Blister

First of all, I probably won't make it if my feet are the things trying to get me there. I applaud them, but it's my fault. I didn't think being barefoot in the city would actually do that much. Then, I guess I haven't acknowledged that the weather might be getting hot, soon.

So, I went to the Marietta graduation. A replica of last year's, I bet. This was Saturday, a full day. No idea how long ago it was, now. I went there, in a useless shirt, and watched. I took a peek at some folks, but I eventually hurried off to a pretty good breakfast. From there, I went to Grant's little graduation thing that "the proud mamas" put together. I was anxious because I had to leave there, even sooner than the other things. Still, after all of that, I was incredibly anxious about "some big party" that I was going to....

I can still feel it, though. Questions raised in the past year meeting circumstances and settings of this year, so far. Once I realized that I was all by myself, in this, I had no choice but to mention that it's another "this group doesn't make any sense." These people know each other, but they're not supposed to meet. I mean, I would love for everyone to meet, but not like this. People from this year, mentioning ironic folks to people who have been the subject of conversations for a long time. It may as well be selfish that that's what I'm focusing on. It's just that I feel that I was entirely alone. Especially because no one reacted to my outrage. You'd have to be dead in order to ignore outrage like that. I'm surprised the guy next to me, wasn't dead yet. I guess he just had to stick it out for my own personal season finale. I was really hoping it'd be a series finale, though. Too much for one period of time, maybe.

I must not mean what I am saying, here, but, it was right for it not to be a "party." It was what I came there for. It was answers. Of course, when you find out enough answers, the questions get scrambled. I guess both ends can't be tightened in one night. So, from there, I have to continue. I am sorry that, as a result, I refused to meet anybody new afterward. I just don't want some new person walking around throwing in some hidden ironies for me to collectively research. What does it matter, though? People buying houses? That's unheard of. People selling houses? That's going to begin to make my skin crawl.

What is the use? The longer people have to stare at your elbows, under your sleeve, the more they realize that you're only alive. Those people are there to lift, and their elbows are shame. I want my elbows to be seen from above, as under my arm.

Either way, I left that place feeling that stomach ache you get when you kind of watch a person die. I think I might have done exactly that. Watching, I mean. The last time I felt like that, I subsequently watched a car burning, casually. My only problem is the fact that everyone may just feel the same. All of the time. If anyone does react to anything, then they'd all have to. Except, I feel betrayed that people can repeat things that I am thinking but have no legitimacy in their presentation. By saying that, people know exactly what I mean. The ones that don't claim to be confused, of course. Still, if these are all repeated words, then why is there a flux between high and low? Must be nonsense.

I completely forget I have a family.

I guess you have to kind of be aware. You might have to be aware of the world spinning, of course. That theory. In addition to the fact that you have a throat that opens and closes every once in a while. You'll have to be aware of spiders hanging around, hunger, and that glass might be made of sand. Think about your spouse and children, whether or not you have them. Think about your friends, whether or not they exist. Then, think about how some people are 100% set on thinking about reproductive organs. All together, your thoughts will thank you, and you might get something. I don't know.

When I got home, I literally couldn't imagine doing anything but sitting and staring. How was it not the end? Alright. Not to mention the horrifying ironies that proved that is wasn't over. I mean, I might have to do something on the verge of a publicity stunt, just to prove some things for myself. That's the best way I could put it, for that moment.

I absolutely have to go.

Swell

This is how I react to getting stung by a bee. It happened four days ago. Don't worry, I am probably a little bit allergic. This was my first ever sting, so it's pretty good. It actually came at a time that I needed it the most. My shoe was digging into the back of my heel, and the sting actually just numbed or out-did the other pain. I must be dissolving, since that "mind over matter" thing from last year isn't working.

Besides that, I'm kind of "I wish I had more time to prepare for the past." You know what happens. Stuck in some other day, and the future hits you on the back of the head. Nothing is ever the "furthest thing from my mind," and why can I not remember? Almost everything I ever knew just took a hike. No doubt I was blabbering and drooling and dispensing growls.

That's when I finally realized what people mean when they claim not to understand what I'm talking about. I never get around to it. Ok, fine. It's probably the purest from of "saying what I am thinking" because the actual main ideas and responses are in my head, but the details and "reminds me of" are already out before I even have the chance to speak. See? When I just now did that.. this situation was equal to when you see someone typing next to you, and you glance down to see that they wrote something interesting. "Heh." er "huh."

I can imagine trying to avoid situations where you'd be dumber than the folks around you. I can imagine. I can imagine trying to. I can remember examples of this situation, though. The only right move is to give up. There's no one there to have your back.

Anyway, as far I can remember... "I'm surprised there wasn't an explosion." Surprised there was no "this group doesn't make any sense." It did make sense, always. It just depends on who is holding the camera. In that case, I'd be the radical. Weeks of taking some person on a tour of your closest friends. Various people. Some don't return. Then, some don't return.

I left out a lot of days that actually happened. Those friend tours are never a full-on experience. They're all free trials, I guess. Sign up. It's already a mutually accepted embarrassment to agree to having a "group" of friends, so I'll be honest. Yeah, my friends are perfect, but shouldn't they actually be more 'friend' than 'perfect?' Not true. Imperfection is the only reason you ever find friends. Their weak spot is exactly your way in. I'm beginning to think, though, that my friends are built for me. I mean, that's why I tried to oust the whole "this is my group of friends and we rock" type of thing, but I think we have certain skull shapes and certain mixes of chemicals. If I am correct, then I can prove it.

Other than that, the test results will take a while. They will take one long day, one short day, one 24 hour-long night, one day to reassemble, and one day to prepare. Should arrive on the summit of the week's end.

That's why it's form-fitting, though. If you've stood through all life has made you do, and you find out that you've done a lousy job... then "oops." Step on your neighbor's dog's toe. It yelps. You say "oops." Your neighbor's dad reassures his family, "he said 'oops'" as if it was ok and settled. You ask for passage into the afterlife. You stepped on a lot of folks, but not on purpose. You've said "oops" a whole lot. You can't be wrong. This has happened a lot. There's no turning back to do things the right way, and every time you fill the cracks of your mistakes.. you're rewarded with something that's just "ok." Perfecting something wasn't a hassle at all, apparently. What I mean is: you can't be wrong if it is 'your way.' You know, something you've already heard. I just don't see how it didn't take the same amount of time.

I'm straying into an entirely different idea. Something I've wanted to say for a while. It only works in conversation, I suppose. One-sided ones.

Anyway, if it truly is "all of that and then just... this" then I truly have nothing to worry about. Another case of "Those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."

I know. At this point, I'm dreaming of celebration. "Time to celebrate my career" types. I'm just flavored water, waiting to be frozen into an... "ice pop." It'd be perfect for me to ironically say "I can't wait for the summer." Oh no, I can. Elevator tryin' to crash. Waiting for the phone to destroy. You know, now there's a little green squiggle. I wonder how far it'll reach.

I wish that I can find a proper, happy ending or a conclusion to my current phase in life. If that makes sense. I only wished, for the sake of the clock. When I am given the chance to wish, then I might as well. When I am given a book, then I have to do that thing that people do when they can't believe it. Read it.

So, here I am.

Shreads

Brainpower. Like, it does everything when it's turned off. I'm good. It's almost like a snack. A lot of them.

Ok, so, kind of like what I wrote down as a note. Writers don't get to say anything because they say too much. I'd rather do something else and throw in some words. In that regard, I'm almost ashamed.

Not sure where to start off, but nah I am a person who someone is mad at. I've been on an accidental rampage. Accidentally destroying from the inside out. Stealing free cats and vandalizing some vandalism. Cutting ties, impossibly. Maybe resentment is a good way to leave folks.

With that on my shoulders, I turned into packages of ice cream, last night. I woke up as personal editions for someone to spend the night sulking above. I was that and it's ok because I "trip" people out. I spooked folks. I was quoted. Next level.

I think I was given a little bit of a prize. I could probably sleep. Oh yeah, that's what I've been trying to do for weeks. A week. Not the sleep, but the chance. At least I got my mustache taken off, quickly. Offending, warpath. All by mistake. It's ok, I must be right.

I won't forget, for a tiny bit. I just think.. I forgot. Fine.

Nigh. It is.

Under

Praise

To be honest, my sense of self.
I'm sort of believing that there were some points where I did change who I was. I just didn't necessarily agree with that plausibility. I don't want to say that I change who I am everyday, every hour, or more likely- by the year. Plus my sense of self may actually be "inflating." I'm actually not showing any signs of narcissism, so this must just be encouragement. Sounds like people want me to move forward. Good because once it's televised, someone else can point out whether or not I change by the season.

It also makes me blatantly dread "work." Nah, I can't tell anyone that I work. I can't tell anyone what I think about college. My standards is what keeps me away from college. Generally, it's just that I can't find a school that's good enough for me, at this point. That's what it sounds like. Under that, the reasoning is that I wasn't really singled out in high school just because I did sort of have too much of a high standard for.. not sure I remember what I told myself earlier. Still, it made sense that I was more of a "perfectionist" on the way out. Leaving was just some fire exit. Now I think I'd kind of... "make school my bitch" as it goes. There's the problem. One of them. I was too good to do what I had to do to set myself up for college, and now I'm too good to take baby steps. Well, I shouldn't punish myself with these words. I was "too good" because I shouldn't have been responsible for that whole 3-year long stint I had with geometry. I'm sorry, but Geometry in my life is absolutely absurd. Aneurysm worthy. It's a great form of math, I know- it's technically right up my alley, but it's literally someone sticking their leg out for me to fall right on my nose. Clearly fate. I know that I know Geometry. Well, in all honesty- all honesty, old female teachers will not teach me math.

What I mean is that I couldn't just make up for the time I missed while the rest of my class sat back and said "yeah, dude." Actually. Odd history between math and I. Still, I was too good to spend time out of school to make up for something that will not be my fault. As a result, I have not taken my SATs. I still have no idea what grades I left school with. Oh my god. Horror in realizing that the only time I've explained that was in my job interview. "Yeah, I was pretty good in school." Eh ok that's enough. I was just unaware of what grades really were until 11th grade. I'm just not sure what all this says about me. Not bad, really.

ok. It's true, I may be giving away all the mystery of what once was "the famous 'Pito'" but if someone is doing that much research, then the word "famous" can't really fade. I don't mean insults.. it can't really sound like that. Still, the mystery doesn't lie in the everyday reality.. Actually it might. Nevermind. Still- glad someone knows that I "need to get out of this place." The anonymous "place." I know it won't mean this house, specifically, but I appreciate the concern. I lack aggression, therefore I owe it to some folks to get out of here. I'm already halfway done. I suppose that's why health can't matter much, anymore. All that anyone is waiting for, is for one of those people who care to actually be themselves multiplied. An agreement is what will give me who's I am.

Sort of brings to mind another example of high standards. Also another reason I am cautious of college. I'll start out by explaining how I wouldn't want to get any book published by some publishing company. I'm referring to Justin's situation with Charlie D. I am almost afraid to see him get published in that horrifying way. Some company, "yeah some writer wrote some stuff, he'll make us some dollars." Record labels, talent scouts, college, skateboarding... teams? I get the illusion that I'm holding the string of a balloon, but the balloon is actually just a big sack of meat. A whale, caught in some net. Other people have to give us a boost. That's the rule. Kind of like my mom's fear of being under things (ie airplanes, bridges). That's why I've been giving myself so much more than I can chew. I'm trying to do it allllll by myself. Compensation makes sense, somewhere. I need someone to directly respond to this, and tell me to quit.

Hell, ok. Why not a conclusion to standards that involves some mmm hot topic of relationship? Well, that's actually just an entire other thing I was more willing to explain, about a week ago. Point is- these things that attribute to my "inflated sense of self" (which should no longer be referred to as such) cause me to think that I can only be involved with a certain female that has a lot of absurd features. I read about this, too. I may cause myself to believe... actually I see no reason not to. I'm in control. Anyway, what I was saying is that, blah, causes of someone's definition of "obsessive love." Actually, yeah. This is very irrelevant, now. It'll come off wrong, either way. You know when you have something that you knew you were supposed to explain eventually, and it just gets brought up at the wrong time? Yea. Somewhere, in here.

If only I were tired often. I would be ok with a bunch of me's running around. Not in that way, though. Just, sleep would be too important for me to not live in the wild.

Caution tape. Pile.

I will not be having a conversation tonight. I bet.

Forgot

Hello. I am somewhat. That's who.

Somewhat getting full of himself, somewhat keeping self in check. Trying to combust all at once, but with no regard for trend-sets. I am allowed to be careful. Whether or not I choose to continue, after folks remember me, is all up to and away.

However, enemies and all, I must craft. I must craft without use of its nature. Embarrass all those who can't breathe, yet. Yet, again. Always watching your favorite, but choosing to scream. Scream to me, and let your scream catch up to me when I can't hear. All a set-up.

Help us all, and help us out. Our final culmination. Always a finale, but not my own. Still, knowing what I'd do.

End these sentences? Ok.