As I sat here berating myself over how much I haven’t written I started to think about the why’s. There are probably many actual reasons that aren’t complete bullshit but the bottom line is pressure. I started putting all this pressure on myself to write things that were meaningful or had merit or even just made sense. I pressured myself to censor things because family or friends might read them and think that I was talking shit about them. They’d probably be right but I didn’t want to deal with it. I felt pressured to make sense and write coherently. I felt pressured to come up with new and exciting things. Al this is the opposite of why I started writing. I started writing because everyday little things were funny. I started writing because people around me do some really retarded shit and I can’t deflect people away from my retarded shit if I don’t write about some other person’s.
So Fuck It. Why should I fee pressure to keep the shit to myself when I’m pretty sure others (and by others I mean Mr. Social Assassin) will laugh at the shit that happens in my world. Or maybe they will cry. But either way there will be no hatred or accusing me of outing people. And if someone does want to give me shit then well, well… truth strike a chord? If you don’t like it – don’t read it. If you do read it and still feel the need, bitch in a comment. My friend is a sniper with words. I’ll give him permission to take people out.
So I will work on some amazing stories, or at least stories I find funny to captivate. If they suck – I will blame Nickelback. All shit is Nickelback’s fault. Test me. I thought it might have been Creed’s fault but decided they just don’t suck as much as Nickelback.
What I’m Listening to:
Why…because I can.
posted from my tablet thingy
