I’m not drunk, but I’ll write a bit about nothing at all non the less seeing that we need a first post on here anyhow.
When i was a kid i wanted to be a something that i knew i couldn’t tell anyone, so i just smiled and answered “Ballerina” or “Pilot” when the tall people asked me what i wanted to be. I thought their questions were annoying. I knew i couldn’t answer with the truth, i still can’t, but who cares now when the hailstorms are coming and we have nothing byt february in july.
My version of a good time is not drinking, it’s (over) thinking. I get high from it. My energy level goes crazy and i feel like i’m about to explode. that’s why i talk so fast. and the faster i talk the more my brain hurts with ideas i don’t a chance to get out. I wish i could get them out, i also wish there were unicorns, and with both of these wishes i know they will never be true. But in great real of things, who cares, my exploding brain doesn’t mean much to anyone but myself, and the unfortunate ones who happen to be close to be when this stream of words and energy flods out from every pore and i can’t stop. Why i have friends who are still around baffles me at times, most times, all the time, i can be so overwhelmingly energetic that i have to step outside of my own body just as to be able to handle it. I look at myself sitting there, talking on and on and on, seeing how new ideas stream in, and only a few of them gets out. i get tired of myself and ask myself to be quiet, but the more i try to listen to my outside self, the more i talk, the more ideas i get. Sometimes my outside self gets tired, other times she seems to win by smashing a bottle of something in my head until i somehow manage to be quiet.