So, I’ve been away hanging out in my own *shit for the last 6 months or so.
I’m still wading in it and, with summer coming, I don’t suspect it’s going to start smelling any better unless I start to clean it up.
Tonight I was laying in bed at 7:20 feeling pissed off at the world because I felt like everyone was grabbing at my brain, and then it occurred to me. It was my own damn fault. I let people dictate how I spend my time and then I resent it. Please feel sorry for me. <—-sarcasm
I jumped out of bed, cleaned out my office (it’s been a shithole for the past 4 months-making me feel angry about working in it-go figure) and dusted off my drum kit.
My drums are basically a representation of my self-neglect. Drumming is something I do for ME. One of the only things I have for ME. And, I’ve ignored them for almost a year. So, in essence, I’ve ignored myself that entire time.
My books are another good indicator of how well I’m taking care of myself. They keep accumulating on my night table, being ignored.
Now, they are staring at me, expecting to be noticed.
I’m going to be a drumming, writing, singing, reading fool. Again.
*Not my literal shit. Come on. You know, “shit”: my own self-loathing, self-bullying, self-analyzing. My STUFF. Shit. Trust me, I’m very hygienic.