The new Staples composition mini notebooks are terrible. They pages come out if you turn them once or twice. They never used to be this bad. My black one at work looks like a Frankenstein monster after I’ve scotch taped the bejezus out of it.

I’m playing Skyrim for PS3 now. I finished Red Dead Redemption. Such a big kid. Live with girlfriend in a house with a massive yard and trees in the back. I’m exactly what I hoped I would be at 32 when I was 10.

I want to punch people I see wearing “Life is Good” t-shirts and tire covers on their body and cars. But life is good. There is no denying it. I’m one of lucky ones.

Hmmm

It’s liberating to click the private button and write.

There’s probably a lot lurking under the surface. Not lurking. Lingering. A mash of frustration and angst. Even when things are going well.

Are things going well?

It’s 11:50pm. I have to be in my car at 6:40am tomorrow morning.

I’m in a dark house by myself. My house.

I don’t have as much alone time as I used to. That’s not a bad thing I suppose.

Darkness and music amplifies the significance somehow. Conditions to compel pitching a few thoughts into the void of my empty blog.

Tomorrow’s my last day at my present company. They got me a cake. Start a new job one on Monday that should be better.

Fuck everything.

He’s going up again. I need to focus.

I am very lucky to have the life I have at this moment.

This discarded blog feels like a desert at night. It triggers abstract self reflection.

I feel big picture wonder and bittersweet mortality.

Do you know that feeling of hearing a song and have it unexpectedly reverberate all throughout your body and very being as if it was in sync with your soul?

Today this happened to me with Neutral Milk Hotel, The King of Carrot Flowers Pt 1.

Whatever I was today, it was embodied in this song.

It’s amazing noteworthy the amount of time that passes between each time I write here. Such a gulf between posts.

Life is happening. I’m moving once again Monday. This time into my own home.

My apartment office appears to be a chaotic assortment of boxes, wires, books, and mementos.

My snow white cat is sleeping inches away from the keyboard on my desk while I type. He’s not the most affectionate cat I’ve owned, but he quietly follows me around and always lounges nearby. He makes me smile.

I came here from Facebook. I look in sometimes, not very often. I passively collect friends there, never posting anything. Never engaging. If it was less noisy I would be more interested in it. It feels obnoxious. The commercialization of friends and family is nauseating. Too bad something like Xanga didn’t become the dominant way to connect. Something with more substance and less flash. There are ads here too, but at least the idea here was to connect in a media that encourages authentic and deeper thought.

I was packing magazines earlier tonight. I recycled all the Men’s Health and Wired.

I kept all the Adbusters.

If I want to feel bittersweet nostalgia this is the place I come. Or I dig into old emails.

Time is flying by….

I’ve been drinking tonight.

My company failed. Sorry T1DM’s.

I hope the severance is fair.

My life is bittersweet good.

….