The First (and maybe last) Blog EvEr

Let me start by saying it's snowing, I don't have a job or my license and my Snapple is roughly the temperature of the urine I was gracious enough to add to the septic stew rushing under our streets in New Holland, PA. So how did I, playing the part of the stereotypical "Graduate-With-An-Associates-In-Table-Waiting-Until-I-Get-A-Useful?-Bachelors" end up blogging to no one in particular? Well for starters, I can't sleep. I don't know if it's the self-inflicted brain damage, (although I can remember not being able to sleep well before 9th grade health class turned me on to the chemical wonders that middle school DARE had only skimmed the surface of), the stress of spending 4 years at a community college only to graduate with a degree I don't know what to do with besides transfer, or the fact that whether or not I find a job, the Man will continue sending me bills for things I didn't know I even had. I joke about taking the Van Wilder approach, but the jokes really on me since I didn't do half of the cool shit he did, including but not limited to screwing Tara Reid. And speaking of stress, I can feel my heart-rate increasing at the thought of how many run-on sentences I may or may not have just created- my browser has a handy built-in spell checker, but would it tell me if I was fragmenting or running-on? Is whoever reads this going to think, "no wonder he can't find a job, he has a degree in english communications and the arts but doesn't know a run-on sentence when he makes one"?  You must forgive me if thats the case. I hate rereading what I write, unless I plan on editing it, and I don't feel this should be edited. It's supposed to be off the top of the head, like the scalp of a raping white intruder on stolen land. Now what was I talking about before? Insomnia? Right. I figured a blog would give me something to do at 3:30 AM when no one in their right mind or with any kind of mentionable obligations is conscious. All my friends are aware that any one of them is subject to a random text at some ungodly hour, but many have countered this with the old 'power the phone OFF' trick. In fact, I annoyed my ex-girlfriend so much with random texts, that we got into an enormous fight, resulting in immediate deletion from Facebook (the ULTIMATE face-smash), and a back and forth insult-a-thon in which I, being quick with my tongue and never wanting to turn down a good fight, clearly was victor. I'd post some of the funny things I said because I know she'll never waste her time reading anything remotely associated with my name,  but just in case some of my awful thoughts came true (knock on wood) I probably shouldn't. Maybe in another blog, because I promise, some of them were golden. I should have probably started blogging then, because it was around 2:30 AM and I was alternating between manic rage and tear-soaked remorse, but instead I wrote a poem. And it wasn't even a lovey-dovey poem before you go lumping me into that category, it was about a recurring nightmare I've had. Thats another problem I have with sleeping. It's not as if sleeping itself isn't difficult enough, my brain never seems to shut off!! I watched Waking Life once, a very intense movie, and I found myself envious of the main character, who seeks to learn how to control his dreams. I cannot control a single thing in any of  my dreams. In fact, I think me dreaming is my brain actually trying to kill me for whatever sick, twisted, brain-reasons it has. They always involve physical harm inflicted on me somehow, or some kind of problem that gets worse and worse- for instance getting left behind somewhere, then realizing that I don't know where I am or who I was with or why they left me there. I truly believe that my brain is under my control when it's awake, but becomes it's own power when I sleep. So my insomnia is actually a defense mechanism implemented by my body trying to survive against itself. Sound plausible? If anyone has any other ideas I'm open to suggestion.  What else is appropriate to include in one's First Blog? So far we've determined that I handle stress poorly, am absolutely plagued by it, and that I can't sleep. We've also learned that I'm a thrill-texter, have weird-ass dreams and that I graduated yesterday with my Associates in Communication and the Arts. In lieu of not giving internet land my whole package yet, (and yes, that is a phallic reference), I'm going to sign off, most likely for about 20 minutes until I'm bored again. Ta-Ta