To read this comic properly, listen to The Sound Of Silence all the way through while going back and forth between the last two panels.
So my phone tries to write predictive text messages, where it will suggest one word to begin a composition and then it will suggest more words based on each last word.
Well, through the power of my phone bumping into my leg, it composed the message ”yeah yeah yeah dude no wheelchair yeah mediocrity is just overwhelming”
So, by the way, the technological singularity is upon us and my phone has completely learned and replicated my personality and made me superfluous.
incoherent, half awake.
I jotted this down in my notes in July, at around two in the morning, after a rather disappointing experience with a can of silly string so blocked up that, rather than really spraying out, it just kinda fell limply in a two foot arc downward. Have a nice day.
Back on the comics wagon, and really, wishing I owned an actual wagon. It’d be pretty fucking rad to ride around everywhere in a wagon, growing a big fat mustache. I’d feel pretty bad for the horses though, so if I could replace them with robot horses or something, that would be even better. They’d go faster too, probably.
Well, nap time and then filling in more job applications time, I guess.
I hope this is the year I stop constantly feeling like I have a lump in my throat.
I hope this is the year I stop being afraid to talk to strangers.
I hope this is the year I don’t get scared and overwhelmed whenever the slightest thing changes.
I hope this is the year I stop spending hours staring blankly at my computer screen, too anxious to start anything, and too afraid to finish.
I hope this is the year I stop being afraid to answer the phone.
I hope that one day I’ll be able to look forward to things, and not want to bury my head or run away.
I want to not feel afraid to reach out and ask for help when I need it. Not to constantly feel like I can’t find the words any more, and not to stutter.
On my birthday last year, I watched a movie with my dad and then hung out in a bar for an hour and a half with the small handfull of acquaintances that showed up off of a brief public message on facebook.
Now, as I type this, it’s six in the morning, and I’m sleeping on the third or fourth couch I’ve been on since the beginning of June (though a disproportionate amount of the month I spent with my friend Brett, author of Owner of Cat, to whom I’ve very grateful). There’s somebody snoring on the other side of the living room, and it is humid. I can hear grasshoppers chirp, and the sky is starting to get blue, and I’ve been sitting for hours trying to figure out what, something, anything, I could say in summation of the last year of my life, and becoming afraid that I wasted too much time hiding in my room, too afraid to go outside.
I don’t know if I can fix any of that, but I think at this point I would settle for once, just once, not being afraid of today.
Maybe I’ll see you around.