Good evening. Yeah I know. It's Thursday night. What am I doing blogging? Well it's because I feel like it. I was considering going out tonight. In fact I was planning on going out tonight. But like, it's kinda rainy, and cold, and I just wanna like sit in my warm dorm room with a hoodie, sip some tea and just be on my chill level. So here I am. On my chill level, blogging away.
So I'd hate to start out this blog post negatively, but real talk this needs to be addressed. Where the fuck are my hiking boots. It is October 13th and I haven't worn my trusty Merril's since like May. I miss the relaxing comfort they provided on my walks through school. And now that my walks are legit, and outdoors, I would really appreciate some good shoes. I remember back in the Room334 days, back in the dias de Hobbs, I would talk about walking around Eastern in those boots. I can feel the support on my feet right now. It was like burying your feet in sand, then the sand become weightless and you could walk around with the entire beach at your feet. And since they're hiking boots you would take that beach on your feet up mountains, and traverse through jungles and ravines. It was comfort through the most rugged conditions, like flying first class in a C-17 through Afghanistan. Hiking boots are the result of comfort meeting power, like a Bugatti speeding down the autobahn at 180. So seriously where the fuck are my hiking boots?
I'm so fucking CHILL right now. Like I haven't been this calm and relaxed in so long. It's blissful. And you know what else? I love blogging so much. It's something about the freedom to write about ANYTHING that pops into your head. Like I just thought of something while texting Doug, and after this paragraph I'm gonna write about it. Why? Cuz I can. And I know that know one's really gonna read it. Two or three people tops: Karen will read it because she likes reading everything I write and I don't know why; Alex will likely read it because he just IMed me saying he was going to read it when I finished.
And who else is gonna read it? Probably no one. What I find fascinating is that my parents don't read this. I remind them that I write in a blog like once a month at least. I even tell them the website address. Like I'm inviting ma and pa to read it and they never seem to pick up the hint. I admit all in this blog. I admit just about everything that rattles around in my head. I admit even to lying to my parents. So the fact that they don't even fucking read it makes me think just "whatever".
I've decided I need to listen to the song "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz like at least once a week. Necessity.
In other news, one of the UK Core Stats classes is doing a project which requires students to conduct surveys. And I don't know why, but I enjoy taking them. I've done like 5 tonight. They're fun. I wish to take more.
I have been working and stressing to an unhealthy extent recently. As a coping mechanism, which I really only slightly understand, I've been fantasizing. However, instead of thinking up your typical fantasies about wealth and success, I've been doing the exact opposite. I often catch myself fantasizing about dropping out of college and Air Force ROTC, picking up a job as a truck driver, and smoking hella weed and relaxing in my truck to the soft music of The Beach Boys for the rest of my life. I wouldn't ever have to worry. I wouldn't have to stress day and night over a number. I wouldn't have to wake up at 6:00am to run around for an hour. I wouldn't have to spend hours and hours doing 30 problems of basic chemistry while everyone surrounding me gets high, eats chips, and watches looney tunes for 2 hours. I wouldn't have to do anything. I would just drive my truck, have a nice stop at Arby's, get some beef jerky for the road, and sit in my comfy chair.
It's complicated though. The amazing thing about these counter-intuitive fantasies is that at the end of the day, it's not actually what I want. If I lived out my fantasy, yeah I wouldn't have to do shit. But then I wouldn't get to come home to proud parents, a proud girlfriend, and a proud ego. I wouldn't get to show off the number I worked so hard for. I wouldn't get to see the world. I wouldn't become wealthy. With no pride, no money, and nothing to have to back up all my hard work, what would I be? I wouldn't get to look down on people, because I wouldn't be above anyone. I wouldn't deserve anything but a $6 meal at Arby's, a bag of beef jerky, and a comfy chair.
I wouldn't get to fly. It's impossible to stay focused even though all I do is push for that number. It's like swimming through bricks, you get to the half way point and think, "Wait, why the fuck am I swimming through bricks?" Then you start to have to remind yourself.
It's every morning, "Well, it's 6:00am. There's a C-17 out there with an incomplete preflight checklist, and someone's gotta be there in 6 years to do it. But right now it's 6:00am. And I have to be at PT in 20 minutes. And I have to finish my homework by tomorrow night. And I have to study for my midterm..." Then I go to PT.
I don't even know what to write about after that. Looks like I had to get something off my chest. Yeah this blog post is complete. I hope you enjoyed it. I'll probably post again soon. If Bill or Sandy Loyd is reading this, way to take some fucking initiative. Until next time...
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