The Ground Isn't

He'll be lending me his computer, which means I'll finally be able to get some shït done. Which means, I'll finally be able to get some shït out there. Which means:

Holy crap! Real life, here I fücking come! Yeah, I blew all of my chances to do this in the past. I know that the odds are that I won't actually do anything but play and surf net all the livelong day. Except, I hate my life too much to not change it, movement block or not. I clocked out of this life at least a year and a half ago, and most of the time, I just stayed as doped up as possible, tuned right out, in order to tolerate existing in this old life.
I've been a walking corpse.

But, now the weed's over, and when it's not, it's just a money waster. Now, I'm back to being very uncomfortable in my skin and pacey. But, he just gave me another chance. Reanimation is about to strike these bones, and no one's going to know what hit 'em, or where the eff I came from. No one knows what's in my arsenal. No one knows the quality nor volume. Here I have been, this gigantic lump upon which you've set up camp, parked your RVs, pitched your tents, played and stompped and shät all over. I made not a move or peep. But, this lump is about to roll the christ over, and remind you that you weren't parking on ground made for your convenience, dismissal, and defication, but a volcano designed to erupt and disrupt and change your entire universe.

Oh, and someone's going to be in trouuuuublllle. But, that was inevitable, anyway.

It's funny (or horrifyingly disgusting) who helps and who hurts. Who steals intellectual property and the means to make a future, and who lends a lifejacket.
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dude, I quit drinking and pot. I feel you on the anxiety.the next 21 days are going to suck. but I'm glad that after the habit hump, I'll be in recovery mode and I can focus on healing. Good to see some old faces on here
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