I envy those wide eyed all smiles people who can pat themselves on the back for having a good day.
A good day defined by the cruel, corporate world created by those who created what a good day
should be for people like you and me.

Unless you have tonnes of beer and cigarette money in your pocket, please stay put and read on. If you do, please go.

Like, everyone's carrying shitload on their shoulders without realizing it, like it's a norm, Kelsen's norm. And because it's a norm, not many question them. Well, I carry the sky on my shoulder every single day and it only gets heavier by the day. It's heaviest daytime and gets lighter as it gets darker and darker into the night.

I was supposed to be in bed 3 hours ago, but that's not important for you to know. What is, is that I'm on a quest to live my life like a regular person. Like a school going kid. Go to bed early and start your day early. To be more productive, so to speak.

I managed to wake up pretty early this morning but I hanged. Like a sloth, inching my way to the daylight. It didn't help when I stare blankly at my dump in the bathroom, because I was in a haze. Mind, body and soul freeze. Flicking the lever immediately after I realized what happened, I promised myself to run a mile to sober up.

I didn't. Instead, I had a heavy dinner because I was too preoccupied thinking about what I wanted to do with my day and skipped breakfast and lunch doing just that, and then I bought more beer. I just came back from the convenient and got myself another beer. My shoulder's so much lighter now. I can draft. I can work. I can do wonders. I can lift my shoulders to my ears and let the night sky fall and see the stars break on the floor. But I can't because I need to go to bed and hope for the better tomorrow.

Those who have been here often enough will see the evolution. Different style, more vulgar and more me.

Mon bebe is burning and lifting stuff at the gym. I wonder if it's as heavy as my shoulder. Or lighter because she aced in dealing with the practical side of life. I don't know.

When I was younger, I dread the fact that one day my mom and dad will kick the bucket. Many many years after, I see my dad getting older and my mom broke her arm twice. She's agile younger, if the fall would have happened 5 years ago, she would have performed a gravity defying somersault without messing up her hair. I wonder if I'm ready to face this.

The permanent rash on my heart is killing me. I'm permanently restless. I wish I could open up my chest and scratch my heart with all my might and force my manicure can withstand. Typing manicure made me want to cross dress.

I also develop a habit of cleaning my apartment. I just mopped the floor for the 4th time in 2 days. Mopping gives me the sobriety I was lacking. Mopping makes me feel clean because I'm cleaning up dirt. TO be able to clean, you have to have certain degree of control and positivity.  The hope to change things, the hope that something good will follow after action.

I'm going to bed. Bye.