New Beginning

I started this blog because I thought I should. Don't we all do so many things we really have no interest in because we think it is something we should do. I am writing this now because I want to. It is 3:39 AM and I can't seem to fall asleep. Right now I want to use the words tossing and turning because I think I should use them. I mean, it's that what everyone says they were doing when they can't fall asleep at 3:30 in the morning? How many people really are. I was lying awake drifting into the endless well that is my mind. I delete abyss because I know that is not what it is, but have heard it used so many times. I am writing in a style I have heard before. Channeling Garden State, anyone? Chuck Palahiniuk anyone? I worry whether I am spelling correctly. Who gives a fuck? Erasing question marks for whoever is reading this. Myself. Erase self chatter. Looking like a crazy person. I relax my shoulders when I realize no one will read this, secretly hoping I am wrong. Correct spelling again. Why am I writing in short choppy sentences? Is this me talking...or how I think I should be sounding. To you, the infinite abyss. I cringe at the phrase. It seems fake. Seems contrive. Seems like something that kid from Scrubs would say. Probably because he did. Who am I kidding? What am I trying to hide?
This whole thing seems like an act of self indulgence. What if it is? Who am I to judge? I'll let you decide...you indefinite reader. This is my voice. I have to learn it. My gut has a bullshit meter more sensitive than any scientific instrument. I can feel when something is fake. This feels more real than I think I've ever written. Despite the cringing feeling my gut makes when I reference Garden State. God I'm a poser. God I'm so typical. Must be different. Must be edgy. Must sound troubled and dark. Write in short sentences, makes things seem urgent and important. Yet, I can't stop. Even more honestly, the thought for writing this post probably came from my very untroubled, sunny viewing of Julie and Julia with my parents last Sunday afternoon. God I'm a poser. God I'm so typical. Another punk ass spoiled white kid who thinks she's got it tough. Thinks she has something to fight for. That is what I imagine you thinking. Running through your head as your mouse edges toward that X button. As you switch back to your friend's blog with her 500 vacation pictures taken with her left hand. Her face too close to the lens because she has to take those goddamn pictures herself because no one else gives a shit. That is much easier to look at. That isn't the truth. I'm looking for the truth. I'm going to keep looking for the truth, I don't give a fuck what you say. I'm not going to hide anymore. I'm not going to ignore this feeling in my gut that tells me everything I'm hearing is a lie. A cover for what's real. I've tried that shitty ass road. It sucks. It's empty. I hit that big yellow dead end sign and I started to turn around thinking "Why the fuck did I turn onto that road?" That didn't even look like a legit path. Yes it did, that's a lie. It was well paved. The path of many before myself. It's a damn busy road to. More like an interstate. More like a parking lot. A parking lot where I thought I was moving. Using up all my gas in neutral. I can relax my shoulders because I'm speaking the truth. Funny, how it does set you free. Damn cliche. Well you know what, they are goddamn cliches for a reason. You ever think about that? How the hell do you think they became cliches? Because they are the truth. And the truth never goes anywhere. We just pretend it's something else. Don't bother to remember it when it really matters. Well it still fucking matters. I hope you read this, and I also could give two shits. It's the truth, and that's good enough. More than anyone could ask for. The truth doesn't go anywhere. The truth will be right here.