"What this is, is a failure to communicate"

Life is like buying cocaine. Sometimes you get the pure snow, sometimes you get laundry detergent but you’re paying so much for it so you’re like “what the hell” and next thing you know you’re in a hospital room shitting freshness trying to explain how you planted yourself face down in a box of—…where the fuck was I going with this?

Sunday Night

 Oh. Uh… let’s say I got something more like salt—not pleasant to snort but you don’t end up in the hospital shitting freshness. As you can probably see where I’m going with this, I’ll just go ahead and say it. I have ADD. Oh, and I don’t just have ADD, I have motherfucking ADD of the Anxiety type, which means I get to be anxious about being ADD: “Did I Forget something? Oh god, did I forget something? OH GOD, I THINK I DID FORGET IT! THE WORLD IS FUCKING ENDING I FORGOT TO BRING THAT BOOK I NEED OH HOLY JESUS THAT ART OUR LORD SPARE ME FROM oh here it is.”

It got worse though as I got older. Pretty soon I’d start to dread getting on the bus. I’d sit down and immediately think I’d fucking left something there, and this happened every god damn time too. Bam, ass hit’s seat “that library book I need for my homework!” It never failed.

It’s been… very strange for the most part. Like the time in second grade I suddenly got it in my head that ice cream was the most important fucking thing to bring on a camping trip and bounced around like a two year old screaming at my scout master about it.

The most important fucking thing you can ever bring with you on a camping trip.

 Basically, I have hundreds of stories of ridiculous times in which I’ve done stupid things I thought I’d never tell anybody and I’m gonna post it all up on the internet where anybody can come along and read it and…

HAPPY PLACE, HAPPY PLACE