It is always this time of year where I begin to feel restless. Questioning everything as if nothing is concrete. No matter how certain I was yesterday, I feel curiosity come over me; teetering on the edge of sabotage or freedom….or both.
I guess I like to ruin things. Make things that are simple, complicated. Take others words and make them my own, turn them inside out and flip them around to turn their context into something else. What the something is, I don’t really know. It usually just leaves me feeling alone, like nobody knows me at all. I find it troublesome and entirely inefficient to try to explain your self to someone, especially to the ones who always need answers to justify their own thoughts about who you are.
Who the fuck cares.
Yeah, I hate wearing jeans with flip-flops. I think it’s cliché…
But guess what I did the other day? Yeah I fucking wore flip-flops with jeans.
Are you confused by that? Does that change your view of me? The fact that I say one thing and then do another? Is this trivial or is this bigger?
What do you think of people who do things that they say they don’t?
I use to smash snails with a baseball bat. Now I don’t. Would I do it again? Yes. Should I do it again?–well that’s debatable. But what I’m trying to say is that we all do things that we say we don’t or would never do. Every single person. And sometimes I just get sick of being criticized for it like I’m the only one who does it.
I’m so over it, that now I just do things to fuck with people that can’t lighten up. I love contradicting myself. I love it because I just don’t give a damn anymore.
“Nachos? Yeah I hate nachos. Horrible…So I think I will go with the nachos then.”