there was this one time when i was super heartbroken and i met someone for the first time — and, like, really met her you know — and that turned out good until it became shit. we were both shit to one another for a long time before it fell apart, and let’s face it, that’s the story of every relationship i’ve ever had. i bring out the worst in people and they bring out the worst in me. it’s fine. it’s just one of those things. i don’t even mind it anymore, i just try to avoid being shit to as many people as i can. which definitely doesn’t work. i’m still shit. you’re all still shit. this isn’t a pity party or a condemnation, it’s just simple fact. we’re all kinda shit. the thing is that you don’t beat yourself up over it. if you don’t think you’re shit, you’re wrong. if you do think you’re shit, you’re wrong. and this isn’t some moral resignation to let everyone off the hook to be all happy-go-lucky, it’s just, i dunno. i don’t really know anyone who’s not shit in at least one way. shit happens. and we make it happen. it’s fine. it’s fine. we all fuck things up constantly. deal with it. everyone else does.

it turned out that i’m shit at a lot more things than i anticipated, and so i wound up being shit some more. that’s fine. i should probably go talk to a therapist, but they’d be like, hmm thinkingface.emoji, and i’d be like c’mon. c’mon. just be real. we’re all fundamentally fucked up, and anyone who pretends otherwise is my neighbor who has a shit dog that is shit. here’s an idea shit dog, shut the fuck up it’s 6 in the goddamn morning and shut the fuck up. did i mention shut the fuck up? because i should have because it’s 6 in the goddamn morning. so shut the fuck up.

even when things are 100% shit (and oh lord they’re going to be for a while), you still sometimes get lucky. and i’m not talking, ‘oh wow, i got lucky last night,’ as in banged some hottie — male or female — i’m talking luck. because it’s a thing. i once hitchhiked from quebec city to chicoutimi in late november with my friend eric. our driver crashed in a national park in a blizzard. lucky doesn’t begin to describe how we lived. we got even luckier when a tour bus picked us up afterwards on the side of the highway. we got luckier still when jessika — the woman of eric’s dreams — somehow found us, took us out for a drink, and let us crash at her place.

that was the luckiest single day of my life. because i should be dead. nine times out of ten we’d have gone off a cliff.

i should be dead for a lot of reasons. i’m still here though. being lucky.

my favorite part about being lucky is part of luck is loving life. part of love is hating life, of course, but you love and you love and you love, and you hate a little bit less every day, because you just do. life is the great romance. which is trite and stupid to say out loud, but i dunno. just look at it. there’s a pigeon or a squirrel or a monkey or a lobster or a whatever the fuck ever, and isn’t it kind of great? have a great conversation, a horrible break-up, a traumatic accident. aren’t you glad you just fucking made it?

i’ll never forget it, a girlfriend’s mom and her friend came to visit us in portland, and we were out of toilet paper, and i rode my bike furiously to the plaid pantry to get some motherfucking toilet paper, and i did, and when i got back they were gone. and i felt real bad about that, you know?

i should’ve married that woman. i fucked it all up.

but life is all about the mistakes you make. or at least that’s how i sleep at night.

there’s a stupid quotation from a stupid movie that i like that goes “you make your own luck.” and it’s batman so there’s, like, a moral dilemma, i forget, some shit happens, and anyway two-face, who is harvey dent who was supposed to be gotham’s savior, anyway et cetra et cetera, it’s the one with heath ledger in it. so batman kills harvey dent i think? or maybe chief gordon does. anyway, i dunno, somehow harvey dent has a coin and it’s what he flips but then his face burns off and maybe so does the coin? or, like, half of it? point of the story, he becomes a bad guy, and says ‘you make your own luck’ and it’s a coinflip metaphor, is what i’m saying.

but you know. that’s kind of a silly thing to say. i get that it’s supposed to be super reaffirming or whatever, but nah. nah. you don’t make your own luck. i know too many dead people to buy that line. luck comes at you fast.





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