I'm quite proud of this picture:

Shoot Me in the Face Hole.

God. What am I doing with my fucking life? I am sitting here in a god damn Starbucks, blogging. And what am I about to write about? How conveniently and retardedly set I am. What makes me think that I am unique? I actually don't think I am unique. Maybe about as unique as a piece of shit with corn in it. Oh.. What did I eat? The only people who tell me I am special are my parents. My parents are too nice. I am the luckiest person I know. (I am not complaining about my parents. They are gems.) My dad takes care of me without question. I am 25, mind you. And my mom just likes to tell me how beautiful and creative I am. So, I mean, I guess I understand why I am such a useless pussy most of the time.
But Seriously. If you have ever read "Stuff White People Like," I am pretty much that book, or website, in a nut shell. Actually, when I picked up the book to browse it a few months ago, I almost felt sad. Am I this lame? This unoriginal that I can be so easily lumped into a category of white types that think they are special? I would like to think that it is somewhat impossible for most people my age to remain original these days. Facebook alone shoves mutual similarities down my throat everyday. And I can't help but get involved. But I know far to many people who are definitely diamonds. They are rare and interesting. I don't see myself as any of these things. I am average, average, average.
I don't really want to be shot in the face. But, I do think my life is at its peak. Its all down hill from here. When is it ever going to be this satisfying to live again? And the earth is going to shit anyways. Global warming, the threat of nuclear warfare, the economy, Miley Cyrus. Its all bad.
Earlier today I was bothered by the idea (a recurring idea quite recently) that I will not be able to find a job when I get back home. And I began to consider the idea of moving home to where my Dad lives, finding a job locally, and just shutting myself off from the world. It would be cheaper for my parents. I wouldn't feel so guilty about being useless. And my friends wouldn't be around to amplify my guilt. I could also focus on being healthier and more creative. But the idea of all of this actually coming to fruition also makes me feel shitty. Its like working toward something only to give up. I don't even know what I want to do with my life. All I know is I enjoy taking photos and writing. Perhaps I will start my own magazine. But! Oh wait, that would require some sort of cost. AND!!! There would be no pay!! AND! I am too lazy to actually do anything like that. Fuck I am lame. Slap me. Please.

I had dozens of thoughts earlier tonight, but no pen or keyboard to relieve myself of them.
The one I did retain involved memory. Thank you to memory, for reminding myself of it. I went to a shit movie. (I am not going to tell anyone the name of it so you can suffer the near two hours of pain I did.) After leaving, I decided to walk toward the bridge near Embankment. The view facing west is incredible. You have The London Eye to your left, and Westminster Abbey and Big Ben to your right. It was a photographic moment. The full moon poured light over the river, and the clouds were scattered ever so perfectly. I did not have a camera, so hopefully this illusion I am building is filling your mind with wonderment.
As I stood there staring into this ideal cityscape, I started to almost miss it. I was recognizing, suddenly, that I will have to leave it soon. And a thought came to me. Do I want this view to remind me of a special time in my life, or do I make a life here, and make nights like this just another average passing.
The thought. I don't think so. How depressing would it to be to not value this? To not be enchanted by this sight? New York's skyline still takes my breath away. I have yet to think of it as part of my life. A place where I just happen to live. When the Manhattan skyline catches the light right, it stops me in my tracks.
And maybe this city would too. Every place in the world can look beautiful, even for a split second. But London seems to be a dream that I live in at the moment. At some point I need to wake up, get going, move forward. Right now I am just wandering in a fantasy.
This moment then lead me to think about romance, and what it has meant to me in the past. I sat there, looking into the night, and I felt embraced by happiness and calm. I didn't need to have a person with me to feel complete, and.. well, make it "romantic." That's when it hit me. Romance doesn't have to involve someone else. It is a uniform belief in the world that romance involves long walks on the beach, and candle light dinners, and rainy kisses. These cliches are obviously works of fiction, but the idea remains. Romance has always involved two people. That's bullshit though. Completely. The following are four different definitions of romance:

-love affair: a relationship between two lovers
-love story: a story dealing with love
-an exciting and mysterious quality
-the group of languages derived from Latin

The fourth is unnecessary, but I felt it should be included nonetheless. Romance, from my perspective, is more of an idea. And a feeling. Its a moment, where you get lost in fantasy and beauty. You feel comforted by it, and it makes you feel sublimely happy. I felt romance during this moment on the bridge. I didn't need anything other than myself and the magic.

Though... in retrospect, it could have also been the whiskey.

Jealousy

I am having a mental argument with jealousy at the moment. I hate that I possess such a horrible and damaging feeling. Its always been the bane of my existence. I can't remember the first time I felt jealous. Or even the last time. I imagine the first time I was jealous, I must not have understood what it meant, or what I was feeling. It probably involved a toy, or something someone had that wasn't mine. That situation has transpired over the years, and regardless of what it is, I feel like possession is what musters my jealousy.
At the moment, it is the possession of attention. Why must you direct your attention toward that person, and not toward me? I'm standing in the pathway, letting myself be hit over and over again by it. I am jealous of an idea. A thought that I am creating myself.
Damn. At times I feel as though I can even be jealous of myself. But at the moment, it is strictly based on a feeling, that is making me sick to my stomach. It's making my heart weak. I have nothing to be jealous of. My life is quite perfect at the moment. So why is this feeling digging its way through me?