Thursday, May 7
I'm clearly losing it under this lockdown. But I'll be fine, I hope/dread.
Okay, Round 2.
Last post was a bit sloppy. Maybe a little to brash with the whole m-word situation. Ah well. Let's see, what has changed in the last 2ish hours? Well, I tiptoed outside and smoked a spliff with my last rolling paper. I still have my shitty bong but, it's shitty and smells and it's incredibly difficult to clean because it's made of this silicon-type bullshit. Wait, actually, before I did that, I reheated some curry, which was the first real meal I ate today.
Okay, right, we're going to go back to this morning, because that was really the whole trigger for my weird, shitty day of holing up in my room. I woke up to an extremely long text about kitchen dirtiness, which I felt was slightly warranted, but also way too long. I did make a mess in the kitchen yesterday and I was perhaps a bit half-ass in cleaning up. But I tried, not with any real intent, but I did it. That's why I think I reacted so negatively to getting called out. Bitch, I wiped the counters, I picked up food bits off the floor, yet you're gonna call out a few uncooked noodles and grapes I left in the sink? I said bitch? To be fair, though, I really did half-ass the food bits and wiping the counters. But I technically tried, so maybe that's why I felt so shit about the group text. Wow, I'm really waxing a yarn about this mundane bullshit, aren't I? Well! It's lockdown, my already weird housing situation is heightened by this bullshit. Long story short, I apologized and cowtowed by cleaning the fucking out the kitchen this morning. I'm such a bitch. And then I immediately fucked up the oven by spilling a bunch of oil in it and forgetting to clean it up. Fuck. I really am a bitch. So the house got all smoked up later when my third housemate (non-texter) tried to bake a frozen pizza. So of course this sends me into a weird depression spiral where I don't eat all day.
Okay fuck, we're finally back to the "first real meal" bit. So, that was my first real meal of the day, the 10:30 PM Reheated Curry. My breakfast/lunch was an attempt at Jamie Oliver's Yorkshire Puddings, which were a wondrous failure. For some reason the oil and pan did not seem hot enough. Then again I definitely pulled it way too early. Anyway, this is also how I spilled oil in the oven. So, yeah, in the most lockdowny, low stakes way, this was not a very good day for me. Fuck. Okay, wow, this post is turning out to be fucking anagramical the way I'm writing it.
SO: Round 2. What has changed in the last couple hours? I ate. I smoked some weed (which is notable because I typically don't wait till this late to get high). I lurked around on 4chan. I'm about to pour some whiskey and nod off.
By the way, 4chan: What a racist shithole. I thought the cooking board was alright, but goddamn if they aren't a bunch of anti-vaxxer, ignorant edgelords. I don't know, there are parts of the "culture" (ugh fucking kill me) that I can sort of appreciate. But not really, actually. I'm kind of more into Moot's ideas of internet anonymity vs the merging of IRL/online interactions that we all live in today. And when I say "into," I mean, "intrigued by" because I feel like internet anonymity is definitely more toxic than it is uplifting. And twitter, for a large part, functions virtually anonymously but is strife with idiots and bots and all the typical human nature bullshit. But theoretically
fuck I just smashed a moth I have to wash my hands and also get a wetnap to wipe my laptop because it landed on it and got it's weird dusty fucking wing imprint on it fuck honestly it's for the best I was a on dead train of thought brb
Okay I'm back. This is exciting, isn't it? I feel like I should have been timestamping my line breaks. Fuck. Okay, time to pour this drink. 1:36 AM
1:36 AM I'm back. Time to take a sip.
1:37 AM Okay, so. I suck at cooking and cleaning, I'm a lil bitch, 4chan sucks, I'm apparently getting drunker now.
It's strange how this sip of liquor immediately puts me off writing anymore. I don't know what's happening. In a way I feel myself getting more introspective. No, that's not the right word. Plus, if I'm getting introspective now then what the fuck have I been typing for the last 20 minutes? I mean, I guess I shouldn't confuse being prolifically self-centered with being introverted. I need to stop using big words I don't know the meaning of.
Small words time. Hemingway-style. Or was it someone else? I don't read.
Oh, the moth. I kind of regret killing it. I'd already failed to slap it between my palms a few times today, so when I actually got it I wasn't even thinking about the moth. If anything I was thinking about how I fumbled killing the moth so many times. But really I wasn't thinking anything at all. I should have let it live. Fuck me. I'd love to be a moth. It sounds nice. Sensing the world from my antennas. Buzzing about sensing moisture and light or however the fuck moths perceive. Maybe it wouldn't be that great. But still, I like noise rock and Rothko paintings so I'm pretty sure that means I'd fucking LOVE being an insect. Jesus, Matt, what does that even mean? I mean, what is noise rock, even? I like shoegaze. Okay, shoegaze and Rothko.
Oh right, I said I didn't read but now I remember I once read "The Death of a Moth," a short essay by Virginia Woolf. I never read the whole collection. I also almost said it was written by Flannery O'Conner, too. Matt, you're such a fucking retard. Don't worry, I mean that in the nonoffensive way that 4channers use it. Anyway, I remember reading that, I don't really remember shit from it. Let's see, if I remember correctly (I don't), the title of the essay was pretty literal. Literal in the sense that it was just a poignant description and mulling of a moth dying on a windowsill. That's probably wrong. Anyway, a far different type of MothDeathTM than the one that I just executed. Okay. Yikes. This was a nightmare of a post. Sorry.
Last post was a bit sloppy. Maybe a little to brash with the whole m-word situation. Ah well. Let's see, what has changed in the last 2ish hours? Well, I tiptoed outside and smoked a spliff with my last rolling paper. I still have my shitty bong but, it's shitty and smells and it's incredibly difficult to clean because it's made of this silicon-type bullshit. Wait, actually, before I did that, I reheated some curry, which was the first real meal I ate today.
Okay, right, we're going to go back to this morning, because that was really the whole trigger for my weird, shitty day of holing up in my room. I woke up to an extremely long text about kitchen dirtiness, which I felt was slightly warranted, but also way too long. I did make a mess in the kitchen yesterday and I was perhaps a bit half-ass in cleaning up. But I tried, not with any real intent, but I did it. That's why I think I reacted so negatively to getting called out. Bitch, I wiped the counters, I picked up food bits off the floor, yet you're gonna call out a few uncooked noodles and grapes I left in the sink? I said bitch? To be fair, though, I really did half-ass the food bits and wiping the counters. But I technically tried, so maybe that's why I felt so shit about the group text. Wow, I'm really waxing a yarn about this mundane bullshit, aren't I? Well! It's lockdown, my already weird housing situation is heightened by this bullshit. Long story short, I apologized and cowtowed by cleaning the fucking out the kitchen this morning. I'm such a bitch. And then I immediately fucked up the oven by spilling a bunch of oil in it and forgetting to clean it up. Fuck. I really am a bitch. So the house got all smoked up later when my third housemate (non-texter) tried to bake a frozen pizza. So of course this sends me into a weird depression spiral where I don't eat all day.
Okay fuck, we're finally back to the "first real meal" bit. So, that was my first real meal of the day, the 10:30 PM Reheated Curry. My breakfast/lunch was an attempt at Jamie Oliver's Yorkshire Puddings, which were a wondrous failure. For some reason the oil and pan did not seem hot enough. Then again I definitely pulled it way too early. Anyway, this is also how I spilled oil in the oven. So, yeah, in the most lockdowny, low stakes way, this was not a very good day for me. Fuck. Okay, wow, this post is turning out to be fucking anagramical the way I'm writing it.
SO: Round 2. What has changed in the last couple hours? I ate. I smoked some weed (which is notable because I typically don't wait till this late to get high). I lurked around on 4chan. I'm about to pour some whiskey and nod off.
By the way, 4chan: What a racist shithole. I thought the cooking board was alright, but goddamn if they aren't a bunch of anti-vaxxer, ignorant edgelords. I don't know, there are parts of the "culture" (ugh fucking kill me) that I can sort of appreciate. But not really, actually. I'm kind of more into Moot's ideas of internet anonymity vs the merging of IRL/online interactions that we all live in today. And when I say "into," I mean, "intrigued by" because I feel like internet anonymity is definitely more toxic than it is uplifting. And twitter, for a large part, functions virtually anonymously but is strife with idiots and bots and all the typical human nature bullshit. But theoretically
fuck I just smashed a moth I have to wash my hands and also get a wetnap to wipe my laptop because it landed on it and got it's weird dusty fucking wing imprint on it fuck honestly it's for the best I was a on dead train of thought brb
Okay I'm back. This is exciting, isn't it? I feel like I should have been timestamping my line breaks. Fuck. Okay, time to pour this drink. 1:36 AM
1:36 AM I'm back. Time to take a sip.
1:37 AM Okay, so. I suck at cooking and cleaning, I'm a lil bitch, 4chan sucks, I'm apparently getting drunker now.
It's strange how this sip of liquor immediately puts me off writing anymore. I don't know what's happening. In a way I feel myself getting more introspective. No, that's not the right word. Plus, if I'm getting introspective now then what the fuck have I been typing for the last 20 minutes? I mean, I guess I shouldn't confuse being prolifically self-centered with being introverted. I need to stop using big words I don't know the meaning of.
Small words time. Hemingway-style. Or was it someone else? I don't read.
Oh, the moth. I kind of regret killing it. I'd already failed to slap it between my palms a few times today, so when I actually got it I wasn't even thinking about the moth. If anything I was thinking about how I fumbled killing the moth so many times. But really I wasn't thinking anything at all. I should have let it live. Fuck me. I'd love to be a moth. It sounds nice. Sensing the world from my antennas. Buzzing about sensing moisture and light or however the fuck moths perceive. Maybe it wouldn't be that great. But still, I like noise rock and Rothko paintings so I'm pretty sure that means I'd fucking LOVE being an insect. Jesus, Matt, what does that even mean? I mean, what is noise rock, even? I like shoegaze. Okay, shoegaze and Rothko.
Oh right, I said I didn't read but now I remember I once read "The Death of a Moth," a short essay by Virginia Woolf. I never read the whole collection. I also almost said it was written by Flannery O'Conner, too. Matt, you're such a fucking retard. Don't worry, I mean that in the nonoffensive way that 4channers use it. Anyway, I remember reading that, I don't really remember shit from it. Let's see, if I remember correctly (I don't), the title of the essay was pretty literal. Literal in the sense that it was just a poignant description and mulling of a moth dying on a windowsill. That's probably wrong. Anyway, a far different type of MothDeathTM than the one that I just executed. Okay. Yikes. This was a nightmare of a post. Sorry.
Wednesday, May 6
I had a crush on Sara Jane, I think. At least I remember remembering the fact that I had a crush on her. It almost feels like a story I've heard, but I think it's true. So I liked her. But now that I really think hard on it, the only distinct memory of her that I have is getting in trouble for pulling out her chair. I vaguely remember doing it, but I remember getting in trouble for it more. I don't know why I did it. I don't remember seeing or learning that anywhere. Just innate badness. Still, out of character for me then and now. Although I guess I did tease a lot of girls through middle school. But in a fun way? And not a physical, hurtful prank kind of way. Still trashbag behavior though. I was/am a trashbag. Anyway, I was thinking about that and I feel bad. I feel shame. Shame shame shame.
God, I'm an idiot. I'm trying to remember if I did this before or after I got molested. Before, I hope. After would be... sadder. I can't remember anything. I hate myself. If I can't remember anything, what can I look forward to look back on? I don't know. Time to get drunk. ("He's not already drunk?" The imaginary reader asks.) Not yet, I ain't. Also, imaginary reader, yeah, I was molested. If you want to know more, suffice it to say that it sucks but at the time it kind of didn't suck but actually of course it always sucked from the beginning but I was too dumb and (if I'm allowed to play the blame game) the trauma became a sort of nucleating point for my already neurotic/depressed-ass mind (leading me to this fucking trainwreck blog) and finally the suckiest part is realizing that nothing and noone is 100% sucky or 100% non-sucky. To even think that something so complicated as suckiness can be quantified as a percentage... wrong. God, I'm losing my fucking mind. Today was fucking rough. And quick sidenote, I know I just said the word "sucky" a lot but I didn't suck anyone off nor get sucked off. I got molested. Yup. Anyway. Fuck