Nearly 9 years ago I moved to Los Angeles, California with hopes and dreams of adventure.  I didn’t expect to sparkling lights and fame.  I didn’t expect riches or even love.  I just wanted to experience something different, to get out of my hometown of Baltimore and see what else was out there.  It started out slow, I had some fun, I had some heartbreak and went tumbling down a hole of despair and then I’ve kind of just been cruising.   I can’t completely complain.  I’ve certainly had some awful moments like heartbreak and losing my job and I got myself into some mess but I’ve also had some fun and some good moments.  It’s pretty even really in good things that happened, bad things, things I got myself into and things that just sort of found their way to me.  I’ve met some good people and a heck of a lot of awful people. But I feel like I’m just… floating along.  Not looking at the scenery around me, not trying to stop myself at any point, just sorta going with the flow – which turns out isn’t a good thing in this situation.   I just don’t care about anything and in turn, I feel like I’m just messing up everything again.  Paycheck to Paycheck.  Day by day.  All I want to do is stay inside, stay in bed, lay on the couch, watch TV, sleeeeeeeeeep.  I don’t want to go out.  I don’t have the money.  I don’t have the desire, I don’t have the umph. I avoid.  Avoid avoid until I absolutely have to face it.

I really should write.  Not only write things I’m SUPPOSED to write but write things I want to write.  I have conversations with myself all the time that would make great blogs and I …just… don’t … do it.


I suck.

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