Break

 Sup guys.

 
I’m thinking of taking a break.
 
I don’t know.  I just.  I don’t know why I come here so often.  Why I write everything down.  What purpose it serves, really.  I love you guys and I love reading you, but… Something about the way I write here is fucking with my head hardcore.
 
It goes back to shit English and I talked about that I don’t really want to get into and it doesn’t even matter.  These ideas have been floating around in my head for years.  He just solidified them.  Which is oh-so-ironic, because the ideas are about how unstable, unquantifiable, and ever-changing the world is.  How nothing can be known and thoughts can’t be explained and words are just your brain taking a piss, and piss can’t tell you anything about who pissed it except maybe what they’ve been drinking lately.
 
Beer, beer, more beer, coffee, COFFEE, occasionally wine, and once a day, water with an electrolyte-enhancing tablet in it to make up for the fact that everything else I drink dehydrates me.  Just so you know.
 
I write about my relationship like every single fucking thing that happens is important, like it’s given me "the key," like now I "know."  And then it changes with the next thing that happens.  And I write it all down and everyone’s like "wtf what about that other thing he did, did you forget about that thing?" and none of you say it, but I KNOW you think it, because I think it too.  We all do.  We see snapshots of each other’s lives.  You’re sad in one and happy in the next and we want to know why.  Because you SEEMED to have a pretty good idea that you were sad because of (boyfriend girlfriend husband wife apartment job city food the unruly dog the rising price of produce), and hey there, I can clearly see that in this picture and what is it still doing there?  You’re not really happy if (thing) is still there.  Why are you lying to yourself?  
 
But you’re not lying to yourself, and I’m not lying to myself.  Things just change and words don’t mean a fucking thing.  To pretend like anything I say in here even touches on the real reasons for my feelings is a joke.  Really?  Do I truly believe that somehow, despite being a part of the stupidest fucking self-deceiving species on the planet, I’ve parsed out All the Things and I know why I do anything at all?
 
If you frown all day, you’ll feel sad by the end, and if you have to sit with your shoulders hunched and your arms crossed you will feel defensive, you will feel uncomfortable, you will tell yourself that you’re feeling uncomfortable because (boyfriend girlfriend husband wife city job) when really it’s just because you had to hold your body in a position that implies discomfort.  
 
And that’s everything.  Everything we think and feel.  We can’t possibly know why.  We can’t.  Almost everything we tell ourselves–about ourselves–is a lie.  I mean, not the basic shit.  I like coffee.  I like taking care of people.  I like sleeping in and I hate waking up in the middle of a dream.  But I don’t know why any of these things are true about me, and I never will, and that has to be okay.
 
Every time I write in here, it feels like I’m solving a puzzle.  But really I’m just scrambling up the edge pieces until I get bored and forget what picture I’m even trying to make.
 
There are no answers, and constantly seeking them is toxic.  Because if I write about how (thing) makes me sad, then the next time (thing) happens, it will make me sad.  Even if that wasn’t the reason in the first damn place, which it probably wasn’t, because WHY IS A LIE.  Ooooh rhyming fuck yeah.
 
Anyway.  I guess I don’t remember what life felt like before I thought in paragraphs and parentheses.  And I want to remember.  I’m tired of annotating my brain.
 
So this break probably starts like now-ish, and ends like when I get bored one day and decide to start writing again.  I’ll probably still read, because fuck, what else would I do with ALL OF MY FREE TIME FOREVER?  I don’t know if I have what it takes to develop new hobbies right now, so yeah, I’ll probs be around.  And maybe I won’t stop writing at all.  I dunno.  Everything changes. I’m not going to commit to anything.  Sweeping declarations are reserved for Marshall Eriksen.
 
If you’re on my Facebook, I’ll surely still spam every inane thought I have that sounds funny in my head.  If you’re not on my Facebook and I know you pretty well, I’ll add you if you want.
 
Not a whole lot else to say, folks.  I love you all and nothing is real.  HOORAY!