HOLY Indian Cow...sensory overload.

I woke up this morning feeling a bit...uneasy. It was funny, because at first I thought the sour kind of energy was coming from a dream, but that proved itself wrong, as I've been in a funk ALL day so far. Yes, this is about to be a turbo combustion of venting. Which strata should I enter first? I could start with the outer most layer of the middle: Financial Obstacles and Persistant Unecessary (but fun) Wants. Finding a job, like...a real solid job that can pay off my debt...all $55,000+ (which apparently, isn't all that bad compared to other students). Monthly payments increase in June, which is when I need to start paying off my government and private (STUPID CHOICE. DO NOT EVER TAKE ONE OUT. No such thing, from what I've seen, as a fixed rate for private loans) loans. The looming shadow that hangs over the next few months majoritively comes from that pickle. You would think that it would make me a bit more motivated to get up off my ass and start sending out resumes left, right, and center. But, alas...I have only gotten around to sending out ONE, yes: ONE resume/cover letter for ONE position, since my JANUARY graduation.
MEN: The inner most layer, features sharp pointy edges extending into the core. Yes, so that that's the place I stand at STILL, even after four months of being quote unquote "Single". All I can and should (probably not) say is that I am in dire need of a pleasuring product or sorts. Bukowski's dirty DIRTY novel Women has helped throughout the past week and a half however. What may be a bit more painful to note about this particular reading (for me), is how closely I am able to identify with Chaniski, the main gluttonous alcohol infused sex-addict character. I certainly do not extend my immoral unreasoning to the lengths of this particular rowdy bloke, but there is a really hefty amount of emotional enchantment between myself and the character while observing the lengths he takes to act out of sheer resonance of the need to feel fulfilled by another person. Is this translating or am I completely bonkers? I'm talking about that sick desire to step so far apart from your own benefit/mental health/sense of self, just to feel the comfort from another person, whether you love them or just think they're damned sexy. But I am getting a little better at the need to give 100% of myself away to any guy that strikes my fancy. Just noticing smaller things. EXAMPLE: I ran into a dude that I had met a few months back at a Lotus afterparty in the city. When we met, we chatted for a few minutes and danced for a few as well...until he stumbled off looking a bit out of it. He was pretty funked up at the time and I volunteered my efforts to tend to his needs (got him water and walked him over to a couch so that he could debunk). The night ended and I left without quite recalling his name or anything about him really. Flash foward and rewind a half step to this past saturday in Albany...BaSSneCtar kicking up heady whomp WHOMPS from the stage, I'm chilling in the crowded building (which was full of underage kids...which was a little bit unsettling for me), just mindin' mah biznezz and shaking mah gr00ve thang...and I bump into the same dude. It took him a couple of seconds to recognize my face, which is no biggie...with some explanation as to how I had met him, a lightbulb went off somewhere up there and he remembered me (always a hilarious sight). Anywhos, he apologized for being so out of it the night we had met and then asked me if I wanted any cocaine, to which I laughed at and negatively responded. He seemed a bit confused as to why I wouldn't want any blow and made the same offer again about five minutes later. Again, I gave the same response. I for some reason ended up getting his number, I can't quite recall if he asked me for mine and I asked for his or if he wanted to give me his...Point of the Story: I am not interested in contacting this person because I am starting to FINALLY develop standards. I am not willing to lower my standards anymore, as where in the past, it was as if i was looking to help other people that I felt the least bit attracted to. Like, I'LL save you! YEAH, fuck that. I'm over and done with that part of my life, because it has brought me nothing but long eduring and emotionally draining relationships. I am over and done with involving myself with men that aren't willing to take care of themselves as much as I am willing to take care of myself. Anyways, I am really looking forward to completing the novel...which leads me to the next stratification of Kalliope (me)...
PROCRASTINATION: What is it? I have no freaking idea. According to everyone that wants/would like for me to get shit done, it feels as if a bomb or social justification clock of some sort is ticking away. I'm all for living in the moment, and I DO so much sometimes that I forget about time. Does this make me the perfect candidate for this human phenomena? Honestly, I am perfectly content with doing what I WANT to do. I consider myself to be...nevermind. I was going to call myself an AVID enthusiast...but then I stumble to say so, because that means that I would have to compare myself with another, at least to make it more clear to you, the reader. Is that a natural habit to make for many though? Like, we're always jumping to compare the subjective...why is that? I have a feeling this is a huge tangent, and it is...but I feel like this might be getting somewhere. Maybe not.

I'm about to delete my Facebook account.

Miraculously enough, after having announced to a mass amount of people that I would be deleting my Facebook account, I become quite twisted as I notice the date. April Fools...hm. Now. I have already considered deleting my account, keeping the promise I made to myself about a week ago. I have been debating the deletion for the past month, as I have seen the retaining of the systematic, habitual destruction of self -I'm still talking about having a profile- to be very inconsistent with my interactions with REAL life. So. On the other hand, I also thought of then creating a new account under an incognito name...Sally Fields, Mother Teresa, something like that...in order to maintain the cycle of debaucherous human existence. But for the sake of what? What good would that serve me? So I have decided to continue on the path of self-righteousness, or stubborness, and delete it. I also told myself that I would have done so an hour and forty minutes ago...and the clock is still ticking. I have good excuses I suppose...Eh. Here goes...feeling a bit edgy...daring? maybe. yes. ok...ah. A breath of air...leads me to feeling...feeling. Like i don't have a facebook account anymore. Not as bad as i thought it would be. Hm. Anywhose. I'm off to bed. Goodnight!