I've traded brick for straw.

No huff and puff will dismantle us.


Do you exist outside of the mirror? I do not. People call me out constantly for catching myself in a mirror, or sunglasses, or a wading pool or your deep dark beautiful eyes.

I look in the mirror to remind myself that I exist.


Even conversationally, I have no idea at all what I look like. I'm completely unaware of myself unless I can see evidence that I'm real.

Times like this I wonder if I'm not dreaming all of you-- but rather, am I part of someone else's dream?

I can't even see my own nose without closing one eye.

It's this lack of existence that makes interaction so damned meaningful. If I can't see myself, let me see myself in you. Our conversation is evidence that we both exist for real, cause I'm not clever enough to come up with your lines myself.

How powerful could you be if you paid attention to the image you gave off in every conversation? Is that dishonest? Or is it more efficient?

What if you postured yourself perfectly to convey an idea- so well positioned physically, that you basically didn't have to say anything at all?

What if you're already doing this subconsciously?
---

sometimes, the worst thing in the world is admitting someone is right. It is rare and dishonest to easily admit that you're wrong, if you're at all invested in the subject.

The reason this is so disarming is because whenever you make an important decision, you pass it through several logical filters in your head, that you've developed over the years to make the right decision. Abortions, gunshots, moving days and 'goodbye forevers' shouldn't ever be impulse decisions.

When you're dead wrong about 'goodbye forever' it's embarrassing as hell because your whole fucking brain was wrong. Every checkpoint was just leading you in the wrong direction. No one ever elects to do the wrong thing by choice, we all think we're doing what's best for us.

The hardest thing in the world is to admit that every single step you've taken has been dead-ass-wrong. You're covered in lava and you broke your mother's back. Watch your step next time.

Harder still is the opposite of goodbye forever. Whatever that is. Getting someone's character completely wrong makes you feel like a real idiot. To the point where you might just fake it to keep from having to change your outlook.
---

Push ups keep me focused. With the heat, I shower a few times a day. I don't get in the shower without first doing a ton of push ups. Around 500 a day or so. Some with the Perfect Push Up, some without. They make me feel better about what I'm eating, and the huge chiseled pectorals don't hurt either.
---

Everyone's got these threads coming off them, and they're all connected to me. I don't cut any threads. Everyone I've ever encountered, I remember. Someone I sat next to in Comm 103 four years ago is still more special to me than some stranger.

These threads are also why I spend so much time digging around the cache of my life. Whether I'm ignoring your call or checking in after eight years, I've always been looking backwards while falling forwards. Maybe that's why my future calendar only ever goes as far as two weeks from now.

---

I wonder how much of drinking is the alcohol clouding the senses, or the inherently accepted fact that you can get away with more while you're drinking? That is to say, the drunken outbursts we experience-- I bet they are more EMOTIONAL than PHYSIOLOGICAL. Feel me?

Cause when I'm physiologically drunk, I'm pretty gone. I definitely exist; it's everyone else whose existence becomes questionable. But when I'm buzzed (you too) that's the time where I'm just doing all the shit I know I can get away with because of this mask. Probably.
---

I've been looking for purpose and in the process have spent a lot of time on myself, which has been rewarding. The more content I am with me, the more disappointed I am in all of you. Not really. That's harsh. What I mean is,

the more time I spend on myself, the less I worry about existing to other people... so when I *am* focused on you and yours, I'm a little rusty. A bit salty. Me me me.
---








Please remember that your life isn't the Hills or any other location-based pseudoreality show on MTV. The camera might sympathize with you but your real life friends need more than that. Even if it would make good television, it's not. My life could be the greatest movie of all time. It's volatile, but you don't have to touch and go.

You've just gotta live it and let it write itself.