The Downward Spiral

A downward spiral seems to explain how events in my life have been going. For some reason things are starting to crumble around me. The walls seem to be closing in and opportunities seem to be closing up. I know that partly I am to blame.

Procrastination is my enemy. I had problems in the past, but lately this seems to be a serious issue. I lack any sort of real motivation to complete college assignments. The course A Little Rebellion I will now have to withdraw from. Basically, it's a literature of journalism or creative non-fiction course. Doing creative things is rather draining for me now. I'm not sure if it is the damn blue pills I take for anxiety. Mental illness, if you want to call it that, is a very tricky thing. I've had my depression phase for a year or so. I've almost killed myself. I'm still here and sometimes I wonder how. We all go through shit I suppose. That is what has made me stronger in the end. All I want to do is make it through this semester at SUNY New Paltz now.

If realizing you were completely fucking up a class you should have got an easy B+ in isn't bad enough, my girlfriend and I have separated. Love is to strange to understand, so I don't try to most of the time. We fought, we fucked, we laughed and we cried. I think when I told her, "you can go fuck yourself," that was probably a good sign of what we had become. She would harp (according to me) how I am an only child and I just have a 'different' approach to things. This approach, to her, was not a positive one either. I hate when someone puts down how I was raised for a reason towards how I am. Basically I am laid back. I don't harp on a lot of things. In a sense, I'm like a stoner that never smokes. Not that I couldn't, because I could have tonight. With all that I know, I feel like I 'loved' this girl. In fact I still feel like I do. Sometimes I guess things just aren't so black and white though. There is an area of gray that we never truly understand.

My friend just called me to come out and drink, but at the moment I feel like a piece of ectoplasmic waste. I know I shouldn't be, but damn, I just got out of a relationship I was in for eight months. Sure, it is not that long, but I would say it is substantial. Drinking I think might be part of my recent procrastination problems. Thursday night, I go out and slosh around the dance floor to 'gay' 80's music. Guys are making out with guys. Girls are pressed up against the wall with some sleazy man groping her ass. Life is good. Accept the day after I drink I tend to get nothing done. There goes Friday. Then Saturday I wake up late, eat dinner and go out and drink. There goes Sunday. Something is telling me a need to get a hold of this cycle. Sure, we all have our vices. Mine seems to be alcohol and cigarettes. Having a vice seems to keep people sane. We all need to have something harmful so that we don't do ourselves anymore harm than those vices. The negative thing is when those vices are life consuming and harm all aspects. That's when we call it an addiction.

Time to make a call and then drink some cheap ass beer. Life goes on I guess, so fill up my cup. I'm ready for whatever is going to come next. Well, I hope I am.

Introreduction

This blog, or series of reflections, I started to capture my life. Hopefully this isn't the normal hum-drum series of entries you can find on countless other meaningless blogs. In a way, consider this a memoir that is slowing flooding out in front of you. I will be rather blunt and honest here, so that is way I attached the "adult warning" to this page. I don't know what I will be talking about, but I don't want to be at fault for saying it.

The title "Your Famous When Your Dead" I choose, because every famous writer, for the most part, becomes famous when their dead. That is when you study them in academia and they are considered to have some sort of substance. All writers face the challenge of making money on their work while they are alive, although, this will make me no money. In time I hope to compile these entries, after tortuously editing, into a book. Consider this the raw meat to the uncooked patty.

If you are ready to begin this journey with me, then continue reading. Otherwise go read some article in Teen Vouge, because I don't give a fuck either way. Anyone who continues reading my entires is most likely who should. In the end, I am writing it for me.