My favorite deep thought is:
After you die, it is believed that you have 7 minutes of brain activity left inside you, and in the 7 minutes you experience your entire life over, in a kind of dream… Because in a dream time is stretched.
So if this is the case, what if right now you’re in that 7 minutes. How do you know if you’re alive or just reliving old memories.
So it’s 3:00AM and I’m here lying in my bed reeking of cologne and a mixture of alcohol. Most of which that I didn’t drink but I digress. I don’t know why I’m blogging about something as random and useless as this but I’m here, very much awake and very much not buzzed. You see my predicament, yeah? Lol. Anyways tonight, of the twenty years of my existence, was my first run-in with alcohol and a teaser taste of the freedom I very much coveted. Surprisingly enough, after a good amount of shots and a losing game of BP—-I was perfectly fine. Being my first time, I half expected to be that person that would be taken care of but in the end it was me taking care of people that looked so far gone it became hard for me to decide to laugh at the silliness or with worry. Or just an awkward combination of both. So there I was, coherent and able to sit down abit and watch the scene before me unfurl. Its funny what happens when you throw alcohol in the mix. You see people either break the masks they wear on the daily basis, revealing their true intentions or raw state of being or they do the opposite of that, they create this mask or facade that portrays what they could only wish to portray when sober and normal. Alcohol being the catalyst to their transformation. I guess you can say that I got to see a range of both.
Got to see some familiar faces, got to see/meet some new ones. Felt the warmth of many greetings and smiles but at the same time, felt the scrutiny of others. But I guess, when you straight up leave, pick up the pieces/traces of whatever’s left and disappear off the radar…it’s to be expected. And the more social functions that I force myself to pick up and go to, the easier the feelings are handled. Proof that I can function perfectly fine still even though I feel like broken machinery that’s been mishandled and misused and in the end replaced. Proof that no matter how tired I can get with all the weight Ive been carrying by myself alone, I can still be strong.
I don’t know what much more I need to prove to myself. It can get tiring.To the point where I had to lay down for abit, not cause of the alcohol running through my system but because the alcohol failed to shut down the one thing that sometimes I wish would stop running. But again, there I go off on another tangent, this is the part where I should say some shit like “shit was mad dope” or “Bob totally got shitfaced and fucked Jill” but honestly, shit was aight but not my cup of tea and there’s not that many Bobs and Jill’s to go around Vegas anyways. Cant really pass a final judgement with this one experience, So I’ll end this pointless post with this:
Think it’s about Time to slip outta this dress, take out my contacts, snuggle with my cow and end this good Friday night/early Saturday morning on a more peaceful note. Bring on the sleep.