*this post is not spell checked. nor does it give a shit about grammar. (not that I ever have)
I love AMC. (thats the channel, American Movie Classics). You should just watch it for a day. Its kind of awesome.
I love my kitty. She is cuddly. She is bitchy. She is patient. She does not expect much. She loves me, treats, napping and chasing fake mice toys. I aspire to her level of enlightenment. She is the embodiment of chill.
Comedy keeps me breathing. My friends keep me breathing. Good music keeps me breathing. Las Vegas (just the thought that it exists - granting wishes, enchanting strangers, reminding people that even though it may be expensive, shallow and evil, a piece of fantasy is out there in the middle of the desert waiting for you at any moment) keeps me hoping, alive. In much the same way NYC keeps me convinced that romance is alive and well (maybe Ive just seen one too many movies).
The idea of love - true love - and wondering if it could truly exist, keeps me thinking that maybe, just maybe, my own story will turn out to be something remarkable. Something noteworthy.
But how ridiculous is that? How many remarkable lives exist in this world? How many people just strive to stay afloat? How naive is it to think that your own life means shit in this gigantic sea of incoherence?
And what is that really about anyway? Recognition? Jealousy?
No, I want happiness that belongs to me. Happiness that is mine alone. Fuck the fame, fuck the fortune. Let me just be happy with me. Thats got to be what its all about.
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fuck.
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