Take Me Anywhere

I had no idea where I was heading, nor did I really give a shit for that matter. All I could remember was buying a one way ticket from some asshole attendant that charged me a thirty dollar "inconvience fee" simply because I ruined his nap; whatever, I needed a way out.

I can't help but shake this annoying feeling, like there's a colony of ants just beneath my skin trying to turn my arms into a microscopic subway system; been like this for a couple weeks now, ever since I won that writing contest with a three page clusterfuck of Jack Daniels, Gillette and bills coming in hotter than an aesteroid the size of Texas.

And what did I get in exchange for this award winning piece, you ask? A pat on the back, a thousand unempathetic smiles, and a hefty amount of exposure. Gee, thanks; that'll stop life from mentally castrating me every second of the day.

Could you say I'm running from my problems? That's all you. Does that mean you can call me a coward? Again, that's all you. To me? I don't really see it either way. As a matter of fact, I find myself having trouble seeing much of anything these days.

To be honest, I couldn't even begin to tell you why I started writing; was it because I loved telling stories? Or was it because I was too damn scared of being unemployed? I guess it doesn't matter either way, not like I've made a single cent off this "profession". The only things I've learned thus far from doing this are the following:

- Everyone will say they "love your work and hope to see more" yet will never donate a single cent to your dreams.

- You can count on having shitty vision by age thirty-five with the amount of time you spend staring at a damn computer screen

And probably most important:

- The internet doesn't give two shits unless you're some sorta visual artist.

It's these three simple sentences that plague the place I thought was "home" but turned out to be nothing more than a malicious vacuum sucking out all the creative energy in my soul with each passing day and every swipe of the credit card.

It's these three simple sentences that are the reason I'm on this shithole train towards an unknown destination; but it's all about the journey right? Well for the starving writer, that "journey" is more like crawling through a minefield that's uphill in the middle of a fucking blizzard.

It's taken me half a decade, three shitty break ups, six hundred and fourty three different songs, and nonexistant God knows how many arguments with my parents to finally realize something I probably should have realized a helluva lot sooner than I did:

Though it's hella easily to see it, yet hella hard to believe it; you gotta just be honest with yourself sometimes and run away from the mundane song and dance you've been doing for practically the entirity of your adult life.

That's why I'm on this train to somewhere; with nothing but the clothes on my back and my MP3 player.

Get me the fuck outta here.

I know that there's an open door out there somewhere.

Just hope I can find it before I can no longer fake a smile.

Seattle? Toronto? Austin?

I really don't care.

Take Me Anywhere.