ICED TEA WITH HONEY
Journal Entry
THOUGHTS™
04–17–2022
︎ Writer: Stew Caldo
Bit of an interesting morning reading over my drunken thoughts from last night.
Oddly, I find that I am more literate when drunk. Slightly more obnoxious and pretentious as well. But maybe that's just a character that is slightly present in all journals. [REDACTED NAME] mentioned that to me recently. That I write as if I'm a main character to my story. Well, I guess we all are that in our respective ways. I just do it in a pretentious way. But fuck it, it helps me ideate my thoughts. As if some third party narrator could dissect me better than me. There's some odd found peace in that thought, I must admit.
I woke up and decided to extend an olive branch to [REDACTED NAME], calling it quits on the silent treatment. I wanted [REDACTED NAME] to feel sorry. I wanted to have justification for my anger. But when I thought about it long enough, it wasn't worth waiting the rest of today to get it. I wasn't ready to be alone and sad for an entire day, just to hopefully get [REDACTED NAME] to grovel and apologize.
I realize, that need for [REDACTED NAME] to feel bad is a bit self-righteous. I should be able to get through my own problems without allowing others emotions influence my own.
My least favorite part of ordering iced tea with honey is that it sits at the bottom. Nobody takes the time to carefully mix the honey in with the ice and the tea. They let it sink to the bottom. A medley of sugar and stickiness, floating in space. Bouncing off rigid ice cube asteroids. Until, finally, it pools at the bottom, giving you a sweet taste of honey only on your first sip. And the rest tastes of bitter leaves that have been boiled into this concoction. People should be more careful to mix the honey in. It's enough to ruin my day sometimes.
Night.
Here I am at [REDACTED LOCATION]. It's lonely, but it's a nice change. Getting to be alone with myself.
I think that's the key when your relationships start to shift. If you want to figure out what you're doing wrong, get to know yourself.
I type 70 words a minute. Just took the test. Kind of a bullshit test if you ask me. I can type my thoughts at nearly 120 words a minute when i'm in a heated moment. It's like speaking flippantly.
It's easter today. That means that 2022 years ago, Jesus rose from the dead. I think that's the right year. Pretty big feat to accomplish at 33. Was he 33?
I doubt I'll have that much to show for my life by 33. I definitely won't rise from the dead. But shit, if I wanna be in his image, I'd better start really leading.
I miss [REDACTED NAME].
[REDACTED].
God, Please help me this week. Calm my anxiety. Calm my mind.
Make me aware of [REDACTED]. Make me aware of my own.
Make me the best man I can be.
God, I'm trying.