I love the smell of napalm in the mornin

If you can't live without me, why aren't you dead yet?

Do breaking resolutions count if you are too sick to write? Yesterday that was me, unfortunately so was the day before. Maybe I just needed to catch up on sleep or something because I was out like a light 80% of the time. The other 20% I had migraine level headaches or felt like I would throw up. Though the mystery might be solved, and my ear infection might be on its way back or have migrated further into my ear because it is hurting like a bitch, I'm feeling dizzy, and this nausea is just a force to be reckoned with.

I started what looks like a good story the other day, but I didn't get any work done on it yesterday. I would have liked to. I think it could be great with time and effort. Of course, when I do finish, it will be full of glaring grammar errors because I am good like that. I can write, but fuck do I ever suck at grammar. This is why I'm sure my English teacher has it out for me, even though it's not that bad, I think. This reminds me I need to get my ass in gear this week and get some stuff done.

Wow, my internet is utter shit today. We keep losing connection here, I don't know what to blame, but half of me just wants to blame the evil alien-looking pug because I can. I'm going to be napping sooner rather than later if it keeps happening, and as I typed that, my brain lept for joy. Opened a new SodaStream flavour this morning. Berry Water or some shit. So far, I like it. I will have to order more of it and a few other kinds, including tons of Pepsi zero because I need caffeine to survive.

I think the worst of Covid is done with the house and ultimately moved on. We took all rapid tests this morning because my brother is probably going up north this week to work as relief and had to go into the training center today to learn the new system in the stores, so he had to test negative, and everyone else in the house too. Glady not one positive result. I will have to get some other ear drops tomorrow, though, because I can't take this pain.

Yeah, today I've been wondering why sometimes I even bother writing. It's not about readers because I never cared about those in the past. I understand, and I've always told myself that I write anything because I am letting out the real me through anything I write, blog, poems, stories, or anything. Let's get this straight first, lol. I'm not some kind of psychopath (If you've read any of my murder pieces, present or past). I mean by real me as in I can control something in my life. I can be as creative as I want, and honestly, if someone wants to judge me for what I do write, I can stand up proudly and say, judge me and fuck you and that horse your rode in on.

I wrote a story once in middle school about a killer cat who would go and try to murder all the stuffed animals in the neighbourhood at night. Apparently, I wasn't supposed to have this kind of creativity at eleven years old and was sent for therapy, well after I was accused of not writing the story myself. All through my early years, teachers were always accusing me of not doing stuff myself. It got old fast. Eventually, it was established that it was because I was "gifted." (Which now from copious amounts of low-grade drugs I have pretty much squandered away) LOL. Back then, though, I honestly started writing to escape the shit-ass life I was living at home. Stories were always an escape to me. My inner thoughts were like this window that needs to still be broken these days. Not to let the crazy out but to let creativity flow because if I didn't, who knows, maybe I might actually be fucked up, lol.

I could always tell that my parents hated me. My bath toys were a toaster and a radio. A joke I like to tell. When it came to my father, no words ever ran more true. Today though, with everything that life has given me, I am only stronger and a better person and a better father to my kids. With that, I'll leave you.