What if?

And if there was no tomorrow, would you be satisfied with how you spent today? Would you regret something you said? Something you did? Something you didn’t do? Or did you live today to its fullest potential, took it for all it was worth and just killed the game? I personally could have done better, not that today was horrible but it definitely wasn’t epic. There was no glory. Just a regular day in the life of a pirate king. Oh. I don’t think that I’ve mentioned that yet. I am a glorious pirate king. The kind that they will write about, make movies about. They already talk about me. Story after misinformed story. They already wanna be me, not everyone but there is definitely more then a few. Never made any sense to me. Why would you want to be like me? I’m a fucking Trainwreck, a disaster, being me isn’t all glamorous and awesome like you’d think. There’s been a lot of pain. Lots of disappointment. And my reputation is overwhelming having grown larger then then me when I was a child. And far as I can tell it hasn’t stopped. It’s still growing somewhere right now. I know that this kind of makes me sound conceited, kind of makes me sound cocky, but it is what it is. And who crowned me this glorious pirate king? Well I did of course. Who would know better then I? I’m not sure at what age I actually became a pirate or if I was just born one. I’m leaning towards being born this way. I can not remember a time when I wasn’t like this, when I didn’t think and act the way I do and so it would make sense that I was born this way. Regardless, I absolutely am a pirate. Ask anyone who knows me and they will vouch for it, or better yet just kick it with me for a day or two and you won’t be able to deny the fact. I have dated numerous chicks who considered themselves to be mermaids, but they all turned out to be Sirens. One time I was talking to one of them and I said, You are not a mermaid, and I’m not a fucking pirate. She looked at me all sad and said, I know I’m not a mermaid but you’re crazy if you think you’re not a pirate. And I couldn’t really argue. I am. Arrrr motherfucker. So was I the best pirate that I could be today? No. Not really. I could of robbed a bank or something. But if you asked the people I interacted with today they might say something else. Things that seem dangerous or complicated to others no longer even measure on the scale anymore, leaving me wondering if maybe I haven’t hit the pentacle and maybe it’s about that time to start figuring out something else. No such thing as an old age pirate. But who ever said I wanted to be old aged. Anyways, regardless of whether you are a pirate or mermaid, or a banker or a waitress I believe that you should always try and be the very best version of it. Least you can say you tried. I started doing this writing thing on my Facebook a number of years ago. I don’t look at it as writing, I don’t consider myself to be a writer. No I called it puking on Facebook. Me, just throwing up all over everybody’s news feeds. I am completely incapable of dealing with emotions. I just never learned. I smother them, drowned them, ignore them, bottle them up, pretty much anything except deal with them. I wouldn’t know where to start. So in order to survive the life I’ve created, occasionally I have to release. I used to try and “vent” to people but they’d always end up taking it all wrong and getting butt hurt so I stopped that. Then I discovered that not only was Facebook a social media tool, it was also a social media platform which I could use as a therapist. Kinda. And so I would puke out everything on Facebook. Real life struggles and fears. Disappointments and triumphs alike, I would vomit them onto my page. And it helped. A lot. At first I didn’t think anybody read that shit and I couldn’t care less. After rereading them I actually hoped they weren’t getting read. But they were. And my blunt, rawness, my fearlessness in sharing this disaster we are calling my life, well it made certain people feel certain kinds of ways. I learned that I could relate to people who I never would of thought it possible. That we are all a lot more similar then we believe. And it feels good to know that you aren’t alone. That it’s not just you feeling like this. Not just you going through shit like this, and for whatever reason, that makes it easier to swallow, easier to handle. My early writings were crude and poorly put together. I’m a highschool drop out, I never learned grammar or punctuation. I had to teach myself all of that and I did. I like looking at how far my writing has come. I still don’t think I’m a writer, but I’m closer to one then I’ve ever been before. And so people began reading my puke, they started commenting and messaging me privately. And they all called me a writer, claiming how great it was or how it spoke to them. I’ve heard that I should write a book about my life so many times that it’s retarded. I will never write a book about the story of my life. I lived that shit, I barely survived that shit and there is no way in hell I’m down to do it all over again. No there will be no autobiography, at least not written by me. But all the constant positivity about my writing and the encouragement I received got me to thinking, maybe I’m not a writer, but I surely am a silver tongued devil, I am good with words. So maybe there’s actually something there to all this Facebook puking. So I’m trying. This is me trying.