Who Could Love Being A Dental Hygienist?

I'm not one of those people who can be found browsing the internet all day.
I don't have cool articles to link, I don't find cool art making programs, I don't find quizzes or funny jokes to forward.
So at times I have nothing to post.
I am sitting here, laptop on lap, where it should be, hence the name, drinking my decaf and trying to think of a story to tell, a circumstance to render.
I don't got shit, essay.

I'm looking at a photo of my sister and her fiance, propped up against a vase on my mom's mantle. They're getting married in less than 1 year. It's all very grown up.
They have a large, decorated house, 2 nice cars, 2 small dogs, new furniture, decent jobs, and cruises for vacations. I turned 22, 2 months ago. She turned 22, 1 month ago.
It freaks me out. Is she too grown up, or am I not grown up enough? Will I ever grow up? What the fuck does it mean to grow up? To bury yourself in responsibilities of the material kind?
To settle into marriage with someone you never could seem to fully let yourself love, over time either ending in divorce (thank god!) or eventually twisting you with such a bitterness that you vomit out a little each time you speak to that person? Does it mean you should attend 4 years of college getting your business degree, or maybe a trade school, so you can have a job that "pays well and has good benefits"? Is that what's important to a grown up?
Then I'm not sure I aspire to be one.

You know, it's easy to point at all the things you don't want to be. But what about what you do want to be? It's not so easy. And it's really not so easy to be those things. I think the ultimate pointing at the things you don't want to be is to be the things you do want to be and never give a single point to the things you don't want to be. You're living it. It's obvious to every one. You aren't just paying lip service.
And I'm talking out of my ass.

Let me ask a question.....What the fuck do I know?
Let me go ahead and answer that......Shit.

My plan is to go running again today. It's 10:22 in the morning and in Houston, at the end of May, that means it's fucking hot. I am not thrilled, but I'll probably go anyway.
I just have to summon my inner masochist.
She-it.

Just a Little Desperation, Nothing Fancy

Drinking decaf again.
I just can't seem to handle the caffeine.
I'm about to go running. I can't be expected to do it absolutely first in the morning.
It is the first day of a new attempt of mine to exercise. This time it's not for my figure, it's for my sanity.
I've been feeling like I'm having PMS some part of almost everyday, so I'm trying anything.
Exercise, no caffinated coffee, painting, walking.
I'm pretty desperate.
The approaching Mexico trip seems unimportant in comparison.

If anyone read this, I'd ask for any tips for recurring beastial, blackhole, depression.
I'd ask for tips on how to not be so negative.
Any suggestions for finding happiness and fulfillment.
That comes last.
You have to move the old out before the new can move in.

Deep Thoughts

Nothing like the smell of decaf in the morning.
I'm bouncing off the mofucking walls.
Am I sure I got decaf?

Tanglewood

I just can't help it...I'm addicted to Air...
I feel that if I'm listening to something I should share it with every member of my vast fan base.
So, I'm listening to Air again.

Tomorrow morning I trade one suburban hell for another of similar proportions.
Two more weeks.
I don't know if I can hang.
I'll be in Houston, and we all know what happens when I'm in Houston.
I won't leave the neighborhood, I'll make a few feeble attempts at exercise, I'll sit on the off white, still semi-new, leather couch my mom bought to keep up with the Hewlett Packard division of the Joneses, staring around the room, searching for something interesting to write about, since it sure as hell won't be the events of my day (uh, sitting around can be interesting, right?), and failing because my imagination doesn't function in a void.

I hope my mom never reads this. I think it would hurt her feelings.

Houston...
If only there were more than a single acre of forested land within a hundred mile radius of that city. I'm exaggerating. I'm displacing blame. The incredible suction of the black holes that are my mom's living room and Direct TV, renders me incapable of any adventuring beyond weed fueled walks around the detention pond.
Yes, I do plan on smoking while I'm there. Oh Lord I gotta!

"Cause it's just another day
You will lose it anyway."
Air

They're French. The simplicity of their lyrics is haunting.
They make me feel high when I'm not.
My soul feels light, clean. Airy.

Acid Brain Rain

Barely awake, well fed, teeth, unbrushed.
Awake all last night with James' mom's foster baby, (Sergio for short).
I'm seriously rethinking ever having chldren.
Sergio wasn't even crying. He was just awake.
Obviously my resolve was never that strong.

I dreamt, when I finally slept, one of those epic, awesomely fantastical dreams that, according to waking memory, lasted the entire night. Or in my case, from 5 to 11 am.
The only thing I remember is my breast tissue being removed (cancer, I guess) and replaced with implants, the left one bigger than the right. I had a mild interest in the fact that I then knew what it was like to have breast implants, but beyond that, I was unphased by the whole thing.
A silly souvenir from a night of hard core dreaming...

I like hard core.
So pleasingly cheesy.

I guess I have nothing better to do from this point than to recount my day, and my day before.
I colored a picture of Zazu landing on a log from my Lion King coloring book last night.
It was excellent if I do say so myself. I felt a real sense of accomplishment.
The sky line...:::sigh:::...muy magnifique.

In really good blog's that I read, the authors choose one story, sometimes only slightly exceptional, and tell only that, primping, fluffing and elaborating it along the way.
Sometimes I get this, and I'll make a decent job of it.
Other times, this being one, I lack the mental focus, and capacity, to relate even only a couple of the events of my day in a mildly interesting fashion.
Today my brain feels like a wisp of cloud. Or a little rotten fart of smog. In either case, nothing palpably substantial. And nothing, to my knowlege, comes from brain clouds, or brain smog, besides brain rain, or worse, acid brain rain.
Now brain fog is another thing. I can't tell you how many pieces of esoteric stoner art I've made with a mean fog on the brain.

I'm rambling. While reading the above paragraph, one might not imagine that it's long enough to constitute rambling, but believe me, it took longer to write than you think.
No, not because of the fog. Because of the smog.
Yeah, poetry time!
I'm a real idiot.
On that note.....peace....

Air and Crises

Two weeks to Mexico.
Two weeks to another chance.
A chance to allow my environment to catalyze me instead of vice versa.
Another chance...

Do you ever feel like you're running out of chances?
Through trial and error the options are being eliminated, that perceived window growing more and more closed.
Options for what?
For happiness...fulfillment?
And was it ever a chance if it was never the right one to begin with?
So, do you ever feel like you're running out of percieved chances?
I guess the answer to that is always yes, because if it was no, you'd be wrong.
You are always running out of perceived chances, and you never run out of real chances because there is only one.
One set.
There is one right way for me.
But is it in Mexico?
Who can say?

I'm listening to Air. A new favorite. Cherry Blossom Girl.
http://atomfilms.shockwave.com/af/content/air_cherry_blossom
Watch this video. Also listen to it.
I drew yesterday. I wrote in my journal.
I wallowed, felt guilty, bitter, hopeless.
Everyday is the same.
Not every day, but everyday lately.

Jesus, the things I write about some times.
They're so 22.
The spring time of my discontent.
I'm beginning to wonder if life isn't just one continuous crisis interrupted sporadically by "coffee breaks" of happiness and understanding.
The toddler years of domestication and potty training, puberty, the early 20's identity crisis, the "oh shit I'm gonna die someday" crisis, the midlife crisis, the "oh shit I'm gonna die soon since I'm old" crisis, and the pervasive "why?" crisis, which can span almost the entire length of your life.
And these are just commonly known crises.
I'm only 22. Who knows what else lies in wait for me.
(cue God)
:::ahem...God?...your cue:::

Just joking.

Absolute Crap

I'm just back from a run and I'm sweating like a mofucking pig. Or actually, opposite of a mofucking pig.
A month and a half of beer bingeing and 24 hour Jack in the Box, and I've put on about 7 more pounds than I normally have.
So now I'm being active and doing exercises and eating well. Kind of boring, but so is being drunk all the time, after a while.
I'm in Rockport. Been doing yard work and other kinds of work for James' mom.
I don't know why I'm writing down the details of my day.
I don't even write that crap in my private journal.
In fact, lately I don't write much of anything in my private journal.
Right now I'm interested in more active and manual persuits.
Like landscaping. And power tools.
When I get back from Mexico, I'm thinking I'll get a job with my uncle who does construction, and he'll teach me how to do those sorts of things.
I also have a friend who works doing landscaping and I'm thinking she can get me a job with that.
I've just realized what absolute crap I'm writing, and since I've already written it, i'm leaving it. And so you all know what I'm doing and where I am with writing, I leave you this piece of shit.