So I’m a bit stressed out, as you can tell. And broke. And a tad hungry (but I’m too lazy to cook anything).

Since Sunday, I’ve been working on reviving my relatively new WordPress blog (the name of it is the same as my Tumblr) and so far, people (even if it’s a handful) are taking some notice to it. I’m really happy about that happening, and I hope it grows in the near future to where I end up doing contributing posts on other blogs and such.

As for things outside of blogging, I’ve been emotionally invested in Sherlock recently, since the new series started in the UK on New Year’s Day. The third and last episode is fast approaching, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for the show to end just yet, considering that most of the fandom have been waiting for 18 months for the show to come back onto the small screen (I first saw series 1 back in March 2011 and had a blast!). I really don’t know how to feel about the last episode; everyone on Tumblr is hyped up or saddened about it, but I’m just happy that I’ll get to see how it ends, being that I have yet to read the canon. I have the complete stories of Sherlock Holmes sitting in my room somewhere, waiting for me to crack it open and get started on reading those wonderful adventures, but I’ve got so many other things to read.

You know what? Fuck it. There’s no need for me to wait out on good books because I’m too lazy to finish the ones I started. I have really no problem getting back into books that I’ve started but not yet finished, but I get this twinge of guilt when I either see or buy a new book and then think about the one I hadn’t finished. I’m looking at it this way: it will always be there, snd you can always pick up where you left off with the help of a bookmark, so go ahead and read the book you just bought if you reall y want to read it. You don’t have to apologize for not completing everything. It’s all fine.

I should also understand that, while me and my mom are in this rocky financial patch, things will be fine in the end, and there’s no need to fret. My mom told me once that she never really found reason to worry. I’m sure that’s a lie because her son’s a drug addict (and not really sure if he’s recovering at all, but he’s a bit physically ill) and a daughter who’s only got 12 college credits to her name and no job, sitting in the house and spending her money like it’s hers and unlimited. I think I understand the real reason why she reitred: to cut off that resource, for me to wake up and smell the nasty coffee. I do need to get my shit together, but I absolutely refuse to stand or sit behind a desk or counter when I could be out doing things that make me happy, regardless of whether or not they pay good money, if they pay money at all.

This is off-topic, but I really like this app (OmmWriter, which is what I typed this up in) for several reasons: It’s a wonderous escape from reality and I really mike the music and the sound set for when I type. The current setting I have for the keystroke sound is similar to that of either a typewriter or a desktop keyboard. I really need to go outside or open a window at some point. I’m missing the cool air coming in, hitting my face and my skin. I’d love to smoke a cigarette, but I don’t want anyone smelling it, and I don’t like the smell lingering in the room, either. Now that I think about that, I’m reminded of my grandmother and when she used to smoke by the window in her apartment. The msell would linger, but it’s a familiar smell that I never got tired of, because my grandmother was awesome, and I loved her and still do.

Last night, after I bought a few lottery quick-picks up from the store (along with some necessities) and walked out of the store, I looked up at the sky on my way back towards the house and asked grandma and grandpa if they could help us out, which is a bit pathetic. I mentioned this in my scathing rant late last night, but I refuse to post that. It was filled with rage and angst and many bad things were said about many people and I don’t want people seeing that. But I can say that, while I wrote that, I felt a bit liberated. The fact that I could write something so raw and become so vulnerable, the feeling was so cathartic. I felt a bit better after calling my mother’s landlord a few unmentionable names in the rant, and I managed to get some sleep after all of that emotion.

I can’t begin to describe how close I was to sobbing. In my head last night, I had so many negative thoughts running through my veins and I resented everything and everyone including myself because I was worried about my part in this generation of entitlement. I’m one of those people that’s so used to getting things without really having to work for them, even though I’ve experienced times where working and earning rewards for that work felt amazing and liberating, and the spoiled brat has taken over. I’m still lazy, but who isn’t? There’s nothing wrong with being lazy, because everyone deserves that chance to put their feet up and sleep and eat what they feel like eating (unless they can’t consume it, of course) and play video games and have other guilty pleasures of their choice.

Also, I tend to think too much, which leads to worry. Unecessary worry. The worry that puts you in the hospital because you’re so stressed out about small shit that shouldn’t even matter to you. This feels like I’m writing an editorial for a blog, for some reason. I think I can stop now…

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