A Date With Myself

To the reader: If this is your first time on my blog, many greetings; If you've been here before, happy returns to you. Everything you read here will be my genuine unfiltered thoughts and secrets, explaining in full detail everything about me, piece by piece. I wish that you read on without prejudice or judgement, for I am not a perfect person, and I hope that you can connect and empathize with my life's story. -Alex

I was home early, fully knowing that everyone else would be out for the night.

I did some exercises, got myself a haircut, shaved, showered, made myself feel presentable. Almost as if I were going out for a special night.

And then, alone in my own abode, I began my monologue. It began with talking to the cats, but after a while it was really just me droning on about my own problems, and it ended up something like this:

"Why am I such a failure? Success can only be guaranteed if one is happy with their own way of life, and that happiness is directly proportionate to how positive a mindset the person can maintain. So why can't I maintain positivity?"

My cat at this point had given up interest in me and was licking himself all over. Dammit Baby.

"A positive attitude is maintained by having positive outcomes in life. Success and achievement on a daily basis, no matter how large or small, are the foundation stones to that kind of attitude. So why can't I do that? I don't learn anything new every day. I don't work out, I don't play new instruments, The only passions I have I'm too lazy to pursue."

Of course, laziness is once again just an excuse. I'm to blame, none other than myself.
Quite frankly I didn't even know where I was going with this monologue but I pressed on anyways.

"Look at you baby" (Here he perked up at this name. This was quickly followed with a disinterested glance around the room before leaving)

"At least your'e good at what you do. You pounce, kill, and eating is you reward. You must have a rather happy life all things considered. What am I good at? Nothing. I have no talents, no gifts, and the only thing I ever finish are my thoughts; and no philosopher ever made a fortune."

By now, I'm alone in the room, talking to myself. I thought I must look mental, talking out loud as if someone where listening, in an apparently empty space.

I felt negative. I felt down. I felt the need to try and make this space a little bit brighter.
So naturally I sang the first song that came to mind.

"Look at the stars; look how they shine for you, and all the things you do; Yeah, they were all Yellow"

(I'd like to interject that Coldplay is amazing)
Moving on to the chorus, I couldn't even finish it without crying.

"Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bone; Turn in, to something beautiful-"

And that's where I choke. I can't finish. Baby already walked back into the room to see what the commotion was and I'm standing there, tearing, unable to finish a song.

"I'm never going to be beautiful."

Those are the only words that came to my mind.

"I'll never be beautiful. I'll never accomplish anything because I'll never be able to finish something. I'm not a Creator of things. Even my shitbag of a Father created something meaningful with his life."

I eat dinner alone. I cooked spaghetti, my personal favourite, and while crying all I can think of is how for some reason this was my best attempt at bolognese yet.

I'm just a Destroyer.

At least I make a mean spaghetti.