The Best of Blog House

http://www.sendspace.com/file/nxzy2k

http://www.sendspace.com/file/wgut35

http://www.sendspace.com/file/7qyjpp

http://www.sendspace.com/file/twkc9a

http://www.sendspace.com/file/q4n6ti

http://www.sendspace.com/file/vf6qof

http://www.sendspace.com/file/fi4lqm

http://www.sendspace.com/file/vbdam6

http://www.sendspace.com/file/me20f


Pretty interesting past couple of weeks. I didn't do anything this weekend, playing the hermit and digesting internet content like I had seven stomachs to fill. Trout Fishing in America as a prop, my back spread out against the warm concrete entryway to the school library, I tell myself I'm doing everything I can to meet people.

But what's with this obsession with novelty in folk, anyway? New people don't know how little I've followed my dreams, how disrespectfully I treat myself and how that effects the way I treat others. They're just consuming the image I've made for popular consumption, fresh and new to them, petrified and stale for me, and they like it. I affirm the cool and love to get others to join in my affirmations because I don't feel I'm worth shit according to anyone else's value system.

Not that I shouldn't be trying to meet people, I wouldn't think so poorly of myself if I weren't alone thinking all the time.

I have a job interview at Bungalow Tea in two hours. I hope it works out, both because I haven't given up on the BNAC ambitions, and because I need shit to do, motherfuckers.

I don't know that I was always this passive and silent and hurt. I remember hardly anything from before my parent's divorce, but I remember coming out of it thinking everything would work out if I just carried myself with a stiff upper lip. Momma decided she was done raising families. Dad yelled awful things at mom I heard through the heater vent from the opposite room, and I turned up the volume on my videogame. I get to have two christmas, as though the measurable uptake in material goods resulting from the divorce in some way cancels out the unmeasurable. Mom notices I'm upset, and for most of middle school she buys things to make her house equally full of digital distractions to dads. I go back and forth, careful above all else not to show favoritism, because their affairs weren't my place. I was always affected, they were always careful to point out I wasn't involved, and I got used to people telling me how things were going to be. Hold the motherfucking tears in, pack the duffle bag, and go to your mom's house, it's been half a week, or 3.5 days.

I can't relate to either of them in 2008. I can barely speak more than a sentence to my dad. I think they expected me to do better with everything than I did. High school I was going to get a C and suddenly it was flip the fuck out time for everybody involved, and I went to the junior college. There I've sat, watching the rest of the world move forward and grow into bigger and fuller selves as I've sparked thousands of dollars away wondering where the fuck it was I've fell, and how best to avoid seeing people who might know what a pulsating shameball I really am at this point.

I hope this job interview goes well. Fuck you, mom.