the clarity.
Maybe the maturity.
Maybe even the fucked up lessons learned.
But I'm putting good odds on me and Lindscore.
--
Fuck I didn't post this last night and now it's a new day. A shitty day at that.
So I feel it almost impossible to add anything on because it will be completely different.
I'm facing a real shit day tomorrow.
I really wish I could go to work drunk sometimes.
The one plus of today was getting to actually get to the post office to get my books. I'm already 100 pages into Worse Fates Than Death by Vonnegut.
If I can just make it through the week, come saturday I'll be getting a new tattoo and of course hanging out with Lindscore.
Sometimes I think the only time I'm actually aware and alive is saturday nights and sundays. The time between the instant I clock out on Saturday and the instant I realize sunday evening that it all starts over again come tomorrow.
Oh well boo hoo what else would I do with my time, strangle hookers or maybe even pen a white power manifesto?
We all know the time is not right for said things, not yet.
Death must love the winter months.
Death prospers so much more in the winter months.
It's like it knows that everything is visually depressing.
How poetic.
I have yet to remember anyone close to me dying and have a thought of how lively and green the scenery was.
However I remember that it was so cold the day my mom passed that the top of the snow was froze. I remember the hard crunch walking to the car. I remember the many layers of clothes. I actually remember each layer to be precise. I even remember sitting in the gas station parking lot while my dad got gas and cutting my finger on a pop can from rubbing it around the edges over and over and not even realizing the cut until my younger sister made me aware of the blood.

Lindscore:(9:31:22 PM): i have the audacity to audaciously be audacious about hoping to have the audacity to hope for audacity