So today I figured out I'm a loser.
Not something worth sharing or even bragging about is it? I can't say that it's really all my fault but when it's a friday night and your eating stale cereal for dinner and even your father is out with his girlfriend you know you've reached the bottom level of the social food chain.
So I decided fuck it I'll write a blog. I mean hey there has to be other loners out there right? Or maybe I just thought I should write instead of commiting suicide by "accidentally" (as the newspapers would say) swallowing a cereal box.
I mean music definatly made money on that loner shit. Talking bout love and hope and longing. And hey the movie industry definatly milked that krap. Look at all John Hughs movies (which by the way are my fucking fav). Breakfast Club. Pretty in Pink. Sixteen Candles. All about being the misfit, being isolated as shit, but finding something or someone to hold on to. The stories always make being a misfit look cool. There's always cheezy but can't- help- but- singing along 80's music, and funky outfits, and random outburts of dancing.
But my life isn't like that. There's no soundtrack behind my daily life. I wear what ever is left of my clean clothes (which isn't much because fuck laundry seriously). And I certainly can't dance in front of people, although that never stopped me from pulling the curtains and blaring a few songs while I basically just jump and kick around the living room. Funnily enough I do that often. You know how they say everyone has their ticks. Things they need to stay sane basically. Some it's cigarettes, others its booze, some even fucking credit card shopping. For me if I feel like I'm going to either rip my bloody face off or punch a wall, I just blare a good old rock and physically throw myself around the room until I'm exhausted or the music ends. Whichever comes first. Some people smoke. I have crazy scary flalling outburts to music. It doesn't bother me.
However I think it does to other people. It was one day when I cut class to go home early and I was feeling particulary pissed at everything in general that I had one of these rocking out moments. I threw off my clothes and put on Led Zeppelin to the highest point of volume on my living room stereo. So there I was screaming along to "Misty Mountain Hop" and air guitaring with my hands. In my underwear. Only to realise that through my open window now at 3 oclock (school ending time for the retarded) that the main bus leaving froom school was driving by. And about half my classmates faces were peering out the window at me.
To say I ducked is a understatement. I dropped so fast the god damn Army would have been impressed with my technique. I lay there for about an hour. A little late to hide now honey...
I wasn't sure if anyone recognized me or if they even saw much. So the next day at school I decided not to pretend I had moved to Bosnia or that I had died from the some random disease (never decided on which one to use) and I went to class. It seemed okay. I passed unnoticed and irrelevant like any other day. Although I did get some sidelong smirks from a few strangers which mean my little Broadway show was seen at least by a few. Guess I can't be pissed more that embarassed here. Although the fuckers didn't even pay me for the viewing. Anywho hence my rule, when hit my the overwhealing urge to have my wild solo parties, make sure all windows, cracks, and openings are covered.
Sorry I rambled. I tend to do that. When I'm stoned. Or bored. Fuck it when I'm normal. Also sorry I say fuck alot. I think its the one word God put on this earth to truly capture my feelings. Also it just sounds fucking good. Woops sorry again.
Getting back to the reason I'm even talking or starting this blog....I like writing. I think its the one place I can disguise myself and play dress up. Because if I dont like the way who I am in the real world then I'll be a dragon rider in medieval Europe. I'll be a hot blonde riding her Harley into the sunset of the desert. I'll even be Harry Potter's slave boy if it'll get me into Hogwarts bitch. Whatever the reason I have this mind of unchained thoughts that while either destroy me inside or seed and blossom in my writing. So like my unihibited dance routines, I plan to write. Once every day for the next year. 365 days mofo. Even if it's just a line or a paragraph. Even if not one god damn person reads it (and family don't count). Because within my life of black static, there is only one white peace. And that is a new sheet of paper.
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