Take a sad song and make it better.
Trying.
Last night, after a few beers and 50 bucks worth of weed, I sat there in a substance abuse induced coma. Marveled at how good cigarette smoke feels as you force it into your lungs. How pretty it looks when you exhale. How fucked up it is that we're all slowly killing ourselves through our vices. The shit that kills is the only shit that makes you feel like living at all. I'm not suicidal, therapist ma'am, I'm just like everyone else.
We'll all die someday, right? So fuck suicidal thoughts. Depression. Following the rules. "Supposed tos".
Eat your vegetables? Don't talk to strangers? Respect your elders? Fuck that noise. I'm dying, and so are you and them and everyone. Why don't we just do more of what we want? Icecream before dinner. Vodka tonics. Boys that are all wrong. I suppose this is part of the whole idea behind this trip. I know what I'm "supposed to" do and exactly how to do it. I CHOOSE to do what I want, even though I'm clueless as to how to go about doing it. Hard to do something that you've never done without looking at every moment in your life and saying through clenched teeth...
"Fuck everything."
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