Three pages after I wake Sun-Dec-20 (3)

I am supposed to write three pages. I have just woken up, and I vaguely remember my dream, although It was not a story dream as they usually are it was more like a scene. I dreamed I had texts on my phone from people I don’t know, maybe it was wishful thinking whishing I could get a text from someone specific. My sleep is not always the best and clearest so I am sure I am missing a few other details that I will now never remember or get back.

I have written a lot more than usual which is strange seeing as I still have garbage flowing out of my fingertips. The whole point of writing those first three pages is to get the creative juices flowing, but I don’t think that is happening. However like I said in my first attempt this is only something I started doing today…how dare I think that I will just pick it up and master it just like that.

I have been thinking in my mind about happiness and the pursuit of it. I know its bad to rely on others as your source of happiness; I know that ultimately leads to a hard down fall like the one I experience now. I feel safe in exposing my self slightly as I realize that things like this (my writing) and things of this length (my writing) hardly if ever get read, even by request. So what harm do I lose in being true to myself and writing the first echoes that come to mind?

I remember my first heartbreak and I admit its kinda…or actually made me very skeptical of women, but I can admit that I am a fast learner in all things, as I already mentioned in my first three page writing. I suppose as I meet and learn each new woman I learn to distrust a little bit more as I go along. Which is strange seeing as how I am already very untrusting. Its like investing your money into a bank and seeing little return, so every other bank afterwards you put less and less into it expecting a larger return than the last. Of course I realize the folly of this logic, but money is like love it does not grow on trees and must be hard earned.

If I have learned anything it is to be stingy with my love. In the same way that I learned to be stingy with my poems, I don’t ever write poetry to be read by a woman, it now stays trapped in the deepest chambers of my mind or I write it and keep it all to my self. Everyone loves Santa and getting gifts and presents, but who gives gifts to Santa? Women loved getting poems and letters for me, but not so much giving me their time or their numbers. I suppose real life is not like the movies and no matter how long I toil over a set of words to make sure they sound just right and rhyme just right you can’t sweep a woman off her feet with a couple lines of poetry.

I guess until I start finding my self and respecting who I am, I will always feel more and more hollow each and every time I let a woman come around and dig a piece out of me. I was thinking last night that the direction I want to take, this path to enlightenment and self education does not leave much time and room for lolly-gag. A lot of time that would otherwise be spent chasing or pleasing will actually be spent staring at a computer screen or frowning at little piece of paper. Which I admit is kind of romantic to me. No one can ever take away your education, that is until they take away your life. They can take away everything else that people my age chase and long for but they cant take away your education.

In a few weeks it will be a new year. I claim that I don’t want to be stuck doing the same thing I was doing last year or the year before that. But some habits die hard. If I really want to improve I will change my frame of mind, I will change my attitude I will change my overall look on life. Why do I feel as if writing is the magic key to all that? Should I not be out chasing God and religion to find peace and harmony? Why have I convinced myself that through writing everything else is possible? I suppose there are worse things to chase after in this life, but something as lonely and under appreciated as writing?

At work I am valued for being able to do several peoples jobs, I am sort of a jack of all trades. The problem with that is that even though I may be doing another job that is not in my job description and not what I was hired for I still get paid as if I was still only doing my job. I feel as if people who have talents in several different fields (And mind you I don’t call mopping floors a talent but it is something that not everyone I work with will do) are under appreciated. I feel as if I am taken for granted, however to be honest with myself I feel as if I am taken for granted in a lot of places and by most people I know.

It has been suggested to me that I seek physiological counseling, but I don’t see how that would help other than get me all weepy in front of a total stranger. No I would rather get all weepy in front of a piece of paper and keep those tears for later, as a remembrance. Maybe that’s why I feel that writing is a key to unlock the mysterious of my life. I feel as if the more I write the more I know myself and what I am truly capable of, I feel like the more I write the more I wont take my own self for granted, the more I write the less I have to rely on other people to understand of myself and a sense of worth and validation. On a piece of paper I can prove that I lived and had cohesive tangible thought.

I have already done more writing that most people my age, but that’s not saying too much. If I was an athlete or a mathematician, I could say the same thing about those skill sets and they could say the same thing over me. Just because I have done something I enjoy to do more than average does not mean anything, other than I enjoy doing it.

I took the ASVAB again a week ago, I actually scored lower than I did the first time. Somehow I am not surprised and knew that I would do just that, more of that beginners luck that I am world famous for. I don’t believe I scored too much lower than last time, though admittedly I don’t even remember my score from last time. I would think I should score the same, seeing as all that has changed is a few months and the fact that I have smoked copious amounts of marijuana. It was the English scores that propped me up just like last time. What these tests always make me realize is that if it were not for my God given ability to communicate I would be less than average. My math scores are way below par and my science is sketchy at best. Out of 25 vocabulary questions I missed 3. Out of the same number of Math questions I am sure I correctly answered no more than 7.

Maybe this writing this is working out after all, I am having flash backs of memories long forgotten, all this time I thought marijuana had robbed me of my memory, and maybe it has but writing is the best way I know how to empty out the cob-webs in my head. It was suggested to me that I should write memoirs of my youth. I laughed at the idea then, just as I laughed at it every time my own mind would suggest such a daunting task. “Who am I to log my memories as if I have achieved something?” I realized even then that you don’t have to have anything accomplished yet to begin remembering where you came from and what you had already gone through, if nothing else than for yourself so you remember who you are, when you feel lost and others begin to tell you who they see you as. So that when the day finally comes you already have a start on telling people about yourself and your story, and you don’t have to trust someone else to write it for you.

That sounds all fine and well but I still want proof that this whole memory writing thing will go anywhere. I have enough notebooks that I don’t touch now, I have notebooks that I have given away, notebooks that I have lost, now I am meant to add to that collection? Notebooks that store my life story. Ah, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. One thing is for sure, I shouldn’t start working on it till 2010, when things are different and are starting to look up. Maybe when I start to see that shinning glimmer of hope that I am not a psychopath and I haven’t mistakenly convinced myself that I am a misunderstood genius, maybe then I can sit down and take myself seriously and write that memoir

But until then it will steady sound like the ranting of a man with too much time on his hands and a very active imagination. People think that being creative is a good thing, and a good thing only. Sure yes it is nice to be creative and have the ability to solve problems uniquely and think rapidly on the fly, things like that make me feel like Peter Parker. But its no fun thinking you house the devil in your head or that all this self talking to yourself has driven you crazy, then your imagination becomes your own worse enemy because your fears become real and everything you think…just might be. I have this idea in my mind that one day I will meet and work with Kanye West. So years ago I started the habit of referring to him as ‘Mr. West’ only so that it will feel more natural for me to call him that when I actually do meet him. I want to call him Mr. West so that I am seen as being respectful and not just another fan who wants an autograph or a picture, I want him to regard me, at least in that first initial meeting (wherever and however it may play out) as a serious artist with serious proposals. I write all this with a straight face.

I have built a huge fantasy in my mind about working in studios, making movies, being on Oprah. One of my most vivid fantasies is being on the Oprah show. I read in a paper a few weeks ago that in a year the show is being cancelled. So how is it that I will ever be on that show? Sure, sure I have a year but honestly…

Instead of encourage me it seems to knock the encouragement and what little confidence I had right out of me. To make matters worse my memory is so shot I cant recall if I was high during these daydreams or not, because if I was it makes it all the easier for me to dismiss them as insane imaginative ranting of a self-deluded sociopath.