A BOATLOAD OF ALONE TIME

I REALLY like being alone. There, I said it. Being alone might seem dark and “depressing” to most people but to me, it means just one thing: freedom. Freedom to do whatever the hell I want, whenever I want. I make my own decisions. I only have to pay for myself. I don’t have to worry about the opinions of others. And I love it. But some days, I gotta admit, it really sucks. It can get stale on certain days. I definitely do get lonely, and sometimes, I just want to be able to talk to someone. It’s hard, but I deal with that on a regular basis. I know how to handle that, as difficult as it is. But opening up to other people, compromising with them, and interacting with other people — that is hard.

I mean, I keep getting invited to go places, or see people and stuff, but I just can’t, for whatever reason. My body won’t allow me to do any of those things. When I do convince myself to go out, I end up just spending most of the time thinking about being home again to enjoy some solitude. That’s pretty much how it goes for me. I’m that person that goes “man, I wish someone would hang out with me”. Then someone offers to hang out with me, we do, and the second we get together I’m like “nah, I want to go home.” I truly am just THAT pathetic.

Very rarely in my life have I felt the need to seek out the company of others, and this has sort’ve been a thing ever since I was little. I have always been very comfortable in the company of myself. In elementary and high-school I really didn’t talk much, just because I didn’t feel the need to. And this probably sounds elitist as hell, like, *insert posh voice* “I don’t need to talk to other people. I’m already so great. I’m high and mighty.” That’s not what it is. Everything just clicks together when I’m with myself. I’ve just sort of always been that way and in some cases, it’s a trait that I value because I think independence is a really important thing. It’s something that you need in order to survive in the world. Being able to appreciate yourself and your thoughts and what you believe in, is one of the most important things you can work on.

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition.”
– Steve Jobs

To live, you gotta trust yourself. Trust your ability. Trust your power. At the end of the day, all you have is yourself anyway, so I think it is extremely important to be able to handle things on your own. I think there’s nothing wrong with being alone and being happy about it. My mindset may change in a few years though. I say, be open to change. The important thing here is that you do you and you’re happy about it.

Leaving you with this cool video.

How To Be Alone

It really hit home for me.

CONFESSIONS OF A CAFFEINE JUNKIE

---

“I just want a hot cup of coffee, black, and I don’t want to hear about your troubles.”
— Charles Bukowski

---

“ewoklee”
Substance of choice: Coffee
Relevant musings: “When you’re caffeinated as fuck, you feel so lightheaded you can’t even feel your fucking toes. It’s flowing through your blood vessels, and it’s in you. You are the Coffee Man. You are the Coffee Maker. And you are the most compelling writer you will ever meet.”

I’d be a liar if I said I can’t write without caffeine. I can’t function without caffeine – being sleepy all day every day isn’t something I can handle. I need coffee before just about any activity more stimulating than putting on my pants. Like writing, sweeping the floor, taking a bath, going to my classes. And I’m still on the fence about whether this is an entirely good thing. I do believe it’s a hedonistic tendency.

Before, I only drink coffee when I need a boost, or an adrenaline spike. But lately it got harder and harder to write without it. I think it’s the caffeine addiction kicking in. I mean, I’m not properly conscious in the morning without caffeine. I can’t think straight without caffeine. And I definitely cannot go on a day without caffeine.

 “I orchestrate my mornings to the tune of coffee.”
— Terri Guillemets

Yes, I love my coffee. I may be addicted – but, there are far worse things to be addicted to. Like, the morgue [Dickens, anyone?]. Coffee makes me invincible. Coffee gives me incredible powers. It makes me feel like I’m a fucking superhero; typing words away in my word processor to save the day. I shoot off like a Saturn V rocket, from the power of my thrusters. I feel more positive about what I’m writing, more confident, and I’m basically more productive. Coffee silences my inner critic too, blocks out the damn voices.

The experience of being caffeinated is just different. The buzz puts me into a state of bliss, or as Paramhansa Yogananda would put it, “a state of superior calm”. Ideas drift, flow, glide, and cascade down the pages from the mind easier, words and phrases click together like magic, and creative juices show up when I need them. It makes my brain go weeeeeee! And although it’s not the only factor, coffee has helped me be more creative and become a better writer.

At this stage in my life, I honestly don’t have the time to get everything done and delivered in high quality. So, I’ve squeezed out all my energy options that don’t require a prescription. I understand how disturbing it can be for your creativity to be reliant on a chemical, but I don’t feel like that weakens the virtue of said creativity. As long as you’re getting shit done and you’re happy with it, just be happy and get shit done.

I began writing this article while drinking a mug of coffee, but now that mug is empty. The buzz of caffeine alertness is gone, and I’m considering having a second mug. Warm weather be damned, I need my hot mug of coffee. I need to fucking write!

 

50 Awesome Moments Only Writers Would Understand

I love this post so much.

Here Comes The Sun

We stared at the bright yellow ball of light
Graciously falling from a slender fracture
Falling, falling, falling leisurely,
Like a comet in the park,
Plummeting
Between dark clouds and lightning and booming claps of silver,
Surrounded by tiny cyclones of scorching flame and catastrophe,
Hurling pools of magma toward our blushing cheeks,
Oh—it is the angry Inferno!
It is the End.

The tempest made our hairs stand and our skins perspire ice,
Made your nostrils flare,
Made my skin eat itself raw,
Made us scrape and hurt our knees—black and blue.
And yet as we stretched out our arms,
Submitting ourselves to Agony’s glare,
Both of us yelled against our throats’ liking:
“This? This is the rapture?”
Followed by a loud clap of thunder,
And yes, we fell like dying birds in the moonlight.

It crashed,
Crashed, crashed, crashed,
Like a time-lapsed sunflower blooming with brilliant petals of Yellow.
Everywhere, it was Yellow,
Eyes, lips, scalded tongue, necks, arms, hands, nails, feet, teeth.
Yellow, grinning devilishly before our eyes,
Yellow, cracking our lies–breaking your feeble disguise,
Killing the innocent sheep and sparing the weak.
Oh—it is the Great Yellow!
It is the End of Mankind.

– n.t