Everyday Is Exactly The Same

What am I doing? Everyone knows it. I know it, but it's impossible to stop sometimes and let life go on without you.

It's getting to be the same shit different day? This shit about my life? This shit about clubs? Tell me about it. Every day I go in and do the same old shit, come out, and face the void. Worry about writing, worry about fucking school, worry because I'm 21 I have no direction and surely I should be coming home to something other than a computer screen and a smelly dog.

I was listening to Nine Inch Nails on the way to work. "Everyday Is Exactly The Same". Yeah, thanks Trent for pointing out the obvious. Except for me, I don't know how this story will end.

"You need a break, you need to have fun, you need to get out of school, you need to stop worrying about money and careers and school and..." and and and. You're tired, but you can't stop. You're not writing because you're not having fun, you're not having fun because you can't afford fun, you're stale and bored and stuck in a rut and increasingly self-obsessed and stressed out, and you just want to step outside your skin for five minutes... So take a break. Easier said than done. blah blah blah. Boring? Yes. Tell me about it. I'm bored of it and it's my life.

Yeah sure my job pays. Just bought a surround sound system for my flat screen. My parents still toss over $1,200 a month, but life is getting to be too much. It's too hard to try and live in Stuart Weitzman's when now all I can really afford are Steve Madden's.

Which is when the good fairies stopped by and dropped me Christian Dior goodies in a silver box. My fingers caressed over "Bergdorf Goodman" on the top. My heart skipped a beat. For the first time in a while something as foolish as Dior shades made my day.

School is almost done. I want a vacation. I want to spend a night in a beautiful hotel. Take a bubble bath and have a glass of wine without something eating me apart.

There are times when you think to yourself, 'why the fuck do I keep writing this blog?'. And then your boss elbows you and tells you he enjoys what you write, a long lost friend leaves you a comment, a new friend telling you that you have a heart of gold. And for that, it makes it worth it.

It's for the free things. The little things. Words.