Don’t fucking tell me when I can and can’t be your friend. Not cool. Not what friends do. Been through that more than my share. I can choose, too.

I.

As January comes to an end - one twelfth of the year - it’s time to get it all out. I’ve never been much for New Years’ resolutions, let alone following them. Though they always seem to give everybody drive…right? Something to work towards? Or, in my opinion, fail at. I’ve got only two goals for this year (so far):
1. Write a book.
2. Record an album. (one of the three or so I’ve written)

II.

This is something that I’ve been meaning to address for about 6 years:

Dear Junior High Best Friend,
I’m done with you. I’ve come to realize that I cannot - will not - forgive you for what went down between us. I know it isn’t entirely your fault that it turned out this way, but it is your fault for going with it. You could have stood up for yourself - and me - and admitted that you did the exact same things (worse, in fact), and got away with it.
Some of the best memories of my adolescent life were spent with you, and you ruined it. To watch you, somebody I called my best friend, walk out of my life at 15, what did you want me to think? Like a kid who lost his best friend (pun intended). I still saw you every day. Most times, I still talked to you every day. But we were no longer pals. You even made sure to make me aware of that fact. And that’s how it stayed for 3 years.
But now, a young and more educated adult, here it is, direct, from me to you:
Fuck you.
I don’t need you.
I’m doing just fine without you.
Have a nice life,
Q

It’s weird, because of the amount of time I spend at home by myself, at night, to see my family here during the day. I practically live out of my backpack - for school, work, or leisure - carrying it everywhere I go, filled with the “necessities” of life. And when I see my parents in what is actually their house, it feels like they are actually just relatives, coming to visit me in my house. But I think, in reality, it’s exactly the opposite.

I’m sitting on a bus, staring off into the sunlight as it falls on another day, and another year. Tom Waits is singing “we’re all gonna be just dirt in the ground.” And I cant help but think that’s all we are. It’s true. Nothing you can be or live up to matters; you can’t keep it all when you’re gone. That is the wrap-up of my year and it wasn’t too exciting (except for the Germany part).

I think that I am not the blogging type.
This doesn’t mean, though, that I will not blog. I guess it just means that I’m not into it right now, the same way I’m not really into a lot of things these days. I think this is evident, and if you don’t understand why, don’t worry about it. I think I’ve got a writer’s block at the moment, too. This time, though, unlike the last time, I am still actually writing stuff. Just…most of the time I think it’s shit.
Soon, I feel, I’m going to have to really try and prioritize.

I have no way yet — I haven’t had time to rationalize it to myself — to explain the anger I feel towards my current place of employment, Empire Theatres, since I’ve returned to work these past few weeks. It might have to do with the unnecessary (I think) changes to rules, protocols, management, systematic things, etc. etc. But regardless, it seems that every night I walk into work I have this pent-up sense of almost brain-bursting rage at the way they run things these days.
I am an incompetent child, not worth trusting with more than menial tasks. I sometimes succumb to this supposition when I’m plainly fed up with the lack of trust I receive from Empire’s management. I try not to let it show. I try to be nice to customers, managers, staff. I try to show them I’m more than just another broomstick on the floor. It doesn’t work, I don’t think.
I’ve got more to say than this, but I’m just kind of miffed right now from getting hit in the eye with a popcorn kernel that shot out of the popper last night.
And I’m starting to suspect that the place is making me mindless. I’m not thinking, I’m not writing too much, and I’m definitely not sleeping enough.
Work in 5 hours. Guess I better try to get some rest.

I’ve really gotten into these guys lately, especially since getting back from Germany. I needed something foreign in my life, so I took to Icelandic post-rock. That, and I watched a documentary on them on one of my flights home. Listen to it. Love it. (You don’t have to watch the video - it’s not that great.)
Sigur Rós - Flugufrelsarinn.

I’m sorry I haven’t been consistent in my blogging (or, if you will, consistently inconsistent). I’ve been quite tied up with work, life and, this past weekend, Evolve. This I will write about sometime soon.
That is directed at anybody who would read my pathetic ramble. All I have to say for now is this which I believe to be true:
I think she’s getting over me.