Sipping On Truth Syrum Tonight...

I come to find faults; many, many faults in my existence.

Sure, who doesn't, now and again? But its me versus me and so its personal. It's late; I'm restless, lost and struggling for some sort of grasp on what it is I actually do, for the world or for myself. Hell, it was bound to happen sooner or later I suppose. I look at at my past and my future and the things I do; studying, questioning, wondering how it might shed light on why I can never really ascertain my own peace of mind.

Chapter One: BEING UNORIGINAL
It seems to me that as of late I have been thinking of my choices... regarding my future and other bits and pieces I suppose. I never do anything that is purely my idea. Take a look at where I began from high school. I graduated, (barely) and dismissed college immediately for the band, for music. Now, I know I wasn't at the time above thinking that it might not work out in the long run, and yet I had no other obligations, ideas, or even aspirations. Whats even funnier is that music wasn't even my greatest aspiration either. I knew it would be sad for my music to be absent, but I think I used it more for a crutch rather than a real live choice I should make, in my own confindence, of course. Now that dilemma has carried me all the way up until present. Now I am here, abandoning music for the first time in my life since its beginning with me, and simply to move right on to the next unoriginal scheme in my midst, working for my father. It's so simple, really. All I had to do was come home and I was in. No questions asked, no firey hoops to jump through; just a simple yes. I already know a bit about what it is he does, and so even less of a problem for me to entertain myself with. Ah, but you'll say, "what about why you're working for him..." and it will be to fund yet another unoriginal idea. Getting a motorcycle and heading to the desert on a whim is not something that stemmed from my brain, I'll have you know. I could never think of a reason why that idea would even occur to me, nor actually think it were possible to carry it out. Yet here I am, already have the permit in my pocket; checking on classes so I can learn how to ride a goddamn bike before I take this trip. I am forever following the beat of someone else's drum, and for me, being a drummer, that is irony at its best.

Chapter Two: DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT TWO-HUNDRED DOLLARS.
You get to thinking about what you're doing, and you get to thinking about what you're made of. A boy grows up, and goes through life until he gets to a point when he realizes the fish bowl in which he is living. The same scenery everyday. The same bottom and top and slanted sides to his small, crucial world. Suddenly this world becomes less and less crucial. If you were a fish and you were told you couldn't jump out of the water, wouldn't you still try it, to spite the tellers and see what else is going on? Of course you would. Well, I suppose if you were a fish you wouldn't even remember being told, since your memory is a few seconds long anyhow. Anyways... We get to that point, and see the triviality in which we surround ourselves, then we decide its time for a change. Many people go to college. Many people take a full time job, or get married, or have children, or join the army or the peace corps or something like that. Even as simple as moving away, and thats what I did. But like all first experiences I almost entirely missed the point. The point before I began was just to do it. Just to go out there and see, see what I'm made of, see what else there is to know. Well, I got up there and got busy quick, or at least that is how it seemed to me anyway. I met tons of people, saw new and different places, went through experience after experience, job after job, but it never really satisfied the craving. Six months in I KNOW I was bitching about the weather and how Missouri is so much better and how I wish I was home, blah, blah, blah, until my ears began to bleed from the constant bitching. Go figure. SO what is it I was suppose to learn? Independence from the world for myself.

Chapter Three: A LIAR STARTS IN A MIRROR
I have this thing about me. I try to make those around me be as comfortable with me as possible, pending certain circumstances, of course. So I will be remembered I guess, as someone who was a good fellow, a nice guy, a caring individual, and what have you. I know to a certain extent everyone does it, but I so much wonder what's behind this masqerade I have convinced myself I'm putting on? Now, this is not to say that everything I have with those around me is a farce, or that my actions and thoughts and feelings are untrue. After all, none of this is exactly new to dawn on me. What, like I had some big, almighty realization or something? I think not. I just think that whatever flaws I have been throwing out onto the fire I have first been throwing at myself, with much more dedication, (as would be the case) and it has taken steps found through peripheries into my life with those around me. I would like to take two people of the same calibur relating to me, one from the north and one from here, and have them see if I sound the same to them through their opinions of me in each others' eyes. Just for kicks.

Chapter Four: WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT ALL
Christ, I don't know. I can't run back north. If I did that it would be reversing my forward motion. I will have to do what I haven't always done in my life: follow through. So I suppose I will stay here, save money, and get that damned bike. Even if the trip may do me no good, I have to find out for sure. Plus I am a man of my word. If there is nothing else I have that I can say of myself, I can say that. After that, well dammit if I know. I will hope to find a solution in this process of shedding the skin of which I'm in at this time. I'm sure something will come up. I tell you what, I'll make sure you're all the first to know. All two or three of you, aside from the accidental visitors I get from time to time in far away lands.

Stay classy dear readers,
Charlie