Well, a new years eve.. Another. One more? For a select few who read this, your last. But what about me? Fuck, I have spent so much thought on others, its been a while since I really asked “What about me?”.. Can we really blame for selfishness? That is what I do to myself, I believe myself selfish, even in this state, where I am really anything but. In psychology, that, right there, is called a ‘break through’.. Lets see where it leads. Follow the scent. Taste, the murky red water.

I believe myself selfish, because I have trouble moderating my gratification volume/consistency, in a pervasive manner; being sober helps, but some better choices could still be made. This feeling of being selfish stems from these choices that I could moderate, but do not. Shit like rewarding myself.. Fast food, coffee, gym membership renewals and shit that makes me feel normal. Oh shit. There it is. That word. Normal. The next thread.

Normal, is apparently fast food, coffee and gym memberships. See, you fucks, these are the places you get, when you refuse to hit the delete key. Take notes you fucking amateurs. Why is this normal in my world? Because it is the extent to which I have been exposed to the world. Normal, has been a bunch of different shit for me. Stealing, to fuel a drug habit, was once normal.. Still is, just not in my world. There I go again, thinking about other people’s normal. My normal. My normal. My normal, more than anything, is this. This is normal, always has been. Writing. What else. Stimulants are normal for me. Coffee, energy drinks, cigarettes, sugar rushes. Gratification of the instantaneous variety. Writing and publishing chapters is probably a gross manifestation of my habit of instant gratification… Minimum effort, for maximum output. I think, an important point here, is what I want, to be normal for me. And to that, all I can say is that I know what I do not want to be normal. Yeah, a slow start, but a start nonetheless. In fact, fuck that, this, writing.. I want this to be normal. I want my writing process so broken, so actively lacking process that I have no choice, but to make breaking my process, mean returning to it.. To return, to the rusted artifact, kicking it and magically watch it return to life, only to clean out the carbon from it’s engine, as I once again destroy it, like some angry luddite, all like “This machine took my job!” To be honest, i’m surprised I haven’t destroyed this key board and started pissing in the snow. I’d like to piss out a chapter sometime. My ink is coffee, bitches.

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