Status Ailment: You have been afflicted with self introspection.

So I kind of like this little bite sized truffle format that was born out of confusion yesterday. So I think I’ll continue to blaze away on that very trail.

STUDENT’S TRAIL MIX

I’m sorry but you will never catch me eating anything that is named “Student’s Trail Mix” ever. Not that I hold any contempt for the learned or those in pursuit of learning. I just can’t bring myself to admit that I am permanently enmeshed in education and educational pursuits for the rest of my life. Besides, the bizarre and almost demeaning brand name oozes subliminal contempt. At least the Wild Ginger Trail Mix seems to have some sort of reckless abandon to it. Like you are embarking on a full fledged mother fucking adventure when you grab a handful of the shit. Student Trail Mix seems to denote: Yea motherfucker, eat it all up with a side of ramen… because you’ll be consuming this shit until you pay off your loans thirty years from now.

WHILE MY IPHONE GENTLY WEEPS

Speaking of subliminal douchebaggery, I’m sure there are a whole lot of people who wish my right hand was amputated as per the skywalker incident. I make no apologies for the fact that I am thoroughly addicted to twittering and thus the application entitled Twitterrific. I don’t think I ever really got the concept of twittering or micro-blogging for that matter until I lost my keys for the first time a couple of weeks ago. Get stuck in any place you don’t want to be for a short period of time and you will look to your phone for amusement and solace. Seeing as how I always seem to be in places I don’t really technically want to be, my angst (or occasional joy) can be broadcast instantly for a dozen people to stare in horror at.

Anything that pops into my head that I find remotely fascinating can be shat out instantly and sent to deface the internet in small bite sized pieces. If it sounds stupid, it probably is. But I can’t tell you how many times I’ve referenced my twitter page the following day to analyze if I’ve had an okay time or not.

I spent most of the summer nerding out trying to strategize a way for everything to be synced together. Because really, I’m just that important, right? I’ve got something to say and the internet has a right to know. One random sentence at a time.

SLEEP AS THE COUSIN OF DEATH

I’ve either been fending off something for the past week or just in poor health. My boss and a couple of coworkers have had some continuous plague. Myself, I’ve just had this weird body feeling in my arms. I went to bed pretty early last night on the account of my legs being completely trashed from the bike. I really do love the whole fixed gear conversion. It does force me to think less about random things and more about riding.

Someone would wonder why that would be a good thing at all. I think too much as it is. You might call me a little thinker. Thats what my grade school teachers called me. They also called me horribly uncoordinated of which I can somewhat vouch for.

I wanted to ride today but the weather was just too cold for me. I can only assault my body so much. Sometimes I really just need to peel back and pick my battles. I’m starting to do that ever so slightly. I’d hate to call it getting old because I hear a lot of people reference that. I mean, no doubt, I’m aging. Everybody is. But really you have the right to become who you want to become. And in some senses, become what you need to become.

ME, MYSELF, AND I

I was kind of struck with this whole realization the other day about the fact that I’ve been absolutely alone for about a year. And by alone, I don’t mean like I spent the bulk of it locked inside my house. I mean thats fairly evident from all the crazy shit I do. But one of the things I knew that I had to do as a result of ‘the incident’ was understand it. Thats just my crazy analytical side voraciously consuming every bit and piece of that experience.

And not to romanticize it at all, because there are elements of it that completely fucking sucked, suck and still keep on sucking. There’s a weird feeling I get sometimes when I think of people who like to be alone. I’ll think about my mom and how she’s starved for human contact sometimes. Its such a hard thing to look at. Because deep down you know that somewhere in that thought process you are going to see the same gears grinding away within yourself.

To be fair, its not generally that emo. Ok, it possibly is and I think maybe its way too heavy to discuss openly on a blog. Its a very free and easy existence never to have to open up to anyone. You can sit in your cage and throw feces at the wall, hopping up and down without any regard for how you’ll be categorized in some posthumous research paper. You’re free and at the same time, not so much.

OPEN TO INTERPRETATION

I guess thats the most frustrating thing about blogging, communicating, writing music, or just sharing things. There are some days I’m quite literally completely mortified for writing things down. I feel the need to justify it like some foreword written by some leading expert on the paranormal. Really at the end of the day, none of that should matter at all.

We all do things because we enjoy doing them or at least I hope we do. Lately I’ve started to stop doing things I don’t really enjoy. Actually thats a total lie. I don’t really enjoy constantly running to and fro in thirty degree weather looking for the next greatest thing. Maybe thats a lie too. Chalk it up to my Viking heritage. We were pretty excited about getting the fuck out of where we were and sailing the seas.

I had this talk with a friend recently where I acknowledged to him that pretty much every where I go, it seems like the same set of people dressed differently. You can walk into a room and automatically start sorting people into organizational groups. I find myself doing that a lot. I mean I’ve always done that. But I think its far more interesting and scathing to figure out where you, yourself would be filed under.

FILE UNDER G

So what am I? Extrovert. Fashionista. Hide and Seeker. Avid Biker. Technofetishist. Overly sensitive. Overly aloof. Vapid. Deep. Alpha. Omega. Phi beta kappa. Cappadona.

Am I the dude that people see at least once and go “Wow I’m sure glad I’m not him. He’s a total Douche.” I’m sure of it sometimes. So sure that if you put a picture of me next to some hideously tanned, eyebrow waxed weightlifter… you could see the resemblance. No wait. I can’t go that far.

Its as if the the voices of the drunk outside my apartment just rose to my defense in synchronical grace. I’m trash, no doubt. Everyone is. Anyone who thinks they’re any better had better have a very good lawyer. Its again that age old adage of what you do with your junk that makes you either refuse or functional.

Then again that may be the second hand clothes just gassing up my head a bit.