Zee Blog

To give it all up.

If you are reading this, read the blog post below here so you can get the full view.

I swear I say I'm going to bed, and then I get to bed and all I do is stare at my ceiling and think about the things I shouldn't be.

Cas(a.k.a. loon) sat and talked with me for a while tonight about all that went on today.

It's so funny that all I want to say is, "I don't know" about my feelings, when I all-too-clearly do know. Sometimes I think I might wish I just didn't know, or maybe I would just stop rolling them over in my mind, trying to see them from another light.

I have a new roommate. She's temporarily staying here until she gets her own place. Her name is Brandi, and she is a friend of Shauna's.

Now that the introduction is out of the way, let's get on with the show.

We were all sitting outside on the patio last night and "shooting the breeze" as some might say, when we got on this discussion about substance abuse. Alcohol, weed, ecstasy, meth, coke, and a couple others were all discussed last night.

Shauna, before I could even say anything said to Brandi: "For as long as I've known Shawn, he's the only person I know that seems to truly smoke pot just so he can stop thinking."

If only those words were true. Smoking pot usually tends to just make me think about how stupid I am for doing this, instead of thinking about how stupid I am for: not being where I want to, not being in the shape I want to be, the horrible things I feel I've done to people, the horrible things I've done to past loves, and the horrible things that past loves have done to me.

So, I guess, in one way or another it does help me stop thinking so much.

Which leads me to my current hate. I hate that I feel so much.

I'm not going to sit here in my blog and say, "I'm a wonderful person! All I ever do are good things for the world and all I get in return is a flaming bag of poo on my doorstep!"

To be honest I'm not sure I am a good person. I would like to think so, but I always find a way to make myself think otherwise. Christ! I whine like a bitch with a scraped knee.

I do, however, know that I try so very hard to make the lives of all of those around me better. If I knew that giving my arm would allow one of the many people in my life the ability to live a happy life, I most likely would. God knows I've given up a good deal more emotionally.

Yet, all I think about lately is how much I wish I could just tear that part away.

[//Immense Geek Warning: Reader Contamination Possible. See also: melodrama//]

It makes me think of the issue of Spider-Man, recreated faithfully in Spider-Man 2, where Peter Parker decides one day that he just doesn't want to be Spider-Man any longer. He feels that for every good thing he does there is an equal, if not greater, evil brought to the world and so he leaves the costume forelorn(sp?) and discarded in a trash bin. Behind it, you see his silhoutte walking away.

I have a tattoo on my back. That tattoo is the symbol from the front of the Spider-Man costume. There are three reasons I chose this tattoo:

1.) I've loved Spider-Man since I was born.
2.) I was in Vegas and had to do something impulsive(even though the tattoo was always a planned item).
3.) Its there so I can't forget the things I've done.

I know that I've discussed my strong love and admiration for the phrase "With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility" to you all.

Every time I turn my back on responsibility, it has always bit me so hard in the ass that I never forget about it. The initial pain of the tattoo was nothing in comparison to the scars that adorn my heart and my mind.

To get back on track with all of this, Peter Parker, as any person who has any knowledge of comics knows, returned to being Spider-Man after deciding that a city without is by no means going to grow to be better.

I know I'm no superhero. The fact that I can get winded by walking a decent flight of stairs will prove that. If I had a humongous brain and the ability to teleport shit, that might be okay, but I'm no Charles Xavier, and for being in a wheel chair that good old boy is solid.

But being a child raised by comics, I tend to have this mentallity that I am in my own right. I just don't wear a mask or climb up walls.

Cas told me tonight, "You need to do something for yourself," and I feel that I must agree with her.

(Sorry, I have the violinist for another thirty minutes, need to get my monies worth. -thanks,
the author!)

My problem is, I'm not the type that can just jump off a springboard and say, "It's Shawn Time!" Even when it is "Shawn Time" it's usually "Shawn doing something for someone else" time.

I dunno...it's getting late, and I think I'm going to try and get some sleep now. It is 12:08 and I need to be up at 6:00 to go to work.

I do have to say: blogging helps a lot. About a tenth of the way through my mind cleared, and I think that is why I went a bit off course every so often.

Talk to you all later. Hope your Wednesday goes splendidly.