Confusing Movement With Action

Hello! If you’re reading this, you’ve somehow found my first attempt at a blog, which means, because of its title, that you were probably searching for some sort of Shakespearean fetish porn. If so,

I like you already.

Before you go jerk off, read my post. This one’ll be short. As for other future pontifications (working on the very presumptuous assertion that there will ever be any), I make no promises. Pith isn’t my strong point.

Nothing is these days, really. Hence my ambivalent and surely misguided foray into online self-stroking (of the written expose variety). The thing about that: I fucking hate blogs, social media, and for the most part, the Internet in general. While fashioning yet another stylish yet functional tinfoil hat, I recently decided that all things “online” will surely and swiftly lead to a nuclear Holocaust. So why engage? Living in a cave isn’t fun (despite the great acoustics), it’s not even an option, and frankly, I have nothing better to do. I’m a chronically underemployed, self-absorbed 30-something New Yorker who fails at pretty much everything, eventually. I even tried to kill myself a few times, twice with massive quantities of generic Klonopin and later, with a slash to the wrist using a Kershaw assisted-open pocket knife I bought on Amazon for protection. I won’t even dissect all the things wrong with THAT statement, but seriously, how the fuck do you fuck up killing yourself? Dying is pretty fucking easy, at least according to TV. Shrinks would say, “Well, you musn’t have really wanted to die,” but, um, yeah. I fucking did. So there’s that.

I also lovingly and frenetically nurtured a two-year addiction to prescription painkillers, like everyone else with a brain and nervous system who’s tried them. I’m talking hundreds and hundreds of milligrams of Oxy a day here, folks. Apparently I have the drug tolerance of Pablo Escobar. I miss pills often, which made me feel how I imagine normal, functional people do, but with more energy and a sunnier outlook. At any rate, here I am. Depressed. Crazy. Contemplating absurdity. Heavily medicated, just now on more socially acceptable drugs. Fightin’ the man. Living the American dream. Just like you.

And here we are. Since I’m sitting on my ass doing nothing, I decided one fun option may be to start a blog, effectively continuing to sit on my ass and do nothing. I can’t even be accused of confusing movement with action – you don’t even need to get dressed to write a blog, or really move at all. Hashtag “winning” (oh yeah, and when the fuck did the pound sign become a “hashtag?” Who’s moronic enough to come up with this shit and why didn’t we think of it first?!)

OK, go watch your steampunk porn. Tomorrow we talk millennials. GOOD TIMES! Come back.

x Juliet, clothed in sweatpants and a t-shirt

 

 

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