Must type. Must produce words. Must share the world through human experience.
And I'm not sure if this will help at all. Or what the point of it is. Just a need to create. A need for documentation that I actually exist. That these things did happen. That I did wake at seven in the morning on this rainy Saturday in sorrow. That birds chirped outside my window and cars whooshed by on the highway behind my house. This does prove that, doesn't it?
I'm not so sure. And I always assume these words will change something. And maybe they do. Maybe I'm oblivious to all around me. An incompetence to interact with this world. My head is spinning.
Today I'm involved in a Chilibrew competition with my friends. We'll stand in the rain and pour beer and serve chili to those who would like to consume it. Normally I'd get drunk at these events. Good and wasted. One time I went home and opened a growler of our beer afterwards. After I had already downed dozens upon dozens of samples. The beer was over carbonated and exploded, staining the kitchen walls. But I drank the rest of it. I was on the phone with my Mother. I don't remember the conversation at all.
But I won't be drinking today. I'll be attempting to live life without the obsession to coat it in alcohol. Attempting. This battle drains me.
And perhaps this is a bad first post. Perhaps this doesn't give a solid back story to what-the-hell is going on. But it's good enough. It has served its purpose. It got me typing. That's something, right? That means something, right?
No reply at all.