Most of my writing efforts have lately been on that story for the press company in Texas. In the meanwhile, here goes:

It's just how like when you're doing a line drawing and a piece of pencil eraser laying underneath your paper pushes your pen off track.

It's just like the loud, drunk girl in the bar yelling, "Tell the truth, stalker! You know you showed up here knowing I was with someone else; like when you cut the lock on my gate, like when you were standing in the window when I was showering. You're a fucking piece of shit stalker!"

I wish he'd tell her how fucked up he really is.

"You're such a motherfuckin' piece of shit," she continues.

That much I can relate to.

Her angst seems to justify her argument.

Like how every relationship will have its problem. A problem that cannot be solved, nor can the blame be pinned, nor can the accuser be accused, and it's easier to be the victim than the one who has to take responsibility.

As in every situation. There is something unsettling beneath the skin. Just as there is something inhuman, very human, in every human. You're buying groceries. You're buying cigarettes. You're paying for a movie ticket. There is something unsettling about the situation.

It cannot be pinpointed.Never a solid deal. Never an equal compromise. Never a full acceptance.

In America, the Civil War still exists. Not just between every race, but between every religion, every class, and every dietary preference. Friends are enemies and enemies are too easily made friends.

Republicans love their peaceful sounding buzzwords like "fair and balanced," but it exists as a façade, like a guy at a club telling a girl he loves her just so he can get in her pants. It's all about fucking who you believe to be lesser and making them believe it. People are too willing to get themselves fucked.

We always return to what we hated we were. Regress to our self-hatred during our attempt at rising up.

Those who seem to make it, make it successful, make it successfully rich, always seem so ridiculously stupid, incompetent, and wonderfully doomed for failure, a failure we wished came sooner.

Just like when you're trying hard you fatigue, run out of breath. Your will and angst still perseveres, but your body shuts down, runs out of oxygen.

Like when you love and you're not loved back. When you're rich and your friends are poor. And when you're poor, your friends are rich.

The same applies to hunger.

Go a couple days without eating and it will make sense.

When you're not going to win, it doesn't mean you're losing.

Lose enough and it will make sense.

And a loss is never a loss.

Unless you always expect to win.

Somehow, you have to make the decision: choose happiness or choose depression and fatigue.You are just who you are, not some perceived notion of who you are trying to be.

Choose it and live it.