What day was it again?

 Luna (my pet cockatiel) is doing well. I love caring for a pet… already I feel that little bird is a friend of sorts. I struggle connections as far as friends go. Been threatened far to many times  with being beaten to death. Once I guy carved a mace like stick with a fist seize gnarly piece of wood at the end of it because I bummed to many cigarettes.

Once did not have food for a few days so eight some nachos out of a buddies fridge who gave me a key to his apartment. He put my middle finger in a cigar cutter when he was drunk and told me he couldn’t support to feed the both of us… I gave home the key back.     

I think the thing I struggle with is knowing what purpose friendship has. Thinking back to another memory where some guys my age were partying next door and I sat out in the rain chain smoking. I don’t know why it sticks with me.

I don’t know why this savage darkness does nothing but abide in the periphery. I was watching home movies when I was sixteen or seventeen I broke down crying thinking about watching adult swim a few years earlier. With my family… in hindsight everyone hated being there but me.

My sibling moved on and went to school. I was kicked out of my parents. And spent half a decade trying to make friends.

almost died a handful of times and got such friendly outbursts from hanging out with buddies that I my ass looked like a sack of potatoes. Oh the wonders and charms of alcohol.

More than friends I am looking for a sense of self worth, or put another way, a purpose.

Caring for my bird has helped me fulfill that goal I wake because that sweet little caged creature need he breakfast and a new owl of spring water.

I think the end is here. The end of history, the apocalypse. I look forward to some kind of evidence that not everything I remember was fake.

“I felt like I was watching a dream I could never wake up from.” -Spike, from cowboy bebop (another show I used to watch alone when I was a teenager).