Keinemusikfurdashund (dethcokediscord) wrote,
Keinemusikfurdashund
dethcokediscord

Cog.

I shaved Yerger's head tonight into a mohawk. Briefly considered giving Vince that fade I will most likely give him at some point, perhaps when he is not such a jiggly water baby. He did not cry when he met Yerger so it's NOT beards that make him cry. I think babies know when you are trying too hard to make them smile, they smell the desperation, judge you accordingly, and express that judgement the only way they know how--screaming in your face. So far only Lop and Jared's brother have been cried at upon first meeting.

At the time, I was not phased at all with the reality of giving my friend of 10+ years a mohawk in my kitchen, in Oakland, while my baby watched. But now that I have read a few journal entries from 10 years ago, the moment feels like a *script I didn't write. Everything today gets weird when you take a ride on the way back machine. That's nothing new. But the more past I have, the more insane today becomes precisely because it is so fucking sane. When did that happen.

I was only really compelled to write about it because 1. I have had the itch to write all day and have been, slowly, between bouts of catering to a teething baby while stranded at home while my car is in the shop (FUUUCK), 2. I looked for journal writing prompts online and was deeply disappointed at how masturbatory they all seem, although I don't know why because journals are supposed to be about you but UGH I suck, and 3. I used to just write about the shit I did that day and while it was definitely more fun back then, it was always basically the same cycle of school, work, smoke, drink, FML. So I shouldn't feel so bad about my mundane day because everything, in the end, gets old.

So yeah. Back to that *script. I, in fact, didn't write that script. Sure I invited Yerger over to give him a mohawk, sure I carried and pushed out the baby that watched me do it, sure I picked out this house in Oakland because I liked the kitchen all this was happening in so much. But I didn't sit down and plan all this at once, obvi. Yet it matches a similar sentiment I heard in a meeting recently. Someone explained how they busted their ass to get to a Pilates class and acupuncture in the same afternoon because they really wanted to do both. "Who is THAT?!" they asked. "Because that's not me. That's not my role." Between living a life I could have never seen coming in certain parts of my past and giving up some of my will in the attempt to live a fuller, healthier life, sometimes I don't know where I end and fate/circumstance/coincidence/luck begins. The most important part is that I just don't give a fuck anymore. I don't have to care about what any of this means. It just might not be any of my business anyway. I am simply a cog in the universe and can only hope I'm one that rotates in the right direction. 
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