Hello there. My name is Steve, I’m six-pack drunk and filled to the brim with pizza and cheese sticks. I’m writing here through a fog of alcohol and saturated fats. Wish me luck.

I’m but a few days from birthday 43. I’m on the fifth (?) day of vacation on an 11-day vacation. I’m outta town. Some of it is checking on ma, who is doing well, and some is just me getting away. The past four days have been a delight what with all the vistas, internal introspection and deep thoughts, and getting away from the routine so as to refine the routine always is welcome after a few years of routines. As to the booze and overeating, well, fuck, it was supposed to be art and exercise. I mixed up some of the essentials. I’ll try harder next time.

Remember how I said I’d get all the things done with catharsis on top? Compromises were made. Turns out I did lots of parcels of each larger project I was initially attempting. I traveled just fine, but the part about fiscally, maybe not so much. Finishing finals, Sure! valiant efforts were made for a chronic procrastinator neglectful careless student. Ooops. Might have failed a test. When I say Might, I def did. Visited ma. Meant to do some art, mixed-up art with boozing. meant to, I dunno, do more responsible things, played it by ear, and … here I am, trying to compensate.

Am I full of giult? Fuuuuck, I might be a lil too enebriated for that at the moment. Will I feel it later/ Fuck yes, good news is, I will overcompensate the fuck outta myself. Exercise, arts, responsibilities. The whole gammit, at least until responsibility fatigue sets in. Then back to the norm of carnality.

“want” has been on my mind a lot this trip. I find I am “want” for very few things. I’m surviving just fine. I am sheltered, fed, and allotted enough free time for indulgent sins. What more can a guy ask for? I’ve been struggling to answer that one. Pretty hard. I’m not married, I’m without kids, obligations are pretty minimal. By design. And with all this room, I’m fuck all how I want to fill it. At least responsibly.

What do I want? I mean really, the kind of want you are prepared to grind through. And fuck all, I’m not sure. Art is on there, but in measure small doses. I’m way more used to all or nothing with artistic pursuits. Writing here, oh, the temptation to do writing each week, or two, or every day is there. But is the want to commit to that enough past burn out a thing. There’s school? Eye-rolling school, which degree is worth a shit? Whichever is easiest to attain and earns the most money? yeah… That’s the one.

Women, which is ever easiest. . . I’ll also accept the one that offers me the most meaning. Kids? At this age and at my wage, likely not. Who knows, maybe a rich lady with a mid-life crisis will appreciate a sperm doner of my magnitude.No. Like the rest of the things in life, smaller seems better.

Mom wanted to do something special for the birthday. Me, I’m not feeling it. The whole thing feels like committing myself to a ceremony I do not want to satisfy people or traditions I could care less about. Don’t get me wrong, but I’ve spent a long time trying to figure out what makes me happiest, turns out its a little ceremony of me and a few sins that are rare but that I learned to appreciate. Booze is in there, the occasional girlfriend too, and, fuck, laziness has always been a thing.

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