I hate it when you know you’ve written shit, and yet you still post it, especially after writing something that was ah-fucking-mazing. It’s such a, “I’m not as funny as I like to think,” slap in the face.
I don’t know if other writers agree, but it’s like you can’t get to your next great, “laugh out loud” post until you write out all the shit that’s mucking up the works in that pretty little head of yours. And it has potential, you just are being mentally lazy/you aren’t drunk enough to really mess with these ideas in your head.
I also have a very bad habit of writing a post halfway through, then stop because I tell myself, “I know where I’m going with this post,” go do some awkwardly weird shit, only to come back a few hours later and realize I have no fucking clue where I wanted to go with this post.
It’s probably not a good sign if I don’t even understand the inner workings of my mind. But like seriously, it’s a little weird up in thurrrrr.
Writing is such a bitch sometimes. It gets in the way of so much awesome shit. I’m sorry, but watching the semi-finalist breakdown on “The Voice” is kind of a big priority in my life right now. You wouldn’t understand, Mr./Ms. Big shot with your amazingly not weird life.
I just made Trader Joe’s instant mac & cheese… in my underwear. This will probably be the highlight of my day. Get on my level, bitches.
And again, it’s happened. Halfway through and I have no clue where I’m going with this post. And I didn’t even fucking walk away this time. My mind just goes on too many tangents at once. A real writer once told me that was a good thing. I think he was lying just to fuck with my head.
That bastard.
Do you every do that? Do you every (or constantly) find yourself in a world so unlike yours in your own head? This is what happens to me. I constantly see people in my head.
They play over and over, same dialogue, same voices, same faces. They haunt me until I write them down. But writing them down only makes it worse. Once it’s on paper, it all becomes real. I know these people. I understand what they want, what they need, because inevitably my sick mind created them.
I like to tell myself that this is just what the adult version of one’s imagination looks like, and not that I’m fucking crazy.
But we all know that’s a lie. You’ve read my blog. I’m fucking crazy. And in all honesty, I’m okay with being perceived as crazy. I just don’t want to actually be clinically “crazy” crazy.
I’m not a normal person. I’ve been aware of this for a very long time. And as cool as I am with not conforming to the norms of our society…seeing imaginary people in my head…that just doesn’t even sound cool. It sounds fucked up. Like really fucked up. Like, “A Beautiful Mind” fucked up. No one saw that shit coming! No one!
Ug, sorry, none of this makes sense. Not even to me. But this is what it’s like in my head!! It’s exhausting. And I truly feel sorry for the man who one day marries me and has to deal with all this shit. Because, believe me, man I am one day going to marry, you will be dealing with alllllllllllllllll of this shit.
Ew.
And I’m officially disgusted by my general being… yet again.