Saturday, 1:27am.

Posted: November 25, 2012 in Insight
Tags: , ,

After staring at this impatient screen and slapping hundreds of keys for the past two hours, this barren eraser of a line is what I’ve got to show for it. Fuck my life. Fuck my Saturday night. Fuck yours, too. IF you’re awake and reading this you’re sure to find a reason to forfeit your evening and cuddle your pillow like it’s your life’s solace.

The past few months have given me enough hardship to write a lifetime’s worth of material, yet I’ve written nothing. Why? My laptop’s keyboard haunts my anxiety like a first-time blind date. I approach it optimistic and open-minded with a child’s naive excitement. But, when my time here has expired I leave empty, unamused, uninspired and exhausted – throwing my dignity to an ex’s memory. Better times were had. Greater ideas were cultivated. All I want to do is text someone with an endless amount of shit to talk about the waste of a night. I’ll spare you all the dread of an aging bachelor’s memoir in progress.

Substance. The word is hardly a noteworthy wing-man to the garbage that dilutes the bane of our existence to an even lesser point. For me, though, it’s Atlantis. It’s my Ark of the Covenant. My white unicorn. I search. I yearn. I dedicate. I exhaust. I fold. I regain my wits. I search, endlessly.

Irony.

Let me tell you where I think substance is NOT found – substance is not found in the expectations of others. It isn’t found in the unfortunate plight of those less hopeful or less ambitious. It isn’t found by curbing your individuality. It isn’t found by trading your niche for popularity. It isn’t found in the depths of past minds trapped in commercialization of brilliance. It isn’t found in a lot of places that I’m too lazy to type out. You get the point. I don’t know where substance is found in endless amounts. If I did, this post wouldn’t exist. This blog wouldn’t exist. My thoughts wouldn’t exist, they wouldn’t need to. I’d let my well of substance do my thinking for me. Hello, slippery slope.

If you’re waiting for a brilliant ending, stop. There isn’t one. That, kids, is my point – substance has to be found in small doses, otherwise you become the disease that eats it away, creative bit by creative bit. Genius and humility are the necessary ingredients, but finding the perfect mix will be found on a case-by-case basis. It just happens to be that most of you fuck it up. I do. I add a bit of pomp and bitterness and stir it with aggression and impatience. My life is the mess that it creates. The amount of meaningful substance in my life is at a minimal amount, at best. And that is why I’m sitting in front of my laptop’s inviting glow on a Saturday night at 1:27am.

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