It doesn’t seem to matter what I put effort into anymore.

It always fails.

Or I always screw it up.

Or the odds are forever against me.

I don’t have any interest in trying anymore.

So, maybe this sounds wrong, but…

I just don’t feel like putting up with any shit tonight.

I think I’ve stayed in the arms of a good book for too long and it’s spoiled me.

Gardening again.

I went to an auction today with my gay boy; we’re planting a garden together this year. We didn’t get a whole lot at the auction, but we did alright for my first time. =]

So far, we have a shit ton of cucumber plants, zucchini, yellow squash, okra, onions, peppers, and daisies.

Hopefully we’ll get some tomatoes on Wednesday at another auction.

We’ll start planting tomorrow evening most likely.

I’m excited!

All I want to do is yoga, then run around for a little bit, and smoke some tree.

And then zone out.

That’s all I want to do.

Courage.

We spoke of early morning things
of sex and love and nick at nite
of sleep and dreams and nightmares
and the blue daisies on my kitchen table

We spoke of happy things
the baby in my parents’ bed
and the kiddo i taught poker to
of weed and alcohol and pool

Then he said he was a wizard
and i told him he was of oz
i said that i was the lion
for i have both a heart and a brain

So i said he gave me courage
because he speaks to me
of early morning things
and of happy things

I just took an evaluation on what my strengths and weaknesses are when it comes to studying habits, classes, etc.

I got pretty good results. Except for the procrastination thing.

But other than that, I’m feeling a little bit better about this coming summer semester. I feel a little bit more energized and ready for it.

You might recall a post I created about a week or two ago about a shooting that occurred around here.

A pregnant woman was shot in her own car in her neighborhood.

I just found out today that the father of her child killed himself a couple days ago.

What I also didn’t know is that I knew this guy.

I didn’t know his name, but I talked to him every time I came into his restaurant, which was about twice a week with my parents.

He always seemed like this nice, good looking, decent dude.

He wasn’t even 40 yet.

I don’t really know what my point here is exactly.

Except that I’m sad.

And I don’t want anyone to commit suicide, much less a familiar face.

I just wish things never seemed that hopeless for anybody.