Illegal Mushrooms, Skrillex, and My Heart

I sat alone after work. I was perched upon a stool in front of the computer and I spent some time taking up space. My buddy at work was talking about his three-story beer bong so much that I invited myself over. It was constructed for a rowdy party last night, but it still remained standing. I was intrigued.

I sat alone on the stool and checked my email. I didn't bother to write. I didn't bother to read. I was wasting time until I felt motivated to leave.

I locked the front doors and set the alarm. I unlocked my trike and set my iPod to Skrillex. All I can hear right now is Skrillex.

I stopped by Pasqualley's Pizza and got some of what they really sell, which is a million varieties of crunk beers. I picked up a 40oz Mickey's for me, and a six pack of Pabst in case of beer bonging. I went to visit my friend.

I didn't drink any beer from his sections of garden hose, but I did manage to score some illegal mushrooms from another guy. These are fruitful times, it seems.

I ate about an eighth of mushrooms. Color and light were in full force by the time I convinced myself that finishing the beer in my hand was more a product of non-wastefulness than any inherent want. I said my goodbyes as a familiar Blood Sweat & Tears song formed a cloud in front of the record player. I beat my way to the trike and set my sights toward home.

I proceeded with Plan A, which was to listen to music. Illegal mushrooms were a welcome addition. With no work tomorrow, I fell into the easy process of getting completely lost inside of a Skrillex album.

I got lost in that album and some others. I managed to get some water, but it was apparent from the start that the menu for the night included no food. My room is fairly poor at being insulated, and the crisp night replicated itself inside of the attic. Instead of putting on pants and two hoodies, I got lost under my thin blanket until I was warm enough to look at music again.

With illegal mushrooms can sometimes come an epiphany. Between bouts of Skrillex, I kept my ears and insides wide open for one. That's the spiritual side of my occasional drug use. I didn't get an epiphany, but I began to recognize the obvious more clearly. I'm falling too quickly for Kristin. Of course I like her. I'm absolutely enamored. But the signals are clear that we have different ideas. Words are stronger than signals: she's told me twice that we're not a good match.

I'm reasonable and calm enough to recognize exactly what she means. Maybe she wants one of those kinds of guys that has a plan. Money, houses and children are a few things that people tend to aim for. I need to find a balance between keeping my heart in check and not doing anything to fuck up an important friendship. I can't get clingy or blind, and I'll need to settle for reality. I clearly recognize that this is in my best interest.

I write all kinds of ideas here. I share insecurities. I try to stay humble in life and text. (Only about 9 people read this, so it doesn't matter much - but if you actually like it, tell a friend. I don't exactly advertise.)

I am one fucking confident guy. I love myself and I think I am so fucking awesome. I am fun and smart and you should really want to be around me. I am an absolute gold mine. I am so fucking friendly and funny. What do you like? I like that too. Did I mention how goddamned handsome I am? I'm also strong as an ox, and have the resting heart-rate of an athlete. Alcoholic? No. I just drink a lot sometimes. Anxiety? No. That's just the sound of me eating breakfast. I love life. I have goals. I will succeed in my goals because they are not materially based. I will not trade my time and money for bills and ropes that tie me to time clocks and more bills. I will continue to find happiness and comfort. I will try new foods and meet new people. I love the hell out of myself. I'm not priced for a quick sale, but I am a bargain at twice the price for an educated consumer.

What I mean by the previous paragraph is that I am more confident than I feel comfortable letting on. Someone who writes publicly about every day of their life has an ego that is definitely suspect. But I'm humble, which is a fucking awesome quality.

The entire point of this is that I'm sorta getting ahead of myself because I met a new girl that I think is totally hot and smart and funny. My initial instinct is to spray-paint my name on her and steal all of her free time. But I won't be all mopey if I'm not her personal Jesus. I admit: I could be prone to jealously, but it would probably take something mean or tactless. And I definitely want to be the best at sex. In any case, the cards are on the table. We talk openly, and she reads all of the stuff that I write.