I got distracted on my way to writing this blog because it’s 10:35 on the first Saturday of October and it occurs to me that I will probably be up at least another hour and could watch Saturday night live…

It’s October now.

I got distracted on my way to writing this blog because it’s 10:35 on the first Saturday of October and it occurs to me that I will probably be up at least another hour and could watch Saturday night live season premiere live for the first time in 2 years at least.

That’s not significant to my friends at all I’m the only one that has been a loyal viewer of Saturday night Live since the second season. Back in the days before I started taking medication for my obsessive behavior, I don’t think I ever missed an episode from the first one I started watching. A lot of my obsessions were based around television. I estimated 44 hours a week of obsessive serialized sequential serial watcher.

I accept that sentence is insane but in my mind blanked. I’m not sure if I mentioned that I got a new wax or oil or shatter pen. What we call a dab pen. It packs a wallop when you put a indica ball up goo smaller than the size of pee inside. As long an inhale as I can handle, I breathe in concentrated indica THC.

Some days it’s enough to put me to sleep fairly quickly because it’s not intended to promote the kind of thinking that I enjoy, because it’s overwhelmingly….

Case in point. It’s way too much for me to talk about or write about at this moment because I have suppressed the wave of blissful pleasure that will come as soon as I stop concentrating on reality. I only lean back and internally think the word whoa. I like the word, the sound and the feeling of whoa. Right up until the moment that my brain database gets to the Joey Laurent woe and then it’s ruined for me. I just hit that point as I wrote this blog.

Oh yeah. I’m still talking. I’m impressed with the quality of the translation considering I’m talking without my dentures in and in a somewhat hushed voice in order to not be disturbing. No, wait I mean,

my brain stopped there because they’re definitely was a joke about being disturbing and disturbing. Another thought slashed by my mind about one of my Facebook posts that I was proud of and could have really worked into shareable joke.

I’m not trying very hard to get any of my posts to be shared or become popular. The fear of being a success is one of my prime stumbling block s.

I don’t want to be famous

I just want a few good fans

All it takes to change a life is one good fan

The first one has to be you.

The points don’t matter.

The story is the prize.

When all else is lost,

Make sure to save the story.

Our past is our story to tell

That can be a pivotol life changing revelation

Which is the second story to come from any experience.

The first share establishes canon in your universe..

I might start sounding less intelligent when I spurt out comments like that, but I promise that in the context of my writing’s, it makes sense.


Can I just say that I hate the fact – no, I don’t hate but I am extremely

That’s interesting because my brain struggled for the right words and when doing so, completely forgot what I was hating on. I’m trying not to use the word hate just because although it doesn’t have k in it it has the same power as a k word. I feel that word. I don’t like the feeling of that word.

I’m also not a huge fan of the fact that people read blogs from the last chapter backwards and that’s less conducive I think to people getting to know you. To getting a deeper bond and therefore a bigger fan base. I tend to feel guilty that every single piece of writing that I think I might be proud of,

The weed high waived and I forgot what I was talking about. It seems pride or shame have equal power to be forgotten. I have learned that when I see life it’s up to me how I store that in my universe. In other words, I get to write the stories about everything I see in my perspective. I get to write them as positive and happy as I can even when discussing last happy things or perhaps even downright bad and depressing things. I refrain those with the lesson or more often the story.

I have a process where I think to myself what I’m experiencing now, how will I tell this as a story 5 years from now. Story 5 years from now maintains the memory but with much lessened emotional attachment. In other words, it’s hard to be excited about Walt Disney’s frozen when you’re watching it for the 230th time because it’s your child’s favorite You can tell the story but you won’t have the emotion. I have no idea what I was talking about and why that’s relevant but I did finish the sentence at least .
There are many times when I forget what I’m talking about mid-sentence on this kind of weed and the end of the sentence is just answers that I learned I can attach to just about any thought.

Just realizing now that I never really followed up on any of those and it’s quite possible that the end of the sentence didn’t make any sense at all but I found it was easier to believe that it did than to check if it didn’t because that would be extra steps

Now, be real reason I was starting this block and saying it’s October It’s because October tends to be my worst month while my public persona portrays it as my favorite month. I admit to loving the orange about October. In the trees and artwork and marketing and vegetables real and plastic. I admit to loving candy and I admit to loving everything else about Halloween as a spectator.

In my previous life before learning about attention death to disorder and before choosing drugs over friends…

That’s the first time I’ve sent that out loud. That’s the first time I’ve thought that plot. That’s one of the problems I’ve always had and I fully acknowledge that it’s most likely one of the problems that many drug users have. The logic of justification, which isn’t true logic I suspect, is able to say that my life has been benefited from my drug use more than it has had negative impact. I don’t really believe this. But I don’t like to think about it

I like to believe that my life of solitude even when I was with people would have been similar without drug use and that I chose drugs for slightly different reasons than the norm. I wrote my story as having it under control. I still do to some extent and find it more difficult to write the story of how it has affected me from the perspective of anyone other than me

When I start to think about my drug use I definitely start to wonder how many people know, how many people care and of those how many people stop associating with me or how many was it always me that stopped contact.

I was always up to the assumption that my middle class group of friends, of which we were TV script style friendship meeting once a year at a friend’s cottage 3 hour drive away. Can’t remember how many years that went on but I’d like to say at least five and it wouldn’t surprise me if it was more. I would be sad to learn that there were only three of them. The truth is I remember the story but not much about the actual everything else

I started saving my memories with out emotions and to be honest I don’t know whether that is related to dopamine or serotonin or possibly I’ve always been this way and I just recently figured it out.

I have understood for some time that did you seem possible to detect what do you look like to other people or act like to other people. They interpret you from their own perspective and you will never fully know what that is

But you can certainly tell when people like you and it’s painful to know that many many teenagers and adults still don’t get that there way cooler than they think and people like them

I posted a meme just today when I was in a binge about life really beginning when you discover you don’t suck. My moment of self-awareness and the revelation that I was actually somebody people might like to voluntarily hang out with.

Ironically I live in isolation and up until that moment with the understanding that the reason I didn’t have any real friends was because I was too odd

A lot of things contributed to my revelation but it basically just came into place when people I was talking to therapeutically said I was. Wasn’t a friend telling me I looked great when that wasn’t true, but now I realize it probably was true. My view of myself has never matched how others feel me and probably never will but understanding that is a breakthrough

One of the most painful things that I deal with when dealing with friends is seeing they don’t sign worth to themselves correctly and that leads let’s move on

I might actually switch you know I should switch and do this as a an available podcast or a blog or a video perhaps but it’s ironic I like the idea of writing a blog talking a blog is so much easier and then it converts to writing because that’s the medium

1116 I should probably turn on the TV because I will no doubt forget in the final moments. I have been distracted and forget what I was doing within seconds. I almost never know what TV show I’m watching even if I selected it from the guide few seconds ago

End of part 2.


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