The 7:10 loop from 1st Life to Second Life

Not Proof Read - 1st Draft, Second Life

Ecstasy. Indica 7:10 dabbing Second Life. No edits.  Wednesday 7:10pm I’m rethinking how weird I might seem. It never occurred to me that sometimes I might be a creep. People might lump me in with the other creeps. I’m a…

The 7:10 loop from 1st Life to Second Life

Ecstasy.

Indica 7:10 dabbing

Second Life. No edits.  Wednesday 7:10pm

I’m rethinking how weird I might seem. It never occurred to me that sometimes I might be a creep. People might lump me in with the other creeps. I’m a 54-year-old hanging out where the teens and 20 something do.

In Second Life, I’ve found there are a lot of 40+ here, but I’m still pretending to be 27 because that’s when I stopped ageing.

My bedroom is a poorly designed talk show set, but for some reason with a backdrop that seems more like a news set, but is also the same colour as the signature T shirt I wear when I’m here.

The Orange Shirt blogs don’t need to be so Orange. Oramnge Jeff can sit in front of a blue backdrop without people getting it., I like Orange.

 

Constant change just meas I don’t trust my choices. I can always find faults. Excuses.

There it is. My constant battle to be just a little bit better than average, not less….or more possibly, my inner scensor to monitor the norm and try to be invisible. I often think about how my actions effect my image as an invisible perfect child that Daddy won’t have to yell at when we all knew I wasn’t.

Ahem.  Sorry. Blurt emotions happenb sometimjes after a big toke and some sweet MDMA (Molly)

HA. How easily I lie. Conversations with a total stranger I met two yeasrs ago when I offered her free cocain and I don’t even know if we had sex because I didn’t start writing things like that in theiur notes since… I never wrote things like that in theirt notes but I’m damb sure going to from now on. I’d love the origin stories of the 230 people who either stopped playing the game, or made me unable to see their presence.

I say I’m doing fine. I talk about my business of 20 years. I don’t mention I don’t have rent money and it’s 2 days till April.

— and then boom, a new opportunity ariuses and my optomism triggers the maybe this time resppoonce which is bliss as lonmg as I can maintain before my second voice evaluates the best way to crush that joy.

That is me isn’t it. A lost child of 27 at the age of 54. Smoking weed and talking about how life sucks.

Boo Hoo

I think I just shamed myself.  The Artie Launge WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

People outside the loop don’t get it. Like me, before 27. Ignorant to the concept of A.DD.

Just do it, says Nike and everyone else around me.

Just do it I tell myself. I can’t, and I have a doctors note.

I’m getting worse of course. I’m faling more odd as I descend and more out of sync with any potential romance.

I am retreating, just like the web site predictys of drug addicts. There can be good role models on drugs, right up till they’re not.

 

Flipping between the blog, and da discussion nabout the blog is too hard. Natasha isn’t a ong term interest, but interaction is key, so I enjoy any of it.

If I were to read this, it would seem like a cometary piece from the mouth of Orange Jeff, anchor of the Orange Jeff show.

–Crap. I gave her my the site address but forgot it’s webcams so now she’s spotted me.

 

It makes me re-evalute how weird I might actually be.

My confidence in how good a “catch” boyfriend I might be, this constant evaulation of my universe and quest to find all my faults is making it worse.

Wait, did’t I say this alreadty today?  Possibly on those 4 blog posts I made elsewhere because my tablet keptv rebooting when I tried using Wordp[ress online.


Col idea alert.

Seek sponsorship for charity and do a 24 hour marathon talk show with guest intervuews like an old fashioned Jerry Lewis Telathon.

Break time. I hate she’s watching. Oh well.

 

 

 

 

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