herpywerp

When I was a kid I wanted to be a drug dealer, told people I wanted to be a drug dealer. Short of the occasional pot sale to a friend I never really hit the ‘big time’. But here I am now, 5 or so years later working a shit 9-5 job earning absolutely shit. and feeling terrible a lot of the time. It makes me wonder just how far I could of taken the game, at least then it would have something interesting happen.

But you have to grow up eventually don’t you, and you have to bite that bullet and decide what the fuck you are going to do with your life. Who the fuck you’re going to be. Does it matter to me if I meet my parents wishes? Will what I do now really have an impact on my future. Sadly the answer is yes and the clock keeps ticking by, and each day passes by meandering into the next as though nothing has changed. Which it hasn’t. Because change takes decades from those initial choices.

How can I say I want to do anything, when I cannot even begin to predict the future, immediate or otherwise. I suppose there is always a life of bohemia if all else fails. Sadly however I hate hippies, peace and love. 

i miss my grammar

(Source: amilee)

All he does is curl up in his hovel, sometimes for days on end; the mere idea of a digestive system is still waiting to catch up to him. I don’t know exactly what occurs within the room, but I know each time at the end of his hiatus comes beaming and bright a man unshowered, unshaved searching for whatever the hell it was he went in there for to find out. And God help them when he does, for the end result is often messy and almost always left in a trail of destruction.