The Stairs Down
Most people don't appreciate glam rock or Jon Bon Jovi's music but there's one song that I particularly fancy, "Someday I'll Be Saturday Night". There's this particular line which goes "Hey my name is Jim, where did I go wrong, My life's a bottom basement all the good shit's gone..."
I've Never been a believer in expressing my sentiments on the internet. Too many traces, too people and too much space. Yet strangely here I am with my first blog. I popped my own blog cherry so to speak... It just seems that I have an abundance of personal doubts and emotions that I have to find an outlet and I suppose posting something online for everyone to read would not seem so terrible.
What would normal people be doing at 4am on a sunday morning? Partying? Drinking? Performing various sexual acts with one or more individuals? Sleeping?
Well I'm stuck in a freezer like room, barely feeling my fingers and toes and having four or so, more hours of work to do.
How is it that at some point in one's life one realizes that maybe he or she made a wrong choice? Then consequently, starting from that instance tracing back to the beggining, one realizes that there were so many small mistakes leading up to that singular moment. Does that mean that one's life and existence has no more purpose? Does it invoke a strange fear of the past and of realizing that other errors lie in ambush as you walk down memory lane waiting for the right moment to leap from the shadows and strip you of what sanity or solace you may find therein? I'll just have to find out the hard way.
I've Never been a believer in expressing my sentiments on the internet. Too many traces, too people and too much space. Yet strangely here I am with my first blog. I popped my own blog cherry so to speak... It just seems that I have an abundance of personal doubts and emotions that I have to find an outlet and I suppose posting something online for everyone to read would not seem so terrible.
What would normal people be doing at 4am on a sunday morning? Partying? Drinking? Performing various sexual acts with one or more individuals? Sleeping?
Well I'm stuck in a freezer like room, barely feeling my fingers and toes and having four or so, more hours of work to do.
How is it that at some point in one's life one realizes that maybe he or she made a wrong choice? Then consequently, starting from that instance tracing back to the beggining, one realizes that there were so many small mistakes leading up to that singular moment. Does that mean that one's life and existence has no more purpose? Does it invoke a strange fear of the past and of realizing that other errors lie in ambush as you walk down memory lane waiting for the right moment to leap from the shadows and strip you of what sanity or solace you may find therein? I'll just have to find out the hard way.
posted by Bottom Basement at 4:30 AM
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