Cryptic

I’ve been swingin’ a little wide lately. It’s odd. This is the most frustrating business, but I know it’s going to always be frustrating, so why am I spending all my amo right now? I’ve got 25 years of fight left (Give or take), and I’m beating myself up over this little moment. I don’t know what I’m talking about either. I just wish my demons would form themselves into some sort of cohesive figure. I’m beginning to suspect they are of my own creation. My vague “everybody’s so full of shit” theory is tough to act on.

So, ladies, my excruciating loneliness is beginning to boil over into action, clumsy, il-advised action. Stay clear. It’s not healthy for anybody involved. If you find yourself accidently making out with me, smile sheepishly and slowly back away. This too shall pass. There, now I’ve made sure this entry will be of major concern to family members who are in the habit of reading my blog.

I’m moving soon. I’ve decided paying $1500 a month in rent is idiotic for someone in my position, which is the position of somebody who doesn’t want to pay $1500 in rent. I’ve decided I’m someone who wants to pay $700 or less in rent, and that it would be nice if that $700 included utilities and a roommate who isn’t a cocaine addict/dealer (had problems with this in the past). It’s funny. I used to look at the “roommate wanted ads” that said “no drugs” with disdain, assuming the potential roommate was an uptight, obsessive-compulsive who wore sweater-vests and meant it, but now this requirement peeks my interest. I’m actually more interested in living with someone who did drugs but stopped than someone who never did drugs. Because, people who never did drugs are still very likely to start doing them with all the gusto of the newly converted, and who needs to wake up and find a born-again meth tweaker in the livingroom.

Anyway, the long and short is that I’d rather work 10 hours a week to cover the rent and such instead of 25 hours a week. Yes, it’s a tough life, but don’t forget I spend my nights running around the city begging stagetime from people I often don’t respect to get up and speak to an audience I don’t respect, all so I can find self-respect. And, that’s taxing.

For the record, my favorite food is Port Wine Cheese. I like it on crackers.

That is all.