Don’t stop or…

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at the typewriter and bleed.” -Hemingway

Would you mind very much if I bled a little? My blood is pretty toxic and scary and pleasant and nauseating and poisonous, all at once. It is okay that I subject you to this blood?

Whatever I don’t care. You chose to be here.

So.

I feel like a ball starting to pick up momentum. I was once a very closed-minded grump that thought maybe I could do make-up tutorials on Youtube? Or do nails the rest of my life? Be a stay at home mom? No. Now please don’t be offended. I am not shitting on these activities or careers. No. Not at all. We do what we do. But sometimes we find that what we are doing is not what we are meant to do. I always knew I was wasted potential. I was a young girl that everyone expected to succeed, but got pregnant young, got dealt a hand from the dark side [pigs and all], and was completely confused. Now, at 25, I realize that is part of the whole process. I am going to attempt to say all these cliche things in a non-cliche way so that the content of this blog post is not stale. But remember, I am aware that it is all cliche. It wouldnt be cliche if it weren’t true doe.

This process I speak of. The experiences of life. The shitty, nasty, terrible, horrible, all adjectives that are negative live right here for this sentence, to describe the events that are tres mal…are here to guide me, to guide you, to the path that will fulfill us. Ew this sounds so beyond cliche. Too inspirational. Like a stupid cursive-y font spelling “hope” type thing. Too “I am Lord giving you a speech on your life you are living”-y.

I need to start over. Bad shit happens to everyone, but if you look deeply enough…there is a benefit. I know it would have been easier for me to say “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” but how lame. Look  honestly this is just the holographic universe. You and I are just 3D projections from a 2D image within a black hole. We are a computer program designed by more intelligent beings, more than likely us in the fifth dimension, using us as Sims. You are a Sim. I am a Sim. Most aspects of our lives are predetermined and numbers and mathematics play a big role because THIS IS THE MATRIX.

Our existence described in numbers…coincidence? I don’t think so. But I have decided to just accept it. There is nothing I can do. I am merely a Sim. But this Sim is gonna wreck some shit. As in get a decent career that pays decent money and buy a Land Rover and get a German Shepherd and send some Sims to the holographic Mars because the holographic Earth is malfunctioning and the Sims need to relocate to continue their life of holographic sin.

Or good. Whatever your virtue or vice is. Philosophy just falls apart now. Everything falls apart…

in a blackhole. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

What is my problem? Can you focus for one damn minute?

Right now you shouldn’t be blogging, Katherine. You should be evaluating triple integrals to find the area, density, and weight of solids. You should be finding general solutions of differential equations using derivatives of functions. You should be calculating the moment of inertia of a metal beam to improve your structural analysis skills. You should be putting more applications in to various engineering companies so that your resume be poppin’. You should be singing 50 Nifty United States to your son on repeat. You should be cleaning your room. You should be packing your shit for the Coast so that you aren’t scrambling after work tomorrow. You should be exercising to get your body on point for that moment you take a gander at John Mayer in June in case he even glances at you. Pause.

Can we talk about that for a moment? Yes, this is my blog. We will.

My best friend surprised me with tickets to see this man. He reminds me of all the men I have ever loved.

I mean I don’t know him personally to say that actually. But his music feels like home to me for some reason. It’s like I don’t know him, but when I listen to his music this side of me understands his hints. It doesn’t help that he has a look I am quite partial to. (I love using the word partial to explain fondness) But yes. John Mayer. I don’t know if I will be able to handle his grade A guitar skills, his strange chin and lip combo, his shadow of a stache, but I have five months to prepare. I never wanted to see him in person or him perform because then I feel like it would make the magic go away. He would be too real. I would feel all types of “oh shit it is John Mayer”, “damn he is so handsome”, “cheeeeese his voice”, “cheeeeese this guitar solo”, “John I understand you”, “John I wish I weren’t a peasant so that maybe we could talk about space travel or something witty or deep”. I don’t know him, but music connects us and some of his songs have taken a toll on me.

But back to things I should be doing…

There is just too much to be done. Too many people to apologize to. Too many bills to pay. Too many tears to cry. Too many tests to take. Too many equations to solve. Let me control the velocity of the arrow of time. I mean I could but I don’t have enough jet fuel nor do I want to age more quickly than others. I am not the game player. I do not control relativity or the space time continuum. I can only hope to understand it through Albert Einstein’s eyes and mind. But please government, please declassify the worm holes and traveling back in time. I could weep thinking about that opportunity. To smell my old house. To have a second chance with MBE. To do better on my Statics exam.

I wanna be 7 years old again. I want 1998 back. Please give it back game player. I beg you. I can’t have even this moment at 7:53. You just take it from me and leave me with a muddy memory because you programmed me to be so scatterbrained and forgetful. You slap me with 7:54. What if I slapped you back by traveling through those times anyways. Going back to my origin. No you won’t let me. Instead I can rely on different philosophies to make myself feel like I have purpose. It’s sick.

Sick I say. Today I prayed to the universe that maybe KFK will decide to date a gal like me. I am awaiting the universe aka game player’s response. Gee whiz oh golly I hope so. But I am patient. Not really, but I fake it a lot.

I fake a lot of things, if you know what I am saying. Intelligence, laughs, orgasms. Yeah. I do what I want.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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