Two Real Feet Through a Real Doorway

The week has been dry when it comes to happenin's I guess. Work and working out. Todd and I hit up the Euro Gyro and had a few drinks on I forget what evening. That was pretty cool.

I was also thinking about my milk carton theory of personifying a missing thing and tossing my face on a milk carton (when you read that you might get 'tossing milk on my face'); being found is becoming more and more unappealing to me. I don't know what it is that's making it this way, but I'll report it when I figure the shit out.

I was thinking last night (after I shot ruby red grapefruit juice out of my esophagus and nose simultaneously) how no one really puts their minds and ability for commitment to anything anymore. I'm not sure why I would say, "anymore" as if I knew if anyone ever did. I won't list particulars on what sparked this, nor will I spell out why I set myself apart from these symptoms of half-assedliness.

People seem never seem to have two feet over a threshold of any kind of doorway or door frame at all to me. And if they do, it's either of the following: it's a petty reason inspiring the thought and effort; the 'doorway', so to speak, is in fact important, but the one foot they do have through inside is constantly switching from that one foot to no feet, to two feet, to no feet, et cetera; the commitment they're exercising is just metaphorically their shoe sitting inside the door while their lopsided ass is waddling, doing whatever else outside; or it's just a shoe print or a footprint from them once having that foot inside and they're still staking claim to it.

It befuddles me into obscure analogy-obsessed rants such as this, but I welcome the thoughts. I just know when I have my heart and all behind something. Even if I have to step out for a short while, I'm always back. Two real feet through, what is to me, a real doorway. The same goes for my friends. This all in a way leads me to the fact that I keep it real, and you will know who else does by who's nearby when I'm smiling. My friends all have a commitment they've made for themselves, and even if they stray they always know it. It never stays that way.

In a retrospectic-retroskeptic thought, I guess maybe those who don't keep it as real as we do have got it all figured out. Why concern yourself with anything one perceives meaningful when death is imminent and forever and life is just in no way worth it? Why try to provoke thought when it'd be much easier to loaf in ignorance and bask in euphoric apathy? This portion circles me back to enjoying the process and, usually, the result of hard work and pain. Feeling shitty is my calling card, and I willingly accept that.