Every Time

Every time I start writing with no pain in my heart, no rage in my veins, or no fog in my head- it turns out garbage. Like a bunch of letters organized in a way that could make a serial killer docile, a gossiper silent, a born-again Christian say, “Fuck it, maybe God ain’t real.”

Luckily for me Unluckily for you, I’m self-destructive AF and I never learn from my mistakes!

So here I go, perfectly calm- don’t really care that I ran like butthole last night in poker, not mad at anyone, pretty fucking lucid and clear-headed (for me), my toes sliding through a goddamn fur rug:

I was thinking today, “Why don’t I write more about the good things in my life?” Is it because I don’t want to jinx them? Is it because I’m so about the moment that the last thing that pops in my mind when I see something beautiful is, “Oh damn, let me pull my eyes away from this beautiful thing, pull out my iPhone, click on the camera icon and hit the red button a bunch of times- while seeing said beautiful thing now with a moving yellow square around it, tiny, and prob through some fingerprints or grease.”?

Not sure.

I have a lot of good things in my life though. Whenever I’m not trying to have everything be perfect (<– the dumbest shit ever, and I know you all do it too), I actually have that inner peace/happiness that I know is super attainable but rarely ever attained-

because people are generally short-sighted, concrete-thinking, all the wrong things-chasing, morans.

No offense…

Anyways, I have two beacons. Sure, they take all my money and much of my time and energy, but they are what my Biology teacher in high school (hot ass Asian firecracker, Mrs. Robinson) taught me was my purpose…

The irony of her saying “Our only purpose in life is to reproduce,” as I’m already sitting there at my desk dreaming of fucking her brains out… Anyways, I don’t think you have to have kids, but if you take more from Mother Earth than you give, you are doing it wrong. Way wrong. You are a NIT

My offspring might grow up to be anything. Regardless, right now they fill my life with sunshine. I mean my goddamn 8-year-old daughter takes a basketball with her to school, and when I pick her up she smiles wide AF, head up, as she weaves through traffic/a million other kids en route to making their guardians smile- with her left hand (because I told her “anyone can go right”).

My 5-year-old mini-me (RIP to actual “mini-me”) says the funniest shit ever. He lives to to troll and make people laugh. He’s also sweet AF and the best hugger/couch cuddler in the biz.

I have a few people who are insanely good to me. I try to be good to them, but sometimes I’m limited by my past financial recklessness and my current two steps forward, one and one half steps back success in poker.

Don’t matter. I love them and they know if when I bink my brains out, they won’t be thinking about money anymore- ever.

(^^^ is pretty grandiose, but fuck anyone who isn’t at least a little grandiose imo)

I also have Lebron James. I mean I get to watch this man play basketball…

(you think he didn’t think in a grandiose manner before he became the grandiosest of all time, aka the “GOAT”?)

Anyways, every time I write not hungover or not in a pathetic stupor or what not, it comes out garbage.

Every time.


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