start again damn it come on

You piece of shit.
You got one out and let it slip. Story of your life, right? I've proven that I can do it, therefore I don't need to do it. Or rather, 'what's the harm in letting it wait?'

I'm a notorious dish horder. Not as in, I go to op-shops and find vintage plates to add to a collection, but as in I will grab mysef something to eat, most often retreat to my room, scoff it down and put the plate somewhere next to me while I watch or listen to something. Then when I'm ready to get back up, I'll put the plate in the pile. I could take it back out and wash it, but I don't. That's too much effort. Or possibly, my subconcious reasoning is along the lines of 'I know it's okay if I leave it there, so why do it now?'

Damn. Now I want a cigarette. Sorry, I got distracted.
Do you smoke? I smoke. I started when I was 18. At first I bought them for my cash-inclined friends, as I was the one who had a job at that point. Vogues, I remember. They offered me one and I snubbed my nose at them. I didn't smoke. I was a very careful drinker. Drugs were my worst nightmare, something out of a horror film. I was against tattoos and piercings too, obviously. Cut to 10 years later, and the only thing I still haven't experienced is piercings. Because my body type does not lend itself to piercings.
After a while of buying cigarettes for people (and slowly stepping down from my high horse), I gave in to the mighty monster of peer pressure and had one.It wasn't bad, all things considered. Nowhere near as bad as I had built it up to be. And THEN I was told I was smoking wrong. I was taught the dragon breath trick to make sure it had reached my lungs. If it could come out of my nostrils, I was doing it right. So I was given another one to practice. It was bad. I got the head spins. Felt real sick afterwards too. Made no sense to me why people did that to themselves. So I abandoned it before I could finish.
A few weeks later I would have an actual cigarette. No offense to Vogue smokers, but it's sort of... how to put this kindly? Weak. Misleading. They're the next step up from those fad sticks that kids used to treat like actual smokes. Don't get me wrong, they were great and classy when actual packaging was a thing and good training wheels for real cigarettes. But they suck. Sorry. Anyway, first real cigarette knocked the wind out of me. Made me mute, sent me to the ground. Stomach weak, Moms spagetti.
And yet here I am ten years later staring at a pack of... fuck what are they called? I know they're reds. They're not Benson and Hedges, why do I keep wanting to say that? Not Dunhill. That was the first pack of smokes I bought though. Had them hidden away for months. Good times.
Oh god, come on man. You're embarrassing yourself. I buy them all the time. Always do a little rehersal before I go up to the counter too. "Hi, could I grab a pack of Bond Street Red 30's?" Oh shit, woah, there we go. Bond Street. That's what it was. It used to be significatly cheaper than Marlboro, and it still is but there was once upon a time where the thought of paying $1 per smoke was insulting. Now it's a bargain.
Wierdly though, in ten years of smoking, I think I must be the only person I know that's never tried quitting. This is where the joke goes that 'quitting isn't in my nature'. And that's partly true. I don't usually give up on things. I just sit with the knowledge that I probably could, so what's the rush? Why do it now when there is always later?
... You piece of shit.

Start

Okay, so here we go. Bloggity Blog Blog is a go go, homeslice.
The purpose here is to try and get better at writing because I saw it as some advice recently, and figured it couldn't hurt. And I'm going to try to make this daily. Because once things in life stop being daily, they often stop being ever.
See that sentace just now? That's why I want to be a better writer. That made no sense, and I knew it. But this is a one and done draft kind of ride we on now baby, so strap yourself in... me... because no one else should ever see this. Mainly because it'll be three blogs at best and then abandoned.
I had a blog before that I abandoned because I didn't like the user name and then nobody cared when I posted early drafts of my book, of which was a directionless mess that had no middle or ending at the time.
It's looking better now though, I swear! Only some of it is directionless and bad.
How long do blogposts go for? Usually they have like a storytime segment or something, right? Actually that's not a bad idea. A daily storytime real quick, yah yah yah. Let's just pick one at random.

Okay, so I recently found my ipod touch from when I was like 17 or something. Some long crazy stretch of time I had that fucker. Senior year, fuck it you get the point. Anyway, so I found it and charged it up and looked through it, cringing at the pictures saved on it (Not of freinds or events, but Death Note and rage face memes. Whooooooo), looking through the podcasts and finding buried gold (classic smodcast with the music still incorporated into the background before copyright became the massive thing it is today [so back in the wild wild west of podcasting days]), going through all my old music to remember what I was into at the time (some good, a lot of bad).
But the thing that surprised me is when I got to the notes I'd saved. There wasn't a lot, certainly less than the 500 or however many on my phone now, and some of them were just random few word sentances. But, lo and behold, some of them were...
Wait for it....
Journal entries! AKA a blogpost! Without the blog part! Woah, universal turnaround for thematic relavance! what what what the fuck am i doing with my life...
ANYWAY back to the notes.
So the earliest one I had was from 2010, when I was 18, so back in highschool. I started reading and remembered the night I wrote it so damn vividly. It was at a party, I was in a tent I'd set up earlier in the evening because that's what most people did when they stayed there (most people had them for privacy so they could fuck, I wanted privacy because of my crippling inability to accept being around people as if I belonged.) In the note I was upset that the girl I liked was hooking up with someone else ( 'The person I loved' was the words I used. Oh dear god.) and very bluntly listing things off that had happened recently. Proper caveman style. WENT FOR DRIVE. HAD BURGER. WHERE IS BLANK? HOPE THEY OK.
Very stunted. Very awkward. Pretty hilarious, swimming in it's own melodrama. The line that really stuck out through it all, however, was this. 'Maybe I don't love her. But if I don't love her, then who do I love?'
Pretty bad right? Well that's not the bad part. The bad part is the next bit.
'There's got to be someone new soon.'
There has got to be someone new soon. Jesus. If there is one thing that sums up everything that was wrong with me, it was this right here. The belief that someone didn't return my feelings, and therefore had to be replaced. Discard the old, and start fresh.
What a terrible way to view people. 'You didn't give me what I wanted, so you can fuck off.' And in THE SAME POST, I complain about people being 'selfish'.
You know what? Thank christ I wrote that down. Thank fuck I never deleted it. And thank Apple for making a product that still worked and allowed me to see it in spite of not having used it in about 10 years.
Because as much as I look around and see people developing great careers and finding love and having kids and other such things that really make me feel that my life has become directionless and devoid of progress; I get to take a look back and see that I am different. I am better smarter. I am better. Even if no one else see's it.
Like no one will see this blog. Hey-O!