It's not like I have nothing to write

But when I write something, it's typically taken from some sort of inspiration. And, usually, that inspiration comes somewhere from my life. At the end of the day, this blug has been a small collection of very vague feelings I have amassed over a short period of time. Which, in honesty, is disgustingly lame. But we have what we have, and if it gives me guilty pleasure, and others some good snickering material, maybe that offsets the fact that this blug is but another in the sludgy mire of similarly poor journals of angst.
However, I normally attempt to at least abstract whatever clumsily autobiographical emotions I'm feeling into something at least partially accessible. But I've just felt so... specific, recently, if that makes sense. Ignore that it sounds like a phrase Miller would use. So, I'm going to resort to my usual last line of defense- bullshitting.

When I was out today, I couldn't help but see the Jehovahs out and about, dolled up in their most trustful clothes. My sympathy goes with their children, paraded as tools of guilt. I can't wait until I have my own place, when I can answer the door to these intruders, pull out some deck furniture, perhaps take out a chilled jug of juice, and spend an entire morning debating with some very well dressed brick walls. Use their own tactics against them. And at the very least, waste enough time to take a bullet for the neighbourhood.

I feel I've been living far too decadent recently. Late nights, later mornings, bad eating, swinging from recluse to domestic tourist far too erratically. But that's Easter holidays. I can't wait until school starts up, and my lapses into slothitude feel justified, if not out-and-out deserved.

After I feel I've received all the tuition I'll ever need for Bass (Tuition for Bass? PSH! You and your talentless ways, Minnear!), I'm going to learn how to sing. I sing (badly) far too much, and if the world has to put up with it, I should find someone who can chip my voice into something tolerable. I can't even imagine the realms of pleasure attainable from even barely passable vocal expression.

I also need to learn the *tiniest* amount of acoustic guitar, enough to make pretty sounds, not enough so I play anything vaguely-professional sounding. I've had a bunch of ideas bouncing around that rely on a Buffay-esque sound, so my musical shitocity may come in useful. Of course, on websites, I'll call it "unorthodox". But it does mean "amateur".

Listen to more Decemberists. Can not overstate this. Very accessible earlier stuff, incredibly indulgent recent stuff. Smart, eloquent and an audial delight. Also obscure enough to earn a good number of indie points, if you're into that.

I may have to up sticks employment-wise, which upsets me. I need constant and More substantial pay, which may not occur in the summer, which is apparently when business slows down, and they don't need the extra help- i.e. me. They're not dropping me, of course, but I'm non-contracted, meaning they're not going to call me in unless they need me. This is all a huge bummer, as the people I've been working with are simply fantastic, and so friendly, and I can't help but feel like I'm letting them down a little if I left (despite the fact I'm a terrible waiter). I'll miss them terribly. But employment's a selfish thing, and I need financial backing if I want to drive, and go to Uni, and teach, and live the life I want. Of course, this then brings in the dilemma that should I even be employed in "The Best Years of My Life"? Am I squandering away prime youth? Which, of course, you don't get to find out until it's far too late.

Although.

The life I yearn most for isn't the partying, or the traveling, or anything typically associated with youth.

I literally can't wait for teaching, for marriage, and parenthood.
*DISCLAIMER* I'm not gonna get married and have a family of five at 19 years. Just to put it out there! That is a long way away, and I'm very aware of this! I do in fact understand I am nowhere near responsible or emotionally mature enough for that, and won't be for at least a decade.
I can and will wait.
But I can't wait.