Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Forced Entry

The title of this is a crime, and perhaps the post, itself, will be one. Basically, as you can see, I'm forcing myself to write something.

I'm doing this to myself (and to you, suckers) because I'm in a great mood. I usually write out of anger or worse, irrepressible rage, as I've said many times before, so why not see what I can do when I'm not picturing myself as Mike Tyson in a boxing ring opposite a troupe of girl scouts.

"I'm on the Zoloft to keep from killin' y'all" is the best quote ever.

For the record, I'd never hurt a girl scout, even though their cookies suck. Samoas have coconut, which is gross, and Tagalongs are what you feed to a peanut butter cup addict if you want to help them kick the habit or break their heart. Thin mints are good, but I'm over them. I eat Greek yogurt with Chia seeds and drink diet coke now, because I'm half a hippie. You can keep your chocolatey, minty, delicious, oh god, I gotta stop. Must think yogurt thoughts.

Dammit, Will, you ate almost 20 chicken wings tonight. Eat a cookie and shut up.

Anyways, for those not in the know, I'm working at two beer distributors now. At one, I rip my muscles to shreds for a meager salary, in hopes that I will eventually have biceps like my brother, and at the other, I do a perfectly good job and get blamed for things other people did, despite having proof that I was not at fault. Joke's on those in question, though, because I'm a handsome beast and they're not.

I make these minor complaints, but really, I like what I do. I'm surrounded by beer all day long, and I don't work for a woman who apparently aspires to be Hitler. What's to hate?

And since I don't work restaurant hours anymore, I get to have fun. It was one of my new year's resolutions to have fun, which some people teased me for. What a strange concept, really, resolving to have fun. It's usually something that just happens, so why say that you just want to have a good time? Everyone wants to lose weight or something, but I just wanted to enjoy myself. Looking at my recycling lately, it seems I've done that. Clink. I spend so much time thinking about work and love, and I forget to just relax with a few beers and some friends, and just talk. Not so much lately. My memory seems to be impeccably sharp. Resolution half-way complete. It's not a bad way to be, if you can make it happen.

Oh, I also lost 20 lbs in a few short months, so I completed everyone else's resolutions. Sorry.

So I guess what I'm trying to say in the most long-winded way possible is that things are going well. I feel incredibly stagnant and kind of bored, but in the end, isn't it to be bored with happiness than to be driven mad by anger and disappointment? Great things happen due to the latter, and no things happen due to the former, but I don't intend on prolonging my situation. I see it as a rest stop in between turbulence and new beginnings.

I've reached the end of my thoughts for the night, and as you can see, being in a good mood does not get my creative juices flowing. Perhaps that means I'm better-driven by an inner hatred or something. But as I lay here, drinking a diet coke and eating a cookie (I gave in), my greatest enemy crushed by I've Decided Not To Continue Writing This Thought Because I Don't Want To Upset Anyone, plotting glorious trips to visit long-lost friends in Erie, ever-illusive love elsewhere, and basking in the afterglow of a night out with close friends, everything seems to be great. Except my stomach, because buffalo sauce...not good.

One of these days, I'll have time to come up with an original thought, and write something worth reading. This is really just a placeholder to make sure doesn't delete my blog for lack of activity. But for right now, I'm working 6 days a week, I have most nights off, and I intend on exploiting that like a cheap labor force in a Nike factory. I don't have time for originality, and I sure as hell don't have time for Saturday night dinner rush. But I do have time to show you this:
You think my new-found optimism is something that happened on its own? Hell no. Godzilla is officially Japanese.

What a time to be alive.