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I know you�re going to be surprised, but I figured some stuff out today.

Let me take a second here to gather my thoughts, smoke a cigarette, and listen to this break one more time.

Today, I figured out how things get taken for granted. I figured out where all of my anger comes from. And, I figured out a way to be happy for a little while longer.

Happy for a little while longer

This morning on my first break, I was outside enjoying the sun I hadn�t felt in days, and I was looking at the hills, out past the freeway. [The train didn�t come today, which is probably why I had this thought. Trains distract me because I always want to know what�s on them.]

So, I�m smoking, I take note that I�m not coughing, and that makes me smile. Then, I thought..

You know what? All of my life is mine. Even if it�s total and complete shit, it�s still mine, and I get to keep it as long as I�m alive.

I think as long as I hold on to that thought for a while, I�ll be okay.

This is all mine. This whole thing, all of these years, all of these thoughts, and my fingers! They�re mine! So are my shoes, and my chapped nose, and my scruffy voice, and this cup of coffee I�m drinking. These guitars are playing for me. It feels good to be happy.

Anger: My last motivation

Right before I left work, an email was sent out telling us that we were required to work an hour of over time on December 30th. I was pretty upset, but I bit my tongue until I got outside. Kristin and I were walking to our cars, and I said, �God. Did you get that email?�

�The one about the over time?�

�Yeah. What the fuck? You can�t force someone to work through their lunch. I mean, COME. ON. There are laws. This shit would not fly in any other state.�

�Well. I kinda need the money, so I don�t mind.�

�You know, if I could find someone that was a little more anti-establishment, I would be out of here. I just need a push.�

Sometimes, I say shit that I don�t mean. I�m not anti-establishment. But, damn. It sounded cool.

When I got home, I was trying to figure out why I get so angry about stuff like that. I wondered if I had been asked nicely if I would have done it, and truthfully, I wouldn�t have. Then I thought, why am I so ungrateful? Why can�t I just be glad I even have a job? Why can�t I settle?

It came to me: Entitlement.

I feel entitled to a job I love, a new car, a nice home, true love, happiness, fairness, equality... I feel like I�m owed these things. I feel like I�ve earned them just by the fact that I�ve lived for 26.5 years.

Naturally, what follows upon lack of receipt of the goods is anger. I become blinded by the fact that I don�t have these things, I get pissed at people who have the things I don�t. Basically, I walk around throwing a tantrum because life just isn�t going my fucking goddamned way.

And really, who in the fuck am I? Just another whining twenty-something looking to score, looking to make it big by sitting on my ass, consumed with myself.

I haven�t quite worked out all the details in this, but I think this is a giant start.

I am taken for granted

During my thinking about why I�m angry about everything, I realized I take my life for granted. I assume I�m going to wake up in the morning, and go to work, and go home, and go to bed. I take my job for granted.

Why? Because I don�t want them.

I don�t want this life, nor do I want my job. I want to be a bazillionaire and I want to paint all day.

When you don�t want something, all you can think about is how to get rid of it, or change it, or hide from it.

Rarely do you pick it up and give it a kiss.

In Conclusion

I�d like to pick everything up and give it a kiss today. Because my brain works. It lets me see things, and hear things, and feel things. It lets me figure things out, so I can feel better because then, I feel super smart.

I�d like to tell the balls of cat fur roaming around my bathroom floor that I love them, because without them, my life would be cat hairless.

And to my dirty, dirty car... I�d like to promise you a bath someday because I love you too.

And to everyone that happens to grace this, I love you. Yes. Even you. Because your brain works, and you can read, even if it�s just barely, and maybe you thought a little bit, and that�s good too. And you can forgive every single run-on sentence, and you made it this far.

Man. DayQuil really is like crack.

3:35 p.m. - 2002-12-19


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