Ben Bonkoske

I’m so frustrated I’m menstruating. It is like I have a cramp at mile two of a marathon. I can’t imagine anything more important in your life than reading about me complain how my back hurts, my hair is receding, I’ve done nothing I’m supposed to, and I’m downright unhappy at 23. Luckily for you, we will take the scenic route and digress in the more happy aspects of my enjoyable existence such as bunnies hopping through the forest. There is nothing in the world more boring than not having a problem to solve. My conundrum is that I create more problems than I can allocate (I think it is a symptom of reading too much). It was a beautiful night in the kitchen when all of my worries were reduced to a sentence. A simple sentence surely shouldn’t be too hard to swallow, and it isn’t. It is when I start “writing the narrative” of my life that everything gets so complicated that I might as well run butt naked to the nearest gas station, put my thumb up and say goodbye to responsibility. My problem is that my solutions always catch up to me. Call me a control freak, call me a highly productive time-waster, call me stupid and slow, I can firmly agree with you. I am (embarrassingly) living my best life. My progress would lose a race to a snail, and believe me when I say, I’m racing. My thoughts race, my legs race, I race myself to the end of the page, but my life is so bare by the end of the day, that all I have to look forward to is a journal nobody will read, and the peace that I might have accomplished something that I wouldn’t’ve if my 7 highly effective habits still consisted of weed, drinking, and oversleeping…I still oversleep. This is NOT helping. I am rambling! A madman! Surely awaiting a demise that nobody will see…or worse, read about. Even though I am not a pound lighter, I have integrated a routine of running to calmly accept and work on my unattractiveness. All I’m going to say is it is going to be a LONG weekend – roughly two weeks. Maybe I’m thinking clearly. I am so comfortable being crazy I don’t know if I’d ever like myself enough to get to know me soberly. A soliloquy in the moonlight, but tonight it is cloudy…perfect for poetry.