Somewhere I’m Not, Scatterbrain

February 18, 2012

This is a post for the sake of writing a post.  I feel like I’ll be bummed when I read through all my posts this year and find that January-February was so dry.  So be prepared for a noncohesive post.

What I should say right off the bat, is that I’m sitting alone in my room, at my desk, drinking a vodka tonic; the time now is 11:33PM.  What is this supposed to indicate about my state of mind?  I’m not sure.  I’m not drunk (yet), and I’m not depressed (not wildly so, anyways).  What it is, then, I think, is that I don’t feel like being in my mind right now.  I don’t feel like thinking the same shitty thoughts about the shit I need to do right now, all my ambitions and plans for the future, why I have nothing better to do on a Friday night than to drink alone in my room (which, quite honestly, is kind of pleasant in a pathetic way), or wondering when I’m going to stop being chicken shit and make a move of a girl, or when the fuck I’m going to find a girl worth making a move on for that matter, the mysterious things that comprise social dynamics, and most importantly, why I continue to let all these thoughts preoccupy my mind.

“So what’s on my mind,” you ask.  Well, doc, I’m really not sure.  Everything’s kind of jumbled together, making a mish-mash of thick shit that’s jamming all of my gears, so now I can’t think straight.  Then again, I probably never could.  This is defeating.  If I can’t even collect my thoughts in my head right now, alone, typing into a text-editor, how do I talk to other people?  That’s exactly it.  I don’t.  I feel like I used to be able to shoot the shit pretty well.  Lately I don’t know what shit to shoot.  I’m fucking scatterbrained, and it’s actually starting to scare me– and I’m not just saying that to toss in cliche for the hell of it.  I want to talk to other people, but I guess my problem is that all the shit that’s on my mind is not exactly exciting.  It’s all about what the hell I need to work on next for my portfolio, how I’m going to layout this project, what wireframes I need to make, how I’m supposed to export my wireframes from Axure with the fucking annotations still in it, how do I split my money between my accounts, how long will this fucking portfolio take before I can apply for a fucking job, how all the hot girls my age are in the cool department all the way on the other side of the building, and how their jobs are probably 100x better than mine, and how I have so much to do and so little to do at work all the time, and how from 8am to 5pm, all I’m thinking is how miserable work is.  Now I ask you:  is this shit worth yammering about to your friends?  No one wants to hear anyone complain, and yet, that’s all I have to talk about.  So I’d rather stay silent than deafen my friends with so much bitterness.  That’s all I do in my head–is fucking complain.  It’s disgusting.  It’s absolutely disgusting.  If people actually knew how much negative thoughts comprise of all my thoughts, they probably wouldn’t associate themselves with me.  But what are you gonna do.  The best thing I can do is pretend I care.  Pretend I’m chipper.  Technically, it shouldn’t be hard.  I’m not miserable, despite how it may sound from what I just wrote.  I’m just not content with what I have, and I’m not content with how I’m mentally handling everything.

On one hand, my goals and ambitions are something that–despite them eating away at me sometimes–I love and take up a lot of my free time, but it’s no substitute for hanging out with friends.  And while I do have friends, I don’t have friends.  Living in Orange County just for work doesn’t introduce you to many people, especially if you’re living with your cousins.  The friends I do make, I only hang out with on occasion.  My solid friends are counties away.  I’m beginning to lust after leaving and moving to New York or something, again.  All my friends have girlfriends or boyfriends, or are too busy with their own shit anyways, so it’s like I have no one to hang out with.  I refuse to get a girlfriend (assuming I had such a capacity to do so on a whim) just to have someone to talk to.  It’s stubborn, and probably partially why I’m still single, but I just want a group of friends to hang out with again.  The go-to people who I can call at any time or go over to their house at any time, and they would be willing to do something.  I might as well pack move somewhere else and just start up a new group of friends there.  If I act needy there, it’s somewhat excusable since I’m completely new then.  And perhaps that’s one of the reasons why I want to travel again, and why I wanted to travel in the first place.  When you’re abroad in a hostel, the neediness is mutual.  Even though no one acts it or expresses it outright, it’s very much understood.  And just like that, you have friends who, within fifteen-or-so minutes, establish a relationship that takes months (at least) to establish were you at home.  Then again, once you part ways, the strong companionship you thought you had slowly disintegrates just as fast as it started.  But still, in those few days you hang out with that person, it was thoughtlessly natural.  And then it’s off to a new city where you do the same shit over again with new people.  I don’t know.  I wish my coworkers were younger.

The time now 12:36AM.  It didn’t take me an hour to type that short piece of shit you just read above.  I was drinking and surfing the internet throughout my post.  And at this point, I’m only buzzed.  I considered taking a shot and going to bed, but I think a buzz is good enough for tonight.  I don’t feel like this post helped like it usually does.  There’s no cathartic release like there usually is.  Maybe I’m not being candid enough.  We’ll save that for next time.  I’ll slam four shots and go to town with this shit.

Fuck you.

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