FA+
Shop
Entry 2
8 years ago
General
What am I doing with my life?!?! *had existential crisis*
Entry two
(Read number one first!!!!! READ IT!)
https://www.furaffinity.net/journal/8374213/
Journal = a daily record of news and events of a personal nature; a (masculine) diary.
I woke up this morning, as I do most mornings, and examined my surroundings. I didn't wake up on one of my four bed quadrants, in fact, I didn't wake up on my bed at all. The lights were still on in the kitchen from my kool-aid drinking binge the night before. It was an odd sensation, awakening with no predetermined mood. I couldn't really say whether or not I had awoken on the right or wrong side of the bed. The next several waking hours of my existence were sure to be emotionless and boring. Best to get it over with. The cold handle of the coffee pot sat flush with my palms as I poured a glass (not a mug) of cold dark coffee (such as to relate to my soul) and squirted a generous amount of toothpaste in it. The goal was to clean my teeth at the same moment I stained them, it seemed like a legitimately good idea at the time. The odd mixture passed through my lips, and a moment later I was bent over the sink spitting it out. It wasn't due to the toothpaste, it was due to the fact that I had just recalled my personal relationship with coffee. I FUCKING HATE COFFEE. Let that marinate in your brain as you meditate to whatever dull shit you listen to while tying to find your "zen". Coffee is literally the piss of demons. I calmly placed the glass down on the counter. My position of wake determined the fact that I would not display any emotion. I did not wake up in any of the four bed quadrants that dictate my day.
I stared at myself in the mirror with a bland expression. My face was all red, the shower was full on hot as I had used the cold water tank to flood the basement (always wanted that indoor swimming pool). The reflection stared back at me. I could almost see the middle finger he was giving me with those eyes. On any other day I would have gotten angry, but today was not any other day.
I skipped brushing my teeth, as I did that with my coffee, then did four jumping jacks out in the hallway to constitute my daily exercise. The couch felt inviting as I sank down into the cushions, the soft vinyl caressing my ass. I felt awkward so I stood up and decided to venture outside for the first time in quite a while. I waked to the end of the porch before deciding that I had enough. Retreating back into my dark cave of dismal misery and abysmal disappointment, I scoured the shag carpet for remnants of food. It had to have been at least a week since there was any form of edible food in the house.
I briefly thought of contacting my mother, but I knew that I had disappointed her. I threw away any chance I had at a happy and fulfilling life by becoming an artist. My art consisted of audio recordings of me moaning in misery at the outcome of my current predicament (kidding, I doodle a little).
My eyes rested on the pistol on my countertop. I didn't recall ever seeing that there before, but didn't hesitate to pick it up, cock it, and stick it in my mouth. I had read somewhere briefly that aligning the barrel with the roof of the mouth spells instant death, (metaphor, it doesn't literally spell "instant death.") so I decided why the hell not. I took a few moments to savor the metallic taste and the idea of human unconsciousness before deciding that the seagull in my attic was a better recipient of the bullet than me. Being the normal person I am, I decided to prolong my suffering and give my "get out of jail (or purgatory...or whatever this shit is) free card" to the dumb mindless bird upstairs. I trudged up the steps and opened the door to the attic, letting the wooden staircase descend like a dove from heaven. The bird was up there. It just stared at me. I thought about re-watching every episode of Sherlock instead of killing the bird, but it was a fleeting idea. To be honest though, that bird could have been my only friend. I shot it. I guess some people just can't have anything nice.
A wave of regret washed over me. That bullet would have felt damn good lodged inside my skull. I actually began to feel upset that I shot the bird rather than myself, but then again, today was going to be an emotionless day. It wasn't as freeing as I thought I would be. I still felt trapped in my mind, just the prison cell was empty, not full of shit I didn't want to be thinking about.
The sky was dark when I stepped out back to water my garden. My homemade solution of Clorox and paint thinner wasn't having the desired effect on the pizza bush I planted last week. Also, the dimensional portal had completely radiated the green beans. I was officially out of food. Damn. Time to go out...to...the...store.
I laughed. What a silly idea. Me? Go to the fucking store? Wow. In an alternate universe, maybe, but not here, not now, not ever.
The mailman dropped off the mail, well, he didn't, but I'd like to think he did. I sorted through the imaginary letters and tore open the one from my "friend".
"Greetings asshole." It said.
"Howdy shitface," I responded.
"I can't believe you're talking to a fucking letter you retard."
"God! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"At least my mother would kiss me."
Low blow.
I tore up the dismal letter and made my way down the front hall. The telephone rang in the next room, and I briefly thought about how awkward it would be if I died on a phone conversation. They'd probably think I was a dick to just drop off like that. I let the phone ring, basking in delight at the perceived frustration for the person waiting for me to pick up.
My day slowly wound down and came to a rest. It was dark outside, I was hungry, tomorrow I would find food. I would go hunting in the shag carpet first and bring down something good. Perhaps a tick, maybe a mite. Who knows.
I made sure to inject myself with Sodium Pentothal for honest dreaming before getting into my knees and praying to my patron saint Fred Astaire.
"Teach me to dance like a good dancer," I mumbled in my drugged up state.
"I can't teach you. I'm dead," he responded.
"Any advise?"
"Yeah. Stop being a dumbass and praying to people who can't hear you, don't care about you, and have no role in your life whatsoever."
I nodded and said "okay." I think he flipped me off.
The lights were turned off, so it was rather dark. It was pretty easy to make a stupid-ass noise with my mouth and pretend that I had high-tech night vision goggles stapled to my face. I lay down and began to jerk......my......blankets around until they settled nicely....
Anyway, that was my horribly uninteresting day.
So...
Don't eat glow in the dark mushrooms, and PLEASE, don't fuck Dutch Angel Dragons. They're too cute and innocent...you prevented sociopathic bastard.
So yeah, don't fuck D.A.Ds....lol...dads...don't do that either.
I say crazy things when I'm sleep deprived. I'm sorry. This has all been shit, and I don't usually curse this much. My life hit a wall and I'm bored. Save me from myself.
I need to bleach my brain.
Cheers (I'm 100% legit American)
Austin.
(Read number one first!!!!! READ IT!)
https://www.furaffinity.net/journal/8374213/
Journal = a daily record of news and events of a personal nature; a (masculine) diary.
I woke up this morning, as I do most mornings, and examined my surroundings. I didn't wake up on one of my four bed quadrants, in fact, I didn't wake up on my bed at all. The lights were still on in the kitchen from my kool-aid drinking binge the night before. It was an odd sensation, awakening with no predetermined mood. I couldn't really say whether or not I had awoken on the right or wrong side of the bed. The next several waking hours of my existence were sure to be emotionless and boring. Best to get it over with. The cold handle of the coffee pot sat flush with my palms as I poured a glass (not a mug) of cold dark coffee (such as to relate to my soul) and squirted a generous amount of toothpaste in it. The goal was to clean my teeth at the same moment I stained them, it seemed like a legitimately good idea at the time. The odd mixture passed through my lips, and a moment later I was bent over the sink spitting it out. It wasn't due to the toothpaste, it was due to the fact that I had just recalled my personal relationship with coffee. I FUCKING HATE COFFEE. Let that marinate in your brain as you meditate to whatever dull shit you listen to while tying to find your "zen". Coffee is literally the piss of demons. I calmly placed the glass down on the counter. My position of wake determined the fact that I would not display any emotion. I did not wake up in any of the four bed quadrants that dictate my day.
I stared at myself in the mirror with a bland expression. My face was all red, the shower was full on hot as I had used the cold water tank to flood the basement (always wanted that indoor swimming pool). The reflection stared back at me. I could almost see the middle finger he was giving me with those eyes. On any other day I would have gotten angry, but today was not any other day.
I skipped brushing my teeth, as I did that with my coffee, then did four jumping jacks out in the hallway to constitute my daily exercise. The couch felt inviting as I sank down into the cushions, the soft vinyl caressing my ass. I felt awkward so I stood up and decided to venture outside for the first time in quite a while. I waked to the end of the porch before deciding that I had enough. Retreating back into my dark cave of dismal misery and abysmal disappointment, I scoured the shag carpet for remnants of food. It had to have been at least a week since there was any form of edible food in the house.
I briefly thought of contacting my mother, but I knew that I had disappointed her. I threw away any chance I had at a happy and fulfilling life by becoming an artist. My art consisted of audio recordings of me moaning in misery at the outcome of my current predicament (kidding, I doodle a little).
My eyes rested on the pistol on my countertop. I didn't recall ever seeing that there before, but didn't hesitate to pick it up, cock it, and stick it in my mouth. I had read somewhere briefly that aligning the barrel with the roof of the mouth spells instant death, (metaphor, it doesn't literally spell "instant death.") so I decided why the hell not. I took a few moments to savor the metallic taste and the idea of human unconsciousness before deciding that the seagull in my attic was a better recipient of the bullet than me. Being the normal person I am, I decided to prolong my suffering and give my "get out of jail (or purgatory...or whatever this shit is) free card" to the dumb mindless bird upstairs. I trudged up the steps and opened the door to the attic, letting the wooden staircase descend like a dove from heaven. The bird was up there. It just stared at me. I thought about re-watching every episode of Sherlock instead of killing the bird, but it was a fleeting idea. To be honest though, that bird could have been my only friend. I shot it. I guess some people just can't have anything nice.
A wave of regret washed over me. That bullet would have felt damn good lodged inside my skull. I actually began to feel upset that I shot the bird rather than myself, but then again, today was going to be an emotionless day. It wasn't as freeing as I thought I would be. I still felt trapped in my mind, just the prison cell was empty, not full of shit I didn't want to be thinking about.
The sky was dark when I stepped out back to water my garden. My homemade solution of Clorox and paint thinner wasn't having the desired effect on the pizza bush I planted last week. Also, the dimensional portal had completely radiated the green beans. I was officially out of food. Damn. Time to go out...to...the...store.
I laughed. What a silly idea. Me? Go to the fucking store? Wow. In an alternate universe, maybe, but not here, not now, not ever.
The mailman dropped off the mail, well, he didn't, but I'd like to think he did. I sorted through the imaginary letters and tore open the one from my "friend".
"Greetings asshole." It said.
"Howdy shitface," I responded.
"I can't believe you're talking to a fucking letter you retard."
"God! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"At least my mother would kiss me."
Low blow.
I tore up the dismal letter and made my way down the front hall. The telephone rang in the next room, and I briefly thought about how awkward it would be if I died on a phone conversation. They'd probably think I was a dick to just drop off like that. I let the phone ring, basking in delight at the perceived frustration for the person waiting for me to pick up.
My day slowly wound down and came to a rest. It was dark outside, I was hungry, tomorrow I would find food. I would go hunting in the shag carpet first and bring down something good. Perhaps a tick, maybe a mite. Who knows.
I made sure to inject myself with Sodium Pentothal for honest dreaming before getting into my knees and praying to my patron saint Fred Astaire.
"Teach me to dance like a good dancer," I mumbled in my drugged up state.
"I can't teach you. I'm dead," he responded.
"Any advise?"
"Yeah. Stop being a dumbass and praying to people who can't hear you, don't care about you, and have no role in your life whatsoever."
I nodded and said "okay." I think he flipped me off.
The lights were turned off, so it was rather dark. It was pretty easy to make a stupid-ass noise with my mouth and pretend that I had high-tech night vision goggles stapled to my face. I lay down and began to jerk......my......blankets around until they settled nicely....
Anyway, that was my horribly uninteresting day.
So...
Don't eat glow in the dark mushrooms, and PLEASE, don't fuck Dutch Angel Dragons. They're too cute and innocent...you prevented sociopathic bastard.
So yeah, don't fuck D.A.Ds....lol...dads...don't do that either.
I say crazy things when I'm sleep deprived. I'm sorry. This has all been shit, and I don't usually curse this much. My life hit a wall and I'm bored. Save me from myself.
I need to bleach my brain.
Cheers (I'm 100% legit American)
Austin.
