Phrenectomy

Today I smoked weed and was granted an Italian Catholic High instead of an Irish Catholic High. Bazinga! God’s wrath shan’t touch you today, child! I also received a whopping 85 on my midterm, where I took the assignment as a mere suggestion instead of what I should’ve been doing. The professor appreciates my giant balls, that’s all. My audacity to completely do what I want is not going unappreciated, and that makes me feel good. Also, I got called beautiful by two different people within 15 minutes of each other today, so I must be beautiful; therefore, I feel beautiful. I hope you all feel beautiful today, too, because you are. Have you ever thought about how you’re constantly evolving, even on a cellular level? I am always evolving, always chasing something. In one life, I chased beauty; in another, love. I’ve chased love many times until I found out that the thing I like about love is the chase. Since then, chasing love hasn’t been as fun. I used to chase life experiences, I chased alcohol, and that first high feeling, and that first kiss feeling. But now I just chase knowledge, because all those other things have an end goal. I can never know everything, so it’s safe to say that I think I’ll be feeling the thrill of the chase for a while. I once chased the same boy for almost 10 years, until I caught him. Disappointment ensued. And that’s when I realized I had an addiction to chasing things. If I were a dog, I bet I’d chase my tail. I also have an addiction to doing things deliberately that make me feel like shit, my therapist says. I’m a sucker for self-sabotage, what can I say? But what good does my suffering do anyone? If anything, I’m just hurting those around me. I have deep-seated Irish Catholic guilt marinated in schizophrenic delusion, however, so I believe that God benefits from my suffering. Logically speaking, I don’t care about a god. As a human being who really owes it to themselves, I think I’m going to let myself off the hook here and say that my suffering genuinely benefits no one. Besides, I am my own damn god. I’m also my own dad, I’ve realized. Not in a bad way, just in a way where I have to give my child self the love and attention that he owes me. So I’m taking over for the big guy. Paying debts where they’re due, and all of that. Speaking of schizophrenic delusions, I’ve been convinced for months now that I’m Charles Bukowski reincarnated into some crazy polar opposite form. Like, this has got to be some sort of sick joke. I’m too much of an absurdist in the face of adversity to be Bukowski. There’s a constant battle of dialogue between Bukowski-Bill and regular Bill. I get so fed up with Bukowski-Bill, I secretly hope I’m half-possessed and that I can get this exorcized away or something. Maybe it’ll just go away on its own. Maybe it’s just the spirit of another really gross, cranky old man. Maybe I’m turning into a really gross, cranky old man. Sigh. At least I’m not a mosquito.