The Post Ottawa Blahs
I really dislike St. Catharines. 4 o clock is seemingly stalled in its approach to get here. Usually, 4 pm is when people finish. Not me. That's only 1 and a half hours into my shift. crazy. anyways, just sitting here, wishing i was elsewhere in another life. Crazy. I throw crazy in there when I have nothing really of any interest to say. So I sit and I type, tethered to a desk of discontent. I know I shouldn't be complaning, but I really can't help it sometimes. It helps pass the time. Plus, why did God give us the ability to complain in the first place? I know that deep down I'm happy...I just need to find my place in all of this. I'm floating, lost in a sea of transgression and pent up longing for the past. My friend Todd said in his blog that he no longer believes in escapist fantasies but I tend to harp on them. Maybe that's because my imagination tends to run wild with desire, making me think I should be more important than I am. But what's importance anyways? What is importance linked to? Status? Job? A writing career with no creative boundaries? Music? Oh, dear music.
These are my pipe dreams.
...Speaking of pipe...I think I'm gonna go out and buy one very soon. I just feel the need to smoke a bowl of Captain Black.
