Flow

Realizing that there’s this whole life I have sitting inside of me, a whole nother me that just can’t be explained. The last few weeks have started to push me, started to make my brain sore from the constant going. It seems more aware, the stress of my body brings the clarity to me. The best work to flow from this mind happens when I’m like this, when my mind feels its crashing under the pressure. My best writing, my business plans and my creative juices take over when the repetition starts to consume.

The time I would normally run, change the scenery to ease this troubled mind. I’m learning, I’m learning fast how to use this stubborn head. They call me El Burro Blanco, the white donkey. What started as a nickname for the business, seems to describe more than just one of my muscles. The collapse of mindset, the by the book ways don’t work in this skull. When my mind is clear I struggle, when life get’s easy I struggle. Hard to keep going on such a boring path, my ideas lay numb in my brain. When I have nothing left, when I have no explanation for the words is when I get past just thinking. I build, I create stories and ideas that take my opportunity to the next level.

A college drop out can only survive on his ideas, a steady job means little to me. Waiting two weeks for a fresh start is no lifestyle for me, get me a paycheck on a Tuesday. The same thing every day, I am no career man. I never wanted to be just one thing, I never will be. Learning to create my own change, learning to create change in the city I live. I’ve seen enough already, eleven homes in three years; its time for a break. The constant moving took its tull on every strand of my being. Learning how to chase the dreams I can catch, it’s all at the tip of these fingertips. I can’t find it anywhere else, creating the new is better than finding it. This entrepreneurial mind knows how to flow, the ideas run as the intensity grows.

The Beginning

The alarm rang, piercing the cool morning air. It was 4am, far to early for anything real to happen. That buzz killed me, reminded me that the rest was over, this day had to start. I rolled quickly to the foot of my bed, unplugging the glowing noise box on the other end of the room. I had been awake all night, resting the body but not the mind. Slowly I eased back into bed, propped my pillows up against the wall trying to get a last moment of comfort in. A last moment of relaxation before this day, the room had never felt so silent. Sitting in the dark I couldn’t think, there was no reason to. The fear of what was about to happen numbed me, it gripped my soul. I leaned over to my bedside table grabbing my silver grinder and that familiar bong. I grabbed a pinch of sativa and loaded the bowl like I had on so many other mornings. My nerves shot, hands shaking; today it was out of necessity, not some cheap thrill like usual.

I flicked my Zippo, gently caressing the herb with the low flame. Breathe; breathe that familiar smoke into those lungs. I sat, holding the cloud in. This was my moment, ten seconds of serenity before the world would start again. Exhaling, the thin smoke danced in the warm light that shone through the window. It seemed to hang in the air, effortlessly motionless.  It hovered over the mess of a room, that pathetic studio box I’d lived in for too long.

The floor was covered with the essentials for adventure, for survival. I guess packing wasn’t a priority to me, its best left to the last minute. The things I would need were all there, they just needed to be stuffed into that big blue pack. Clothes, blankets, camping equipment; everything a man would need to survive in this world. Necessities of a life without walls, a life without the comforts we come to know and love. All of this sat in front of me, it didn’t matter, I couldn’t fathom everything that was about to happen.

Two more pulls, inhaling the sweet nectar that put my mind at ease. The room hazier still, it was time to get up, time for all this shit to begin. Sliding my feet to the floor I turned on the light illuminating that tiny space. It was nothing more than a patch of carpet and a miniature kitchen, a bargain in Los Angeles. A bargain, the cost of living had kept me just above the line of poverty for the last six months. It was home, my empty stale home, the hole that trapped me each night I came home and locked the door.  I was ready to escape, leave this town that killed any possibility of living. A Life trapped by work, bills, and this metropolis in the desert. A town that tried to kill anything wild, anything free; this unbearable town killed any chance of living.

My plan was simple, fill that backpack and leave by any means necessary. No money and no plans, all I had was a destination and a deadline. I had no real reason to leave, it just felt right. I had eight days, eight days to get to D.C. A destination, that’s all I needed to spark this adventure. My friend Dell, my childhood friend from that country town in Washington State, was attending some conference to stop intolerance. They were trying to save child-soldiers in Africa, a bunch of privileged children throwing their dollars from the comfort of this continent to “save” these kids. A reason to put a little warmth in their hearts, to self satisfy their lust for good; it was really just a donation to pad the salaries of some non-profit leaders.  It didn’t matter to me either way, I could have been preventing child-soldiers, or ending sodomy in the Vatican, I just needed a reason to get out of the palm lined streets of Brentwood.

It had been a year of working my ass off to pay rent, to feed my parents expectations of an ideal child, I guess they were my expectations as well. A full-time life, school and work; I’d had it with this going nowhere. Somehow I had managed to afford a one way ticket back, motivation; I would have to get there. I knew with a full backpack and a big smile I could hitch my way across this country like so many before me had. My soul was aching for adventure; I needed to taste that freedom that I had become so accustomed to during my childhood in the mountains. This is how you set your soul free, by replacing everything you know and getting spit out the other end, hopefully alive…

Americana

They had finally caught up to me; everything had caught up to me. This crazy life, this town-to-town life; the anchor was dragging. My debts, my warrants; how did these people find me? I thought I’d shook those money hungry bastards, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d changed my address on paper. The phone calls were constant, oh how popular I must have been getting those daily calls from ‘800’ and ‘405’ numbers. Mrs. Hodes was a regular; I rarely bothered to listen to the messages of these pigs, they wanted every last cent I didn’t have. These people knew me, knew my name.  Their voices seemed more hardened every time I took a peak at the messages they left, never a reason, just a title and a call-back number. Every time they would tell me how easy it would be to sort this all out, just pay the debt, pay the warrants off. I have these debts for a reason; my money is mine, not theirs. These Washington’s and Lincoln’s and my wallet are there for my interest; when money is cheap, I’ll gladly hand it over. This life is mine; they think they can just buy my freedom. A country run on debt, all we can ever look forward too is paying off our bills before we starve to death. A couple thousand dollars for being too poor to pay off a ticket in time, take out a loan to pay for your mistake. I’d rather drive around that damn state then give those bureaucrats my hard earned dollar. At what point is my job no long for food, for rent; they throw us in this cycle expecting us to pay our way out. Where’s the freedom, when does adding more fines and fees teach us not to break society’s rules? These rules designed to keep us all civil, to create a defined set of order. How can these thieves decide what is and isn’t ‘just law,’ they have no clue who the citizen is; we are just a quota to them. The law of capitalists, arrested to pay the bills of the gluttonous yuppies in office. These elected officials, writing blank checks with no concern, no ethic. Why do they need my freedom, how does this create order? They try to run my life with fear; they need to realize that I’ve caught on to their hypocrisies. Stay mobile, stay under the radar; my life since I left that small town in Washington. The longer you stay, the faster they find you. They try to run our lives with fear, they call it democracy. The second you mess up you’re done, they can’t let Americans fuck with their system. Of the people, by the gun; there’s only one American dream. What was this dream they were thinking of when they wrote that constitution? Go to school, get a job, buy your neck-ties; that is no dream of mine. They say there is no other option; we are bread for this cycle of Americana. You leave the path and you fail, you die poor, alone. Freedom has been redefined; freedom is the college you attend.

I have been roaming awhile, searching from my dream, my Americana. This search for freedom and a way to make it all work in this fucked up world. They don’t want us to live on our own terms, we can’t live on our own terms; join the system, become the system.  Tried and true these systems work, these systems work for the blind at heart. Follow the rules, love Jesus, live a clean life. They don’t want us to think about the possibilities of anything different; society defines which drugs are acceptable for our character. Alcohol dumbs us, it numbs us; this is ok. It’s not up for debate that it alters our mindset, that it changes our being; who decided that this was the drug, the acceptable drug? Everyone needs a crutch, something to lean on when we are weak. The bible, bourbon, and bud; they’re all the same to me. These things expand our thought no matter how you look at it; anything in this world can alter your perspective. These clean-cut Christian rulers don’t know what they’re saying; no weed, no mushrooms, no acid, yet they preach to me that they are evil. Propaganda says these things will ruin us, destroy our very being; the weak are destroyed, the weak can be broken by anything. It’s not the drugs, it’s the weak. These self medications don’t make us better, they don’t make me better; they provide perspective in a world that has too many facets for any soul to comprehend in entirety. Harmful to my health, look at the statistics; lung cancer, alcoholism, these things are weeding out the week. Why haven’t I seen a sign for kids dying of acid overdoses, marijuana overdoses; these numbers are infants, they don’t matter on the grand scale. This country tells us to believe, to trust, but who is really looking at the facts? These conservative dictators try to justify it all, they run our lives with fear and shame. They are afraid of change and the possibility of a lost vote. A country of propaganda; who has time for the facts, who has time to live?

City of Fog

Mentally exhausted, drained of everything that had ever made me feel alive. It was more than sleep; I was crashing faster than my world seemed to be. Homeless, living out of my car in the streets of San Francisco, it would only be a few days until I no longer had the comfort of this machine. She got me here on gas, and soon, hopefully soon she would be paying for rent on my new place. The idea of putting what was left of this stalling mind on this page seemed dangerous. What would happen when my last thought ran out, what would I be left with? Old clothes, a bong and my dog; my poor bastard dog, stuck in the front seat and just as confused as I. His eyes asking the questions that I failed to find the answers to. How much longer would we be stuck in this damn car, when would life turn around like it always did? So many windows to look into, so many homes out there; yet I sleep here. I’m barely getting enough cash from this fiberglass beast, no more than a month to survive if I was lucky. Somehow, somewhere in me it felt worth it. Gaining the freedom from everything that has happened, freedom knowing that life could start again. When does this happen, when does my mind clear of the past?

The Troubles of the Travelling Salesman

There’s no one town, no single place for each of us. The world is too big to be left alone. The borders of nations are merely a chain of walls and land, seeming to disconnect the various ideas and cultures of the world. States are a weaker concept, the borders can only be recognized with the help of “Welcome” and “Thanks for Visiting” signs. To be confined by these weak walls makes me sad. There is so much to see and do it makes our short time here seem even shorter. Staying home seems sad, having a home for too long seems sad. Our dreams cannot be limited by these false borders. Our dreams have to push us to our greatest potential. When we limit our self’s we limit ourselves. The world needs to be pushed, pushed to the next level. We need to reach our next level of greatness. How do we determine ways to actively pursue our best interests when we lack the knowledge to see all available options.

Experiences we have change our perspective of the worlds we know. Limiting ourselves to the comfortable, the familiar, only limits what we can become. Being uncomfortable, being scared allows you to grow stronger as a person. You learn to resolve the negative forces in your life and figure out how to take care of yourself. The hardest thing is figuring out that you were wrong. Sometimes your biggest mistake and your best decision are the same thing. Life can always teach you something, and that can be the most valuable thing we get from life’s experiences. You learn, you love, you grow. You grow into the person you want to be. Never limit yourself to a location, time frame, or job. The world is limitless and always finds a way to work for those prepared to put in the work. Every house, every street corner, and every block has something you can take away from it. Keep your head up and your eyes open because there is always something to see. At some point we should all see the world, there’s no fun in being content.

I have the itch to move, the need to flight this town. I am used to this feeling, I’m always ready to go. Sometimes you just want to get rid of everything for that chance at something big, the experience of a lifetime. I feel minutes from filling my pack and seeing how far my thumb can get me across the Americas. Once you taste adventure, you need to have more. It’s about time that I get myself out of this town for a bit, get out the way I know how. A strip of cardboard and a magic marker aught to do the trick for me. I haven’t decided if I want to move or just an adventure, a city this isolated traps you in. I need to be somewhere I can’t get stuck. Europe sounds good to me, I could take the train to whatever town I was feeling that day. The various cultures in such a small area really tickles my fancy. With so many worlds so close, why wouldn’t traveling or staying in Europe be a good idea.

What it all comes down to is money; money to go money to stay. Having money takes the stress off the little things in life. Once that worry of money is gone you can really look at the real issues. Entrepreneurship is my main focus, so the question is where should I move and what should I open there. I could open a bare-bone restaurant almost anywhere. I have a decent ability for making beers and wines which would be a good start up, and the medical marijuana business in California is booming, although that bubble may pop if it’s legalized. I got the ideas, now where do I want to go and start up again, I have the option to go anywhere. This world is so interesting I would hated to get trapped in another town, I always need to see more. I need to be able to wake up smell that breeze and smile, to be happy in whatever I am doing, wherever I am at. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, a lot of mistakes, but the next morning the world is still spinning. I need a solid plan of action, a plan B, and a door number 3. I need this next one to really count, to all work out so the next step is even easier. It’s in the moments like this that we really test ourselves to be our bests.

The Old Men

The humidity stings your body, makes you aware. Aware of everything that’s going on, it makes you notice. At first it feels like a nightmare, hell couldn’t possibly make one suffer like this. The nightmarish heat seeps through your clothes, your skin and your soul leaving you drained of everything. No life, no energy; people shouldn’t live like this, it seems impossible. Everywhere you go you are left with a constant reminder of where you are, where you are going. Walking, even moving becomes a test of endurance; people shouldn’t live like this. This world here seems to thrive on it, a town for the dead, a town of ghosts. The incredible live oak trees look like old men waiting to die on the iron wrought streets. Their beards, old and gray, sway with the coming winds. They hope for a strong enough gust to take them to their final resting place. They absorb it all, everything the town has seen, they have been there for. Waiting for their time to go, they grow slow, move slow. Beads hanging from their massive limbs, an insult to the old men. They have seen this town come and go, felt the saltwater tickle their toes. They move slow, this town moves slow. This isn’t the place to get with the times, trends and fads hardly matter here. Like the old men, everyday moves slowly closer to the sun, closer to death.

This town has come and gone, there are no tomorrow’s, just today’s. Every day is a new today, a new day to grow slowly. The humid air keeps you focused, slows you down. You can’t waste time in this air, you live life with intent. With no sense of direction it’s hard to feel lost, the old men invite you into their home. Their beautiful home filled with the leftovers of the world; it’s hard not to feel comfortable. Time moves slow here. The steamy air pulls the life out of you, the old life. The old men don’t appreciate your cynicism, they pull it from you with the stinging air. Walking, talking and breathing make you sweat, sweat out everything you’ve ever known. It leaves you empty, empty of hate empty of loneliness, empty of every emotion that isn’t true. The old men smile at you politely as you walk by. Their frail beards flow in the wind, absorbing the evils of this ghost town. It takes a toll on these forever aging beings. Their beards gray, gray from the evil that has happened. Gray from the loss of hope, from the tragedy, from the storms that passed.

The old men surround the tombs of the dead, the tombs of the undead. Legacies built of concrete and mortar, all that remains is a name and a date. The old men quietly guard these places of unrest, these trapped souls. Not trapped by the mortar or the iron that surrounds their homes, trapped by this town. The old men watch quietly, protecting those that have passed from our world and stepped into theirs. The tombs can only protect the remnants of the past, the bodies of the dead. The iron is a beautiful facade that surrounds their forever homes. Souls are not kept in by the gates or the walls, these barriers cannot keep them safe.

The old men watched these souls before they met their fate. They watched closely as the children of their town lived and breathed. It must sadden them to see us go, to see us step into their shadow of a world. When we go we are free, free from the madness of this world we live in. The ghosts are safe from this world. The old men watch these leftover souls like they are still the children that walked the streets before. The old men keep them safe from harm, safe from emotion. A town like this makes you fear nothing, a town constantly in survival. What can you fear when you know that you are safe even when you leave. The history of yesterday lingers in this town of the past. It’s hard to understand that you are here today when this history surrounds you.

Life has seemed to stop, surrounded by the memories of what was. The humidity stings you, shocks you like that first kiss. It brings you back to the beginning of everything. The teal french shutters are a remnant of another time, surely not today. A town of history, a town of loss; it shrouds any love, love cannot escape those shutters. The shutters are just an idea of safety and comfort. The shutters hold back the wind and the rain but that’s all they can provide. The old men are the truth, married to the lady of Orleans. The old men love, it’s the only way they know to protect their children.

They absorb all the evil so we can rest, so we can sleep safely. They absorb the bad that clouds our minds and blocks the truths we know. All we can ask for is love, it’s the old men’s job to help us see that. Without love we have nothing. Love makes the bad things seem small. Love slows us down, helps us focus. The lives we had and lived no longer matter, what matters is today. Love drains us of everything we have ever felt. The confusion of our world seems to disappear. We are left empty of every emotion that never belonged. Love diminishes evil and loneliness. Like the souls we are left vulnerable, but love will keep us safe. When we leave this place all that remains is a name and your love. Love will always keep you safe.

Developing Global Food and Health

To see the whole paper look Right to My Box and download the document “Fresh Water” on the side of the screen.

The developing countries of the globe need to quickly come to a water revolution. Without an adequately design water infrastructure, developing countries will find it impossible to feed the people of their nation. These countries are already experiencing vast shortages of their own agricultural needs. Their inability to produce food leads to increased imports for these nations. In-turn, money is lost from taxation and tariffs and instead is invested on the infrastructures of other countries. These developing countries need to industrialize and step into the global market. Industrialization of large developing countries will facilitate the means to strengthen each countries systematic needs.

With an industrial revolution comes the need for increased food and water. In order for developing countries to expand their agricultural sectors they will need to vastly improve their current agricultural system. A second agricultural revolution will be necessary to facilitate a larger population. Utmost efficiency is how these countries can step into the global market place, while increasing the overall health and welfare of it’s people. There has been speculation that a vegetarian society would help to increase food production while cutting water use, this is highly implausible and is a nice thought rather than an effective one.

Many vegetarian advocates who have taken a biology 101 course have used the argument of biomass transfer, and the amount of food required to feed meat production. Although not all meat production is advantages, certain types are required to utilize land that would not otherwise be usable for crop management. Most pastureland in the U.S. has a higher productive value than it would otherwise have with crops. Meat production has the ability to be utilized in many different types of ecosystems with limited impact. The water use of cattle has been said to be very high, but in pasture fed or grazing situations, cattle utilize the rain-water fed grass systems that would otherwise just become ground water. Pastureland that is inadequate for crop production is able to be utilized in food production most efficiently by livestock.

Areas such as Africa specifically have large areas of grassland that are used for permanent pasture farming. The advantage of permanent natural pasture farming is the ability to take advantage of the opportunity costs of rainfall. Permanent pasture farming has very few costs financially and costs to the environment. Unlike agricultural crop, pasture farming helps to sustain other ecosystem services. Grazing creates fodder and improves biodiversity from competition between flora and fauna. Unlike livestock, a crop system would use more water and would require destruction of the previous habitat.

Sure livestock can be produced in certain areas that crops can’t, but do we need cattle? If we have enough land to produce crop for the world, we wouldn’t need the niche tendencies of livestock agriculture. Cultivatable land expansion is limited in Asia and it is unlikely that any expansion will take place in Europe, North America, Russia and Oceania. Currently, half of all cultivatable land available lays in one of seven countries in Africa and Latin America. These countries are: Angola, Congo, Sudan, Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil and Columbia (Falkenmark Rockström). We have little room to expand our crop output currently, in order to facilitate the population increase that is expect to occur in the next fifty years we need livestock agriculture.

Africa, home to some of the largest pastureland, is also home to the largest malnourished populations. Developing countries typically eat much less meat than developed countries do. In the U.S. about 35% of the average diet comes from meat based products (FAO). Developing countries have substantially lower meat intake, typically below 15%. An increase in livestock production in developing countries could have a great impact on global health as well as the global economy. Many developing countries could greatly benefit from an increase in meat production from naturally efficient ecosystems. The lower cost of operation would allow for higher overheads by farmers. In conjunction with a free-trade service for livestock industry, developing countries could quickly enter the global market while remaining self-reliant on their own natural resources.

One could easily argue the same point for vegetable production, for developing countries enhancing crop production is only efficient in places where there is arable land readily available. The countries listed earlier contain the majority of this space, if they were to expand their crop farming, it could be very much help their their economy. However, in nations that have natural pastureland, it is advantages for their economy and land use to practice grazing livestock. In order to turn this natural pastureland into a usable resource in crop production, there is a large amount of land development required that would destroy current ecosystems and divert the natural water flow. It is most cost effective for livestock production in many developing countries than it is to alter the landscape for crop production.

To see the whole paper look Right for my Box and download the document “Fresh Water” on the side of the screen. Any thoughts or suggestions, send me a message or a comment

Master Your Ego

There is a lot to say about a person’s ego; it is something that defines who they are. The way in which people use or don’t use their ego is a central force in who they will become and what they strive to be. Ego is a powerful part of the mindset. With our ego’s we strive to see ourselves at our highest level of self-worth. It is in using ego that  people can do good and help to make our community better. It is ego that drives our utilitarian need; our need to achieve happiness.

Ego is a powerful tool that can be used to achieve great things. This is not to say that our ego is necessarily good. Bad things have many times come from cocky people, see beer bongs. As we all know, ego has harsh consequences when mis-used. Most major wars can be seen as a battle of ego, the battle to win, to be the best. To be a celebrity you need to be good, good at something. Really, just be good at one thing. It is through ego that we show the world what we are capable of. Volunteering is great for the community, it saves the taxpayers millions of dollars. It is hard to think that ego is probably the essential reason why someone would volunteer. Volunteering makes a person feel good about themselves, little Chatty Kathy picked up trash all day at the beach, makes her feel warm and tingly inside. It is in doing good that we can feed our ego. It is being recognized for doing good that we stoke the metaphorical fire that is our ego.

If people in this country had a bit more pride we would be number one in education instead of obesity rates. Instead our country floats somewhere around fifteenth in the world in reading, math, and science. Ego drives us to be the best, to strive to be something recognized. If our brightest students out of school were becoming teachers, having pride in our future and our ability to be the best, our next generation would help progress our country to a level that very few could compete with. It is the apathetic nature of the individuals in our country that limits progression. We are a nation of individuals, we currently do not have the ability for change. Throughout the entirety of our day we think as the self, this is the ego. As a nation we need to start thinking how the ego of self can reach proportions raising the status of our people.  By working to become the best we can be; we will collectively raise the standard for which our nation holds it’s values. Getting straight A’s in school means nothing unless you can apply that to the real world. When we slack or settle, we are unable to raise the standards of our self-worth. It is through the drive of the individual ego that we can progress as a society.

Settling

It’s hard to be entirely happy. It is difficult to feel like your life is perfect. My life is good now, actually great, but not the perfection I’d hope for. I can’t remember the last time I woke up in the morning refreshed, happy and ready to take on the day. It’s been too long, F that noise. The idea of happiness has lingered lately. It seems I am hearing the same thing from everyone, they are also missing something. Friends don’t fix loneliness, they just point out why you are lonely. I think it is time to work on finding a girl, less specifically a girl, but more specifically I want a girl who I can actually connect with. Our apartment is a sausage fest at the mome, three dudes and a dude dog. It’s like an episode of Two and a Half Men, except none of us are womanizing ass’, except maybe the dog. I blame Peter for always bring his man only entourage with him. Me and the roommies recently talked about how hard it is to just say no to girls. I have no interest in hooking-up with a girl who I am not serious about; easier said than done. Once you stop for a month it seems that you can get over the hump and continue to wait it out; but who wants to be the ‘Sexless Inn-Keeper.’ It’s a lose-lose, but at this place its more of a win-lose. Alcohol and women are a bad combination at this school. I love to generalize, so it just seems that the majority of the girls lack the depth that I am used to. “all smiles one minute, and dancin’ a temper tantrum the next” to quote the late Dick Proenneke. I think what he was trying to say is that the women he knows are Bat-Shit Crazy.

I have seen and met women all over the world; that isn’t a statement of dick size, but rather a statement of fact. There are no women that I have intentionally avoided much like these North Park girls. I have started to lose hope and am wondering where a person goes in this city to find an honest and realistic girl that is single and not a lesbian. I think it may be time for me an Jon to head down to DePaul and find some nice girls. I hear Columbia has it going on too, bunch of indie chicks and gay dudes at that school. No competition from the men and the women have that nice Seattle style that I have grown to love. Even the cool girls at North Park I have little interest in. The cool girls are often the more godly girls, the girls that stand no chance in a relationship with Agnostic me. I need a way to deter those good christian girls. It seems people make the most assumptions about who I am based on the stickers on my laptop. Many times now girls have mentioned how they thought I was Canadian because of the sticker that says “maple leaf for life.” Ew gross, me a Canadian? I’m just representing Seattle and our coffee. What I need on my computer next should probably be something like the Star of David. I have the curls, people would assume I was Jewish. It would work perfectly for my wants, deter the girls who just aren’t right for me, and attract me some kosher girls. I have many theories about kosher women, most of which should not be spoken of due to their awesome nature. Hell, if people thought I was Jewish, I would be the balls in this neighborhood. Head to java every morning and get me a bagel and shmear. I figure the jewish girls at North Park are probably on the same page as the higher than normal percentage of crazy ones. Regardless of if I meet someone I like or not, odds are I will probably have to play those classic pre-anything games. You know the ones where the guy has to make every move. They call it playing hard to get, but in reality it’s like a knife in the foot. Let’s use that metaphor to describe relationships now. Would you date a girl if it required getting shanked in the foot, I think not. That is how I feel about playing games in order to get to know a girl. Getting stabbed in the foot is a pain in the… Foot. I have never gotten into a relationship that had games from the start. Maybe it’s because the women who aren’t playing games and are honest get my respect. I can’t date a girl who I don’t respect, it’s just natural. We Flemish Italian kids hold ourselves and the people we associate with in high regards. It takes time to be besties with a Paulus. My high standards and more than cocky nature make it difficult to find the right woman, I guess that’s why I tend to duck out before it gets too serious. I just see myself as realistic, I don’t want to have a relationship that I look back on and regret the girl who I was dating. I need ultimates, the girls I have dated I still hold plenty of respect for, the circumstances of the relationship are what end it. I am just not the type who is going to settle with having someone. Now the worry of becoming a ‘Sexless Inn-Keeper’ is kicking in, but it seems this is probably the healthiest resolution for my personal and social lives.

Trying Something

So it’s the night after Christmas well, the night of Christmas, but the next day. Due to unfortunate circumstances, I am without my usual sleeping aid. You see, I have had insomnia since I was in elementary school. I had recently figured out a good way to help with that but being home has left me dry. The only other depressant that I know is alcohol. Alcohol makes me sleep, eventually. The fact that I am still not sleepy is making me wonder how I am going to get a decent amount of sleep tonight. Twelve shots later here I am. I mean, I am in no way a light weight, so twelve shots is a pretty mild sedative for me now. Instead of being in bed, I have beer goggles and an urge to express myself. I feel like Ray Charles, my hearing has improved as my vision has become faulty. I can hear my 7-Up and vodka spritzing away and it is loud. According to WebMD, I suffer from primary insomnia due to my sleep problem being singular and not associated with another problem. Yes, I am fascinated with WebMD’ing my symptoms. This is not because I am a hypochondriac, but instead I feel that I want the reassurance that I can doctor myself. Sip, that 7-Up is good. let’s see, what else does the MD tell me about myself. Apparently my chronic insomnia means that I am fucked in the head, we have depression and stress as the two main causes. Shit,  I don’t have either of those, maybe the free doctors at my school can figure out why I roll around in bed for hours. And people, don’t assume you can solve these problems. Fuck, I have no idea where this comes from. I must say I am a pretty happy and stress free person for the most part. Maybe it’s all the Pot. Then again, when I don’t have that I am chain-smoking and stressed out of my mind. This vacation has really put it on me. Five dogs and five people in my tiny ass house is way too much to handle. I think when I am back I should see how my sleep patterns actually are. In Chicago I am chill and stress free for the most part. Even though it seems that my life is constantly shrouded in a cloud of drama it has yet to really get to me. Well, drama comes with the North Park name. Those Christian school kids is crazy son. Oh wait, I am becoming one, totally just got admitted. I like the school though, just shake a counselors hand and you are accepted. But it’s not like they wouldn’t accept me anyways, I realized while filling out my apps that I am pretty much a poster child of North Park by accident. I swear to god I did that community service cause I had to. Ok, just realized there is much more information on WebMD about my non-sleepiness. Crap, I want to share a quote with you, “Avoid using your bed for anything other than sleep or sex.” Occasionally I jump on my bed, that may be the outlier that is keeping me awake. Ha, I hope certain people aren’t reading this. If it is my sisters Lauren, yes you, or Devan, yes you, it’s not like they don’t already know. I have noticed that penis is the best way to insult a North Park girl. They just don’t understand that sex is a normal part of human behavior. Ask any of the seniors, they are the people who have survived the christian school bubble and have come out normal and outstanding people. It’s the freshman and sophomore you have to look out for. Promiscuity is very questionable to those people. They have no idea how to deal with that stuff at all. It tends to end with finger-pointing and anger. Damn you beer bongs for making that kid a slut. Anyhow, I think it is probably best that I finish my drink and continue to watch television while I continue to not feel tired. Latas on the Man-J yall. Sincerely, Me